Firestorm by Iris Johansen
“Shut up, Dad.” Jason said to Kerry, “If you can find a way to get out of this, do it. Don't think about me.”
“Don't be stupid. I love you. I'm going to get you out of this.”
“I don't deserve you giving up your life to save mine.”
“The hell you don't.” She added unevenly as she started quickly going through another drawer, “Besides, Laura would kill me if I let anything happen to you. I'm not about to—”
“I thought you wouldn't waste time on sentiment when you had an opportunity to take action.” Trask had opened the door. “See how well I know you? Move away from that chest and come downstairs with me.” He pulled a small remote device out of his pocket. “I really don't want to set Firestorm loose just yet unless you force me. I cherish my time with you.”
She stiffened, her gaze on the remote. Then she moved slowly toward him. “And where is Firestorm?”
“Set up outside in the van.”
“Then why would you press the button? You'd be incinerated like the rest of us.”
“I know which areas it's going to strike first. I'd be able to get out in time.” He gestured to the door. “After you, Kerry. We're going to sit down in the living room and talk, and I'm going to look at you and anticipate.” He looked down at the remote. “I imagine you'll be doing a little anticipating as well.”
17
Softly.
Quietly.
Don't spook him.
Silver moved closer to the guard behind the shed. He was a tall, lanky man and he was definitely jumpy. He was pacing restlessly back and forth, his watchful gaze on the house.
Could he get in his mind?
He probed.
He'd probably be able to do it, but the guard wouldn't be easy and it might take too long. He didn't know how much time he had left.
He didn't know how much time Kerry had left.
Screw it. Forget about getting in. Go for it.
Be quick and silent. Get behind him and break the bastard's neck before he could raise that rifle.
Sit down.” Trask gestured to the couch. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Is that supposed to be a joke?”
“A little one,” Trask said. “But I would like you to be as much at ease as possible.”
She coughed. “Then why don't you close those windows? How can you stand that smoke?”
“I like it.” He sat down in the chair opposite her. “You'll get used to it. The fire's too far away for it to be dangerous.”
“How comforting.”
“I've no desire for you to be afraid. I've won and I hope I'm a generous victor.”
“If you were generous, you'd let Jason and my father go.” She couldn't wait any longer. No matter how much she dreaded what she had to do. Concentrate. Dive into that horror he called a brain and meld with him. She drew a deep breath and made the effort.
Ugliness. Darkness. Fire. Scorched flesh.
She scurried away from that slime. Oh, God, she couldn't do it.
“My generosity doesn't extend that far,” Trask said. “I've been looking forward to this for too long. I hate being bested. Almost as much as I hate being humiliated.”
“Stupid nerd.” Tim Krazky straddled him, sneering, “Crybaby.” He got off him and glanced around the crowd of kids watching them before he turned back to Trask. “Go home to Mama, asshole.”
Get even. Get even. Get even.
Flesh melting into bone. Screams. Heat.
Joy.
“You're not answering,” Trask said. “Don't you believe me?”
Talk. If she didn't reply he might get impatient and she'd lose the time she needed.
Smell of roasting flesh.
Talk? She was so lost in his visions she could barely function. Death and hate and burning flesh were so much a part of his memory and motivations that she couldn't get near his mind without being overwhelmed by them. She wanted to run away.
Stay there until you become accustomed to his mind. Then look for a path. That's what Silver had told her to do. Stop being a coward. Force yourself to do it. Find that damn path.
But she had to keep Trask talking while she was concentrating. She wildly searched for a subject. Of course: the element that dominated his life. “I don't imagine many people have had the courage to humiliate you. But you were only a child when you set the Krazky home on fire. I'd think you'd choose a simpler way to punish him.”
“There's nothing simpler than fire.” He leaned back in his chair. “Nothing cleaner. Nothing more beautiful.”
A little girl pounding on the window, trying to get out.
Block out his memory. Move behind the ugliness. Try to find the right path. If there is one . . .
“Why do you think that most people name a fireplace as one of the most desirable features in the home?” Trask asked. “Everyone is fascinated by the flames and by the idea that they can control them. Foolish. The flames only lie in wait for a careless moment and then they get their own back.” He looked down at the remote in his hand. “I'm the only one who can control it.”
That path went nowhere. Try another. Keep him talking. “Firestorm. But do you control Firestorm or does it control you?”
“It's my creation.” He frowned. “Of course I control it.”
“I don't think so.”
She'd found a new path! Deeper, more convoluted. Move fast. Jesus, let this be the one.
“Think what you like.” His frown faded. “And I can see why you'd think Firestorm was all-powerful. That's how I intended it to be. From that first moment when I decided that to control fire was to be close to Godlike. It's not often a man has a chance to be God.”
She'd gone deeper in his mind than ever before. This might be the right one. Move faster. Pray that she didn't run into a barrier. “How?”
“Power. Doesn't the Bible say the world is going to be destroyed by fire?” He snapped his fingers. “I can do that.”
She was there! Now settle in. Then start to push. What had Trask said? “Firestorm isn't that powerful.”
“Not yet. Give me another five years and I'll have it ready. The ultimate power. You'd be impressed. Too bad you're not going to be around to see it.”
She braced herself. Could she do it? Only one way to find out.
Push!
He didn't seem to notice. “I can't tell you how I regret not letting you—”
Suggest, not demand, Silver had said.
Push. Smoke. Dizzy.
Trask shook his head as if to clear it. “That smoke coming in the window must be pretty thick.”
Thank you, God. “I didn't notice.”
Smoke. Lungs tight. Eyes stinging. “Usually I don't notice either. I . . . like it.”
Lungs hot, hurting. Push. Push. Push.
“I'll get a glass of water. That will probably make me feel better.” He rose to his feet and went to the sideboard and poured water from a pitcher into a glass. “Drinking is the only good use for water, you know. I detest it in principle.”
Throat tightening. Choking.
He started hacking. “Christ. I can't even . . . swallow. I guess I'll have to close it. Too bad.” He moved toward the window across the room.
Throat tighter. Lungs burning.
“Christ, I can't . . . breathe.” He shoved the remote into his pocket as he fumbled at the window.
Keep it going. Searing pain in the lungs.
Was he framed against the window? What if he got the window down and moved away? Christ, what if Silver didn't have enough time?
Push.
“Shit.” Trask jerked his hands away from the window. “It's hot, dammit.”
“What do you expect when you spend your life setting fires? You're bound to get burned sometime.” Keep his hands busy and away from that remote. “Try again.”
“Are you crazy?” He moved away from the window. “I can't touch that sill without something to protect me. Maybe we should go outside. The smoke's probably less in f
And it would be harder for Silver to get his shot with a moving target, dammit.
“Come on.” He moved toward the front door. “Get going.”
I almost had him.” George started to curse as Trask disappeared from view. “Two seconds more and I would have had him in my sights.”
“Keep a bead on the window,” Silver said. “He'll be back.”
“It's your call. But I wish I was that sure,” George said. “Sometimes you only get one chance.”
He wasn't sure, Silver thought. If Kerry had lost control, then she might not be able to get it back. Every instinct told him to rush into that house and forget this damn waiting game.
Give her more time. Trust her.
God, he hoped he wasn't making a mistake.
What are you waiting for?” Trask looked over his shoulder at Kerry as he reached the front door. “I told you we're getting out of here.”
“I'm coming.” She slowly rose to her feet. She had to keep him inside. If he went out on the front porch she couldn't be sure what he'd do. Hell, maybe he'd decide to activate Firestorm from his van. Keep control. Stop panicking. She could do this.
“Going outside is probably a good idea.” She moved toward him. “I can't breathe either. Do you think the smoke will be less there?”
“It can't be—” He broke off, coughing. Push. Lungs throbbing as he reached the front door. Eyes stinging, tearing.
He stopped. “Maybe not. It seems heavier here by the door.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
Push. The window. The window.
“What I should have done before. Close that damn window.” He jerked a doily from the chair and strode toward the open window. “I'll just use this to protect my hands.”
“Yes, you do need protection.”
“What?” He looked over his shoulder but he reached out for the window, framed again in the lighted opening. “Why are you smiling?”
“Am I smiling?” If she was smiling, then it was with savage satisfaction. “I wonder why? Maybe it's because you're not going to be God after all.”
“Why do you—”
The impact of the bullet drowned out his words.
“No!” He jerked as the bullet struck him in the chest. “Shit.” He was falling, but even as his knees buckled he was reaching for the remote in his pocket. “I won't let you—”
She was across the room in a heartbeat. She knocked his hand away and grabbed the remote. “No way, you bastard.”
“Bitch,” he whispered. “You won't win. Won't let you—”
“I've already won. You're a dead man, Trask.”
The hatred in his mind was overwhelming. Even in this final moment there was no fear of death. Only fire and darkness and a thirst for revenge.
Swirling.
Poison.
Fire.
“Get out.” It was Silver's voice, Silver standing beside her. “What the hell are you still doing in his mind? Get out!”
She couldn't get out. She was chained, held by the sheer power of evil in the center of Trask's being.
“Let him go!” Silver said.
Trask's eyes were glazing over, but she sensed somewhere, somehow, he suddenly knew. He smiled. “You're . . . caught. . . . Told you I'd win. Coming . . . with me.”
“The hell she is.” Silver was there between them. “Hold on, Kerry.”
She screamed in agony as she was torn free and spiraled wildly into darkness.
It's okay, Kerry. Wake up, dammit.”
She opened her eyes to see Silver's face over her. “I'm . . . awake.” She sat up, her gaze on Trask. His eyes were still open, but his face was twisted in the final death rictus. “Gone?”
“Dead as a doornail.” He stood up and helped her to her feet. “May he burn in hell.”
Her knees felt weak, and she held on to him for a moment before she could stand alone. “No fire and . . . brimstone. He'd . . . like that too much.”
“Sit down.” His gaze narrowed on her face. “You're still not good.”
“Better than if you hadn't pulled me out of that bastard.” She sank down in the easy chair. “Where's George?”
“After he took his shot at Trask, he bolted and went after Ki Yong.” He hesitated. “I should go see if I can help him.”
“Then do it. I'll rest for a few minutes and then go release Jason and my father. They're tied up in a bedroom upstairs. Don't worry, I'll be fine.”
His gaze raked her face. “Yes, you will.” He turned and headed for the door. “This shouldn't take long. I probably won't get there in time to be of use to George. He moves pretty fast.”
She leaned back and closed her eyes after he left the room. Lord, she felt weak.
She took another couple minutes to gather her strength. She was drained. It seemed impossible that it was over, that the evil that was Trask had vanished from the earth.
But Jason didn't know he was safe, and it wasn't fair to leave him in ignorance.
She slowly got to her feet and moved sluggishly toward the kitchen. Find a knife to cut the ropes and then go upstairs and free them. Where was the cutlery drawer? The smoke seemed heavier in here. She opened three drawers before she found a butcher knife.
She heard it as her hand closed on the hilt of the knife.
Crackling.
Above her, through the ceiling of the kitchen.
Where the bedrooms were located on the second floor.
She stiffened. “No!”
She whirled and ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Smoke, everywhere. Not from the barn. Here in the house!
You still won't win, Trask had said. The bastard had set a timer to go off automatically on Firestorm if he didn't press the remote.
Flames licking the banisters of the staircase just as they had in Jason's house in Macon.
No, it was more like the fire in the brownstone all those years ago.
Mama, where are you?
Right behind you. Get help, Kerry.
I don't want to leave you.
Why was she remembering that night now? She wasn't a little girl anymore. She wasn't helpless. She could save Jason.
She tore toward the bedroom door that was outlined in fire.
Smoke. So much smoke. Cover her face.
No time. She threw open the door and ran into the room. The curtains and carpet near the window were blazing.
Jason was slumped forward against the ropes but he was still conscious, coughing. “Get out of here, Kerry!”
“Don't talk, breathe shallow.” She sawed at the ropes.
The fire jumped from the curtain to the bed, and the bedspread caught fire.
“Get . . . Dad,” Jason gasped.
She glanced at her father.
A man standing under the light post.
Blue eyes.
“After I get you free.”
“That whole bed will be blazing in seconds. Get him.”
“I'll have you loose . . . in a minute.” The ropes gave way at last and she tore them off him.
He grabbed the knife from her and leaped to his feet. The next moment he was standing beside his father and cutting him free. Kerry ran forward and helped him tear the ropes away. Then Jason was picking him up and carrying him toward the door, lurching, coughing.
Kerry grabbed a throw from a rocking chair and covered her mouth and nose as she ran after him. The first floor was now ablaze.
God, the smoke was so heavy she couldn't see Jason anymore.
Where was he?
Then she saw him.
And she screamed.
Jason was on fire, his entire body blazing. Yet he still was clinging desperately to his father.
“Drop him, Jason. Get down on the floor.” She pulled her father out of Jason's arms, threw the blanket over Jason, and tried to beat out the flames.
“No.” His voice was choked. “Too late. Save . . . him.” He stumbled back toward the burning railing. “Have to save . .
“Jason!” His name was a cry of agony.
Try to get to him. It seemed hopeless, but maybe there was a chance. . . .
She started toward the stairs and then stopped short.
Save him. Have to save Dad, Jason had said.
But she didn't have to save him. Not when there was the slightest chance of saving Jason instead.
Yes, she did.
She picked her father up in a fireman's lift and struggled down the stairs.
Smoke. Darkness. Blazing patches of intense flame in the living room below.
And Jason was in the center of one of those hellish patches of fire.
She'd been lying to herself. There was no possible chance. No one could live through those flames. He was probably already dead.
“I'll take him.” Silver was beside her, lifting her father from her shoulder. “Get the hell out of here.”
She looked back and knew she had to make a try. She started back toward the fire. “Jason. I can't leave him. I have to—” She stopped as she watched the staircase buckle and fall toward her.
Or was it the butt of a gun coming down?
Man by the lamppost.
Yes, that was it. Fire.
Mama.
Mama, who could never be saved.
Try! Run.
But the path to the lamppost across the street was like an unending tunnel.
It's too late.
The gun coming down.
Blue eyes . . .
Yellow walls. White linen sheets. A plump nurse moving quietly, adjusting the oxygen in the tank beside her bed.
Hospital.
“Where . . .” She sounded like a frog.
The nurse turned and smiled. “Hi, I'm Patti. I bet your throat could use a little water?” She put a straw to Kerry's lips and held it while she sipped it. “You're at Macon General, and you're doing fine. A few first-degree burns and smoke damage to your lungs. You were lucky. Evidently that was quite a fire.”
Jason ablaze as he fell into the flames below. She closed her eyes for a moment as waves of pain assaulted her. “Yes.”