The flames quickly spread. Nobody else seemed to be actively on fire, but the flames passed from seat to seat as if blown by a strong wind. Patrons were pouring out of the theatre’s four exits, which were providing an excellent means of escape even though they were designed to save wood instead of lives.
Steamspell was perhaps the lowest quality human being Nathan had ever known, yet he certainly couldn’t just stand here and let the man burn to death!
He rushed forward, but only made it two steps before Mongrel grabbed the back of his suit. “Where do you think you’re going, you miserable little bastard?”
“I have to save him!”
“Let his skin crack and blister! I care not!”
Nathan tried to tug away from him. His costume had been constructed with the same standards of durability as the floor, and the back tore off, freeing Nathan and leaving an enraged Mongrel with a handful of cloth that was of no use to him. Nathan leapt off the stage, thinking that cheap clothing had worked out very well for him in his various escape attempts, and that he would always wear low quality attire in the future.
“It burns! It burns!” Steamspell shouted.
“Drop to the floor and roll!”
“There is no spot that isn’t alight!”
“There’s a small one, right over there!”
“I’ll never reach it in time!”
“It’s right next to you!”
“There’s a spider in my mouth!”
“Just drop to the floor!”
“I swallowed it!”
Nathan sighed with frustration and then shoved Steamspell, aiming for a non-burning part of the orphanage owner. Steamspell was a large man and the shoving did no good, so Nathan kicked him in the ankle as hard as he could. Steamspell fell to the floor.
“Roll! Roll!”
Though there wasn’t much room for Steamspell to roll around between the rows of seats, he was able to roll without actually moving anywhere. Nathan kicked at him to help the process along, and soon the flames died out. Steamspell lay there, face-up, his skin severely burnt and smoke billowing from what little remained of his clothes.
Nathan wondered: would he be grateful to Nathan for saving his life, or would he immediately try to kill him?
The answer seemed obvious, and so Nathan ran.
“Oh no you don’t!” shouted Mongrel, grabbing Nathan’s arm as he rushed out into the aisle. “You’ll not be escaping that easily!”
The sleeve tore off, allowing Nathan to easily escape and deepening his resolve to always wear the cheapest clothes imaginable. He ran up the aisle, blinking back tears from all of the smoke. There were no charred corpses to step over, which was good. He ran out into the lobby, which hadn’t yet caught fire, wove through the screaming panicked theatergoers, and hurried into the long narrow hallway. The hallway seemed much shorter when taken at a full run, and soon he reached the exit and rushed outside.
Safe!
Now what? Though people were fleeing to their various means of transportation, Nathan didn’t think that any of them would offer a ride to the fang-toothed monster who’d caused the inferno. He could probably escape unnoticed in the pandemonium, but he wanted to quickly get as far from this place as possible.
And—what a stroke of luck!—there were the horses. They no longer had a coach to pull, and he could certainly ride them to safety.
Of course, everybody knows that riding a horse is not as easy as simply jumping upon its back and requesting a destination. It is also important to remember that Nathan was only seven years old, and thus rather short. So though he picked the smaller of the two horses, Nathan struggled and struggled but couldn’t climb up onto the animal.
“You stupid horse, let me up there!” he said (something he would later regret, for the horse’s height was not its fault). He desperately tried to imagine himself as a taller person, but that did no good. There was no time to seek out a ladder. No time to seek out a trampoline. No time to seek advice from a cowboy.
“I’ll have your head!”
Nathan glanced back over his shoulder. Steamspell, who was so badly burnt that Nathan would not have recognized him if he had not witnessed the actual burning process, lurched out of the theatre, arms extended.
Nathan grabbed the horse’s tail and, with a sudden burst of strength brought on by desperately not wanting Steamspell to murder him, pulled himself up. He scooted to the center of the horse’s back and tugged on its mane. “Yah!” he shouted.
The horse did not move.
“Yah!” he repeated, tugging even harder.
“It’s all over for you!” shouted Mongrel, also emerging from the theatre. Kleft was right behind him, holding a revolver.
How could the horse not realize the urgency of the situation? Three different men were trying to kill him! Nathan dug his feet into the horse’s sides. “Go, go, go!”
“Shoot him!” said Mongrel.
Kleft extended the revolver and took aim. Nathan had a brief, odd moment where he worried more that Kleft might accidentally shoot the horse. Then, as the bullet nicked his ear, he decided that it was equally valid to focus on the hope that his own body would not get hit.
It goes without saying that when Kleft fired the revolver, he did not have Nathan’s best interests in mind. He wasn’t necessarily trying to shoot him in the back of the head, but nor was he aiming the gun in such a way that shooting Nathan in the back of the head was entirely out of the question. In fact, had his arm not quivered just a bit, it’s safe to assume that he would indeed have shot him there, and Nathan almost certainly would not have survived the experience of the back of his skull being pierced and possibly shattered by a bullet, and the tale of Fangboy would have come to a premature, unsatisfying conclusion. He would never have become a legend. He merely would have been a minor footnote in the saga of mankind: the boy with odd teeth who got shot in the head.
But what Kleft did not anticipate is that though his gunshot had the negative impact of making Nathan’s ear hurt, it also startled the horse, causing the stallion to run.
Nathan raced away, thinking how pleasant it would be if Mongrel, Kleft, and Steamspell all decided to cut their losses and not pursue him.
Though it would be unkind to reveal the secrets of this tale to those reading it, it spoils nothing to say that Mongrel, Kleft, and Steamspell did not decide to cut their losses.
NINETEEN
Nathan decided to name his horse Lightning Bolt of Supersonic Speed. Its nickname would be Pursuer Evader. Other horses would hopefully know it as The Stallion Who Effortlessly Saved Nathan Pepper.
“Faster, please,” said Nathan, tugging on the horse’s mane. “Much, much faster!”
He didn’t look back to see what his enemies were doing. He feared that if he did, he might wet himself, and he was having a difficult enough time staying on the horse without the extra lubrication.
The horse galloped down the path. Cars sped past, but the drivers and their passengers seemed more concerned with fleeing the inferno than trying to kill Nathan, which he appreciated.
Many, many thoughts went through Nathan’s mind as he rode down the path, thoughts that one would normally express in all capital letters, italics, and perhaps even boldface. But he kept himself focused. All he had to do was hold on to the horse and he’d be free.
He stopped focusing for a moment as he realized that there was now a car on each side of him. The car to the right contained a very-burnt Steamspell, while the car to the left contained an unburnt but nevertheless irate Mongrel and Kleft.
“Leave me alone!” Nathan shouted.
Kleft was driving, allowing Mongrel to lean out the window. “We shall not!”