‘What about Amelia?’
‘She made the video. Henry Mason was just getting rid of the witnesses.’
‘But why cut the faces off?’
Sheldon sighed. ‘Like most sick killers, Henry just likes the attention.’
‘Is that it?’
‘Can you think of a different reason? This group are attention seekers. You’ve seen them on the riot footage, those in white shop-dummy masks.’
Tracey shook her head. ‘I’ve seen them, but I didn’t think they were capable of that.’ Then she raised her eyebrows, shock on her face.
‘What is it?’
‘The masks,’ she said. ‘Remember how neatly the faces were cut away?’
‘A template,’ Sheldon said.
‘That’s what I was thinking, that they put a mask on Billy and Amelia and then cut around it.’
‘That will help in proving they did it though.’
‘DNA?’ Tracey said.
‘That’s right,’ Sheldon said. ‘If we can find Billy or Amelia’s DNA on a mask, we can prove their involvement.’
‘But we won’t know which of them took part.’
‘Arrest all of them. Separate them. One of them will give in and talk, because as much fun as it might be to be free in the hills, the thought of prison loosens tongues.’
Lowther pressed a little harder on the accelerator as they turned towards Jackson Heights. There were more cars coming behind them.
‘Let’s just hope we get there in time,’ Lowther said. ‘And I know something else too.’ He looked at Sheldon in the rear view mirror. ‘If what they did to Billy and Amelia is a sign, they are not going to come willingly.’
That made Sheldon sit back in his seat, because the hills were going to be dark, and they might be outnumbered. But he knew one thing; they were going to stop them, whatever it cost.
The group rushed towards the old man’s room, but they all pulled away as the flames crackled through the room, the heat becoming more intense. Those holding on to Donia had let go of her. Arni had dropped the mask and was holding on to the chain around her wrist, his knuckles white as she struggled against him, blood streaming down her face. Arni stared at the doorway, the orange flickers reflected in his eyes, smoke belching out of the top of the frame.
‘Get some water,’ someone shouted.
Charlie looked into the room one last time, saw the figure of the old man, sitting up in bed, blackened by the flames.
He stepped back. The heat made his cheeks smart. Henry was no longer behind him. Charlie leaned away and started to cough. His eyes hurt from the smoke and the heat had become painful. Everything about him felt like it was searing. His skin, his face, his clothes.
People ran past, buffeting Charlie, holding cups of water. It was futile, like scattering ashes into a gale. He darted forward and grabbed Donia’s hand, tried to pull her towards him. It seemed to jolt Arni out of his trance, because he pushed Charlie and yanked Donia back into the room. She tried to twist out of Arni’s grip, but he was too strong. Arni was distracted though, his eyes darting from the flames to Charlie.
Someone shouted, ‘Henry!’ A young woman, a hysterical voice, and then there was a rush of air, fanning the flames onto the peeling wallpaper outside the bedroom. Charlie whirled around. Henry wasn’t there anymore. There was no one there. And the front door was closed.
Charlie ran to it, just for an escape route, Donia screaming behind him, but when he pulled at the door, it was locked. He kicked at it, and then banged on it with his fists. ‘Henry, Henry. What are you doing?’
No reply. It was getting harder to hear anything though. The flames were roaring now, and there were shouts and screams from everyone inside, with the occasional pop of a bottle from inside the room.
Charlie turned back to Donia. He had to shield his face, the heat was too strong. Arni’s spare arm was over his head, curled over, coughing. Donia was hitting him, trying to get him to let go, pulling on the chain. She was coughing too, and so when the chain slipped out of Arni’s hand, she fell to her knees, spluttering.
Arni crawled across the floor, eyes streaming, heading for the kitchen. Charlie guessed he was looking for a bucket, or maybe even a way out. The stream of people vainly throwing water at the flames had gone now, and they were backed into the corner of the living room.
The flames were peeling off the wallpaper in the hall, so that the fire ripped up the walls and spread across the ceiling, making an arch of flame. Donia was shrinking back, scared. The heat over Charlie’s head was intense, beating him back towards the door.
There was some movement near the living room window, the sound of smashing glass as someone tried to make an exit through a window, but the inward rush of air seemed to make the flames burn faster, long licks of orange and black, the crackle of destruction.
‘He’s left you,’ Charlie cried. ‘Save yourself. Forget him. Find a way out.’
The group was a huddle now, coughing, apart from one person trying to squeeze through the barbed wire, heading for the broken window, but stopped by the grille outside.
‘Donia!’ Charlie shouted. ‘Come to me. Quickly.’
He had no plan, but he knew he had to get her away from the group, because they weren’t helping themselves.
She started to crawl forwards, but then Arni’s hand reached and grabbed her hair, pulling her so that she was at his feet.
Charlie knew he was going to have to get her.
There were just seconds left, Charlie knew that. It was time to gamble. If he got it wrong, he would die, along with Donia. Except that there was a good chance they would all die anyway.
The door to the front of the cottage was locked so there was only one way out, and that was up. Everyone was retreating into the living room, huddling closer together away from the window.
Charlie ran for the cluster of petrol bombs still lined up below the living room window. Arni went to grab him, but he was too busy holding on to Donia.
Charlie retreated back to the doorway, so that the flames were roaring just behind him. He had a bottle in his hand. It was hot and his skin felt like it was about to blister away from his cheekbones.
‘Let her go,’ Charlie shouted. ‘Let her come to me, or else I light this and throw it at you all.’
Arni shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘It’s over. Just let her go. Concentrate on yourself.’
‘We’re finished. She dies with us.’
Donia coughed and struggled, as she looked at Charlie, her eyes streaming. He nodded at her, tried to give her a cue with his eyes, that she had to be ready, but she wasn’t focusing on him.
It was a simple plan, but if it didn’t work, they would all die. It was a distraction, nothing more. It would make it more dangerous, spread the fire, but it might just give him that vital second to grab her.
‘Donia!’
She looked up, and then gave him a small nod back. Do it.
Charlie closed his eyes for a second, but he knew there was no option.
He raised the bottle to the flames. The cloth caught fire, the flame running quickly along the material, towards the fuel. He didn’t look at the people in the other room, didn’t want to think of what he was about to do to them.
He threw the missile towards the bottles under the window, like a bowling ball at the tenpins. There was a smash, a clatter, and glass and fuel scattered over the floor and the walls. It was like slow motion, as the spread of blue fire grew over the floor, like a blanket thrown over the room. There was a scream, some shouts, quick movement, and then the entire room went up in a whoosh of flame.
John was thrown back against the wall, the group pushing against him, cowering from the flames. Someone went for the back door, but it was locked. It was always locked, because it would give someone a way in through a dark courtyard. The frantic rattle of the door and the shouts mixed in with the crackles of the fire. There was a scream. He couldn’t tell if it was fear or pain. The heat was too hot on him.
Donia was struggling and thrashing around in Arni’s grip, arms flailing, trying to pull away from the flames that arched over the doorway. He could get to the window, but he himself had fastened metal grilles to it and covered it in barbed wire. There was still a route through, up the stairs, but he couldn’t push the group. They were pinning him back.
He reached for Gemma, so that he could feel the comfort of her hand, but she shrugged him off. She was trying to get past the flames, but the heat was too intense.
‘Gemma!’ he shouted. ‘Go on, run. Save yourself.’
Hearing John’s shout, Arni went to grab her, but she pulled away, trying to get nearer to the doorway. The heat beat her back each time.
He started to push, to force his way through, but then there was movement ahead.
There were shouts, a scream, and then there was a flash, more flames. The group pressed against him. Someone was sobbing. Jennifer, he thought.
He put his head back and watched as the flames licked the ceiling. He was going to die, he knew that now. He reached for Gemma again, but he couldn’t find her.
Charlie turned away as the flames rushed towards him. He felt them scorch across his skin and his nose filled with the smell of burning hair, but the fireball retreated, instead turning into flames that started to eat up the wallpaper, the chairs, the cushions. He couldn’t see Donia, and he thought then that he had misjudged it, but then there was movement of someone running towards him. It was Donia, screaming, her hands over her head, and someone else just behind her, running, pushing Donia forward.
Donia’s jumper was on fire, smoke billowing from her hair, but Charlie dragged her along the hall, towards the stairs, the only part where the fire hadn’t reached, and held her tightly to put out the flames. The smashed living room window pulled the flames towards it although the smoke was billowing upwards. He looked into the room again. The initial rush of fire had died down but was taking hold of everything in the room. A woman ran for the window and then stumbled away, her clothes on fire, screaming. The rest of them were huddled in the corner, hugging each other, one tight circle. Charlie turned away. He couldn’t look. Arni was looking towards him, but he was in shock, staring through the flames.
Charlie ripped off his shirt and tore it into three pieces. He held out a piece for Donia and the other woman.
‘Don’t stop me,’ Charlie warned.
‘Just get me out,’ she said, her voice scared.
He wrapped some of the cloth around his face, Donia and the other woman following. Then he bolted for the stairs.
The smoke was drying out his throat, like a tight grip, so that his coughs came in dry hacks, even behind the rag. His eyes were stinging and the view ahead seemed blurred, but survival was driving him. Donia stumbled behind him. He had no time to assess the situation. It was act now or perish.
‘Windows?’ Donia shouted, pointing.
Charlie looked into one of the rooms. There were metal grilles on those too.
‘Too long,’ he said. ‘No time.’
‘The roof!’ Donia said, and pointed.
Charlie looked up. There was a wooden square in the ceiling above the landing. The entrance to the loft space. They could block out the smoke, give them time to break through.
He leapt onto the banister rail, balancing carefully, and then launched himself upwards at the square, at what he hoped was just a simple loft hatch. It moved when he hit it, but he hadn’t fully dislodged it. He landed on the floor with a thump. He needed to get higher.
There were noises coming from below. Sobs, cries, the desperate whimpers of fear.
‘Hurry,’ the other woman pleaded.
Charlie went to his knees and put his head between Donia’s legs, his back straining as he stood upright, her hands gripping his hair to get balanced. Once he was stood up, Donia was able to push at the board in the loft hatch, throwing it to one side. She turned away as the smoke rushed upwards.
‘Get up there,’ he shouted, coughing. ‘I’ll follow.’
Donia’s legs kicked and thrashed and banged on the edges of the hole, and then she was up there, scrambling into the roof space.
‘Charlie, come up now,’ she shouted.
He turned to the woman. ‘You first.’
Her eyes watered and she nodded.
‘Just go,’ he said, and bent his back again so that she could get on his shoulders.
It was harder this time, his back straining as he pushed, coughing from the smoke, but eventually he straightened himself, his legs aching, jostled as she used his shoulders to get to her knees, her bony shins scraping on his shoulder blades. But then she was up there, Donia pulling her up.
There was a roar from below as something crashed to the floor in the old man’s room, spewing out more smoke and flames into the hallway. The whimpers turned into screams.
‘Charlie, Charlie!’ Donia yelled, her arm hanging through the loft hatch, the chain hanging down, voice muffled by the shirt over her face.
Charlie was trying not to take any breaths, knowing that the next big one would just fill his lungs with smoke.
He tried to steady himself, but each second of delay just made it worse. Donia spluttered above him. He had to move quicker.
Charlie stepped onto the banister rail again, surrounded by black smoke, and pushed backwards towards the open loft hatch. He flailed against an empty space for a second, and then he felt it. Thick wood, splintered. His palm slapped against it and he swung forward as if on monkey bars. Thin hands grabbed at his wrist and so he reached with his other hand and tried to find the edge, to stop the swing before his arm gave up on him. He felt the reassurance of the wooden frame and paused for a moment.
Those years avoiding the gym worked against him, but determination drove him on. Hands grabbed at him, and not just Donia’s. There were two hands on each of his forearms, and he could hear their strains. Then his elbows were on the edge and he could start to pull himself up. His teeth were gritted with effort, sweat streamed into his eyes, but he made it. He flopped across the ceiling beams. They were sturdy oak. They would hold themselves up well.