He called, “I need you!”
The alarm in his voice set off a chain reaction inside of Andrea’s body.
At the academy, they had spent hours talking about adrenaline, how it could save you or kill you. The hormone, also called epinephrine, flooded into your bloodstream, triggering your fight-or-flight response. Your senses became finely honed. Your nervous system lit up. At the microscopic level, air passages dilated and blood vessels contracted, redirecting energy toward the lungs and major muscle groups.
Andrea was unaware of any of this happening as she bolted toward the door. She was outside before she realized that she was even moving. Her foot hit the top of the stairs. She leapt into the air and landed hard on the walkway. Bible was already in his SUV. The window was down.
“Look!” He pointed to a plume of black smoke curling in the distance. “That’s the judge’s house. Call it in!”
Bible was so panicked that he didn’t even wait for Andrea to get into the car. He was peeling away as she dialed 911. Dusk had turned the sky iridescent. She could barely see Bible taking a sharp left turn at the end of the street. Andrea didn’t follow him. He’d told her earlier that the house was three minutes away as the crow flies. The smoke acted like a giant arrow pointing her in the right direction.
She dialed 911 as she darted into the yard across from Melody’s cottage. Andrea was jumping over a chain-link fence when the emergency operator finally picked up.
“There’s a fire at—”
“Judge Vaughn’s,” the woman said. “We’ve got units responding.”
Andrea jammed her phone back into her pocket. She climbed over a wooden fence. She landed on a trashcan, then tumbled to the ground. She could smell the smoke now, thick and pungent. The dark color told her that man-made materials were burning. Wood and drywall and furniture. She pushed her legs to keep pumping. Her lungs were screaming. The wind shifted, sending smoke into her face. Her eyes were stinging so badly that she could barely keep them open.
She broke through a line of trees and found herself across the street from the judge’s estate. Flames licked up from the back of the house. Andrea had walked the property for hours the night before. She mentally called up the interior of the house. Two wings, north and south. The main section with the library, office, formal living room and dining room. The kitchen in the back by the garage. She had never gone upstairs, but she knew that the judge and her husband slept on the second floor of the north wing. She had seen the lights on in their bedroom as she walked the rounds. Their balcony overlooked Judith’s studio.
“Fuck!” she groaned, pushing herself back into a full run.
The studio.
Turpentine. Spray adhesive. Paints. Mordant. Acids. Canvas and wood and so many things that could either catch on fire or cause an explosion that could take out the rest of the house.
Bible’s SUV caught up to her on the driveway. She banged her hand on the side panel as she ran alongside it.
“The studio!” she screamed.
“Go!” he yelled, speeding up to pass her.
She watched Bible’s SUV slide to a stop in front of the garage. He jumped out of the car. A lumbering shape came out of the garage. Harri and Krump. They carried Franklin Vaughn between them. The judge trailed behind, clutching a large briefcase to her chest. The thing was so heavy that the old woman nearly stumbled before Bible grabbed her by the waist and carried her away from the flames.
Andrea was skirting around the side of the house when she caught sight of Guinevere running back into the garage. She hesitated, but then Bible chased after the girl. Andrea picked up her pace. None of it would matter if the studio caught fire. The house would be leveled before anyone could reach a safe distance.
Her foot slipped as she turned the corner. The roaring blaze illuminated the backyard. The English garden. The pool. The studio. Andrea coughed, strangled by the thick, acrid fumes. The fire had engulfed the judge’s bedroom. Flames licked out of the windows, chewed away at the wood accents, reached like desperately searching hands toward the studio.
Andrea tripped.
She fell flat on her face. Her nose crunched against the stone path. Stars filled her vision. She squinted them away as she looked behind her, trying to see what she’d tripped on. Turpentine. Cans of paint. Varnishes. Judith had beaten her to the studio. She was running back and forth, tossing the flammable liquids into the swimming pool.
Andrea pushed herself up.
She ran into the studio and started grabbing anything that looked dangerous—spray cans, pots of liquid adhesive. She passed Judith on the way to the pool. Their eyes met for a second. They both knew how deadly the chemicals could be. The first class you took in art school started with all the ways you could poison or burn yourself alive.
Andrea tossed an armful of cans into the pool before heading back for more. The smoke thickened inside her chest. Her fight or flight was turning on her, telling her to back away. There was fresh air in the distance. Or she could lie down. She could staunch the blood that was rolling down her throat. She could close her eyes and rest.
She shook her head as hard as she could, knocking some sense into herself. She threw herself into a run toward the studio. Judith was dragging a five-gallon bucket behind her. Andrea recognized the markings on the label. Sulfuric acid wasn’t flammable by itself, but under the wrong circumstances, it could turn into hydrogen gas, the same type of gas that had taken down the Hindenburg.
Andrea grabbed onto the handle. The hot metal seared into her hand. The bucket was almost full, which meant it weighed about seventy pounds. They both tried to lift it together. Andrea groaned from the strain. The metal ring was like a razor cutting into her palms. Her teeth rattled from the effort. Her lungs couldn’t expand any longer. Her vision started to go.
“Lift!” Judith screamed.
Andrea lifted. Her legs were shaking as she dragged the acid across the lawn. She heard a loud crack behind her. The earth shuddered beneath her feet. The supports for the balcony had started to fall. The upper floor was about to slide directly into the studio.
“Go!” Andrea yelled, straining against the weight.
And then the weight was suddenly gone.
Andrea felt a moment of lightness as she was launched into the air, then the cold slap of the water as her head went under. She fell sideways, her shoulder jarring against the bottom of the pool. Blood came into her mouth. She had bitten her lip. Judith floated limply beside her, hands drifting above her shoulders. The bucket gently settled to the bottom. Andrea turned, looking up at the surface. She saw flames shooting across the water. Then pieces of twisted metal rained down. Then sparkling shards of glass.
Then everything went black.