“Watch him!” Josh yelled at Erwin. Then he went after Fran.
She knelt next to a closed door, tugging at the knob. He bent down next to her.
“Duncan and Mrs. Teller are in there! It’s a bomb shelter!”
Josh’s hands joined hers on the knob and they both tugged. The door didn’t budge. Josh knocked on it, surprised by how warm it felt. Metal. All firemen hated metal doors. Even worse, the frame also seemed to be reinforced.
“Duncan! It’s Josh VanCamp! Can you hear me!”
“Yeah!” The boy’s voice was muffled and filled with fear.
“We’re going to get you out!” Josh yelled. Then he pulled Fran close and said into her ear, “I have to go to the truck.”
Fran grabbed his arm and dug her fingers in. Her eyes got wide.
“Don’t leave.”
“I’m not leaving. I’ll be right back.”
Fran nodded and released him. The smoke had built up on the ceiling and floated at chest level. Josh moved in a crouch to stay under it. He squinted at Erwin, who had been joined by Sheriff Streng. They had tied up the intruder and were tugging him out of the building.
Josh beat them outside. He coughed, spat out black, and took a big gulp of cool night air. Olen had a filthy hose clutched in his gloved hands, spraying the side of the house with human waste. Josh could smell it through the smoke. He wrinkled his nose and hopped in the cab of the truck, grabbing the rifle. The stock had a split in it, but it looked able to fire. He didn’t think a .22 would do much against a steel door, but he had no other ideas.
“Keep it low, at the foot of the flame,” Josh told Olen.
“I am. It’s not working.”
The fire had reached the second floor. Josh realized that with the equipment they had the house was a goner.
“Keep going. There are people trapped inside.”
Olen nodded at him, and Josh went back into the building. Smoke and soot stung his eyes, and the temperature had gone up a dozen degrees. Fran was still next to the door, hitting it with a sledgehammer. Josh touched her shoulder, tugged her away.
“Duncan! Stand away from the door!”
The boy yelled okay.
Josh aimed at the knob, black tears stinging his eyes, and fired. The bullet pinged off the knob, making a shallow dent and nothing more. Josh swore.
“Josh!” Duncan banged on the door. “You have to hurry! The smoke is getting bad!”
• • •
Duncan’s eyes stung like someone poked dirty fingers in them, and his nose was running like he had a cold. The smoke was getting really thick at the top of the stairs. Every time he breathed, he coughed.
“Duncan!” Mrs. Teller called. “Come here!”
Duncan didn’t want to leave the top of the stairs, even though the walls on either side of him were on fire. He was really scared, but his mom was behind the door, trying to get in. He wanted to be there when she did.
He crouched down, trying to get under the smoke, but it was just as bad by his feet. Duncan pulled his shirt up over his mouth, shrunk back against the heat of the flames, and closed his eyes, hoping Mom would hurry.
A hand grabbed his shoulder, startling him. Mrs. Teller.
“We need to get downstairs, child.”
Duncan shrugged away.
“I want to wait for Mom and Josh!”
The old woman coughed. “We’ll wait for them downstairs. Come on.”
She reached for Duncan’s hand, and he fought it, pulling away.
“No!”
“Please, Duncan. Smoke rises. We have to get lower, or we’ll die from the smoke.”
Duncan sucked in more bad air, filling his lungs with scratchy heat, and coughed it out. It hurt. When Mrs. Teller grabbed his hand again he didn’t struggle, reluctantly following her back into the shelter. It had gotten brighter, the soft green light of the glow sticks replaced by flickering orange. Duncan looked up, saw patches of fire on the ceiling, spreading out like an upside-down spill.
It was so hot.
Mrs. Teller took him to the middle of the room, and they crouched on the floor. Woof came over, whimpering. He was scared, too.
Mrs. Teller put her arm around Duncan.
“Remember all the cookies we used to bake together?” she asked.
Duncan coughed, nodded. Sometimes they made different shapes, like squares and triangles. Or giant cookies, as big as the pan.
“You always liked to lick the bowl. Mr. Teller liked that, too. We’ll bake cookies again, when we get out of here. Would you like that?”
“Yes,” Duncan answered.
But his mind wasn’t on cookies. It was on the flames, rapidly spreading to the walls and the supplies on the shelves.
Revulsion coursed through Jessie Lee. The lottery commissioner had gotten blood on her arm. Blood had tons of diseases in it. She could practically feel the viruses soaking into her pores. Who knew where he’d been, who he’d slept with?
She dug around in her purse and found a pack of tissue and some moist towelettes that she liberated regularly from the diner. As she wiped her arm and hands, her thoughts of getting sick were replaced by other, more sinister thoughts.
What if the blood isn’t his?
She hadn’t noticed him bleeding. And this was more than just a few drops.
The scenario popped into her head fully formed. They weren’t there to get lottery money. They were there to be killed, one by one. That’s why the electricity was out. That’s why the doors were locked. That’s why the cars from the first people on the list were still in the parking lot. That’s why they were taken into the locker room one at a time. That’s why, once in the locker room, people would scream. That’s why the lottery commissioner looked like that serial killer Marshal Otis Taylor. He actually was Taylor. Somehow he escaped the death penalty, and now he was here in Safe Haven, wiping out the entire town one by one.
“That’s ridiculous,” Jessie Lee said out loud.
She wadded up the dirty tissue and tossed it into the nearest trash can.
“Merv Johnson,” the commissioner said into the PA system. Merv stood up and waddled over to Jessie Lee. He winked as he passed her.
Jessie Lee came after Merv on the lottery commissioner’s list. She frowned. As ridiculous as her theory was, the thought of going by herself into that locker room suddenly seemed like a really bad idea. She hurried after Merv, reaching out and grabbing his arm.
“Merv—”
“Can’t talk now, Jessie Lee. I’m going to grab my check, then hop on the Internet and search for Vettes.”
“What if,” she felt stupid saying it, but she couldn’t get it out of her head, “what if there is no lottery?”
Merv stopped walking. His fat face scrunched up, making him look like a bulldog.
“What do you mean?”
“Did anyone show any credentials? And it’s past one a.m., isn’t that a strange time to be passing out checks? And why is the lottery commissioner guy wearing a black army outfit? And where’s the media? Winning Powerball is a big story.”
“Well, why are we all here, then?”
Jessie Lee chewed her lower lip. This all felt foolish, which meant that it probably was foolish. Still …
“I want to go in with you,” she told her boss.
Merv shook his head. “The mayor said one at a time.”
“Take a good look at the mayor, Merv. He looks positively freaked out.”
They both glanced at Mayor Durlock, who wore an expression that could easily be interpreted as fear.
Merv shrugged. “I’ll ask the commissioner. But if he says no, don’t push it. I don’t want to get on his bad side.”