Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Four,” she says, then winks cheekily. “And maybe even more than that so we’d better get started quickly.”
After the words are out, she realizes what she has said, and I see her wait awkwardly for me to cringe or mentally withdraw from her.
“Makes sense,” I say lightly. “We don’t want to still be changing diapers when we’re fifty.”
Relief that I didn’t make a big thing out of her teasing chatter and run away screaming floods into her face. Her smile is warm with gratitude. “Unless they are our grandchildren,” she jokes.
“I call dibs on not changing any diapers once my kids are old enough to do it themselves.”
“Nice try,” she says.
I shrug. “It was worth a shot.”
Amelia laughs, a happy carefree sound. “Actually, I agree with you. Grandparents are not there for the hard thing, they’re there to spoil their grandchildren rotten behind their children’s backs.”
“Here you will find no disagreement from me.”
“I think…”
Amelia tails off mid-sentence when the sound of a large explosion rocks the restaurant. The swing doors of the kitchen fly open, and a ball of flames and smoke explode out into the dining area. She turns to look in the direction of the sound, her mouth hanging open in shock as the tablecloths on the tables nearest the kitchen catch fire.
The flames take hold so quickly, we’re both still in our seats, staring in shock at the sudden carnage. The smoke fills the air, and I can feel my throat and eyes stinging.
I jump to my feet.
“Come on. We have to get out of here,” I say, taking Amelia’s hand in mine and pulling her out of her seat.
All around us, people are screaming and shouting, jumping up from their seats and stampeding towards the doors. A fire alarm blares out, only seeming to add to the chaos.
21
VIKTOR
Even as I try to head to the entrance, I can see we’re trapped. There is a wall of fire between us and the nearest exit.
I scan around, trying to see a way through the wall of flames without being incinerated. Through the haze and smoke-filled air, I see people rushing for the exits. On the other side of the wall of flames a woman falls down, but no one stops to help her, and I have to look away too. She’s probably going to end up trampled to death, but I can’t get through to her. There is nothing I can do to help her.
The staff are pouring in from the kitchen where the fire originated.
Most of them are covered in burns and one of the chefs is actively on fire. I shout at her to drop and roll, but she doesn’t hear me over the screaming and the roaring of the fire, and her own total panic. Everywhere I look is like a scene out of a horror movie. I force myself to look down at the ground for a moment so that I can think.
I position myself between the fire and Amelia, but I know if we don’t get out of here soon, I won’t save her. It won’t be the flames that get us – we’ll be dead from inhaling the smoke long before that happens.
I wonder if we can make a run for it, dash through the flames and get to safety that way. I take a step forward, but that’s as far as I can go before the intense heat drives me back. I can already smell the hairs on my arms singeing.
The smoke irritates my lungs and I resist the urge to cough, knowing it will only make it worse. Amelia has already succumbed to coughing behind me, and in my mind, I see it happening again. Lisa dying in my arms. Amelia dying because I brought her here. I refuse to acknowledge the thought.
I won’t let it happen.
I turn back to our table and pick up the water jug. I pour the water over our napkins and pick one up. I press it over Amelia’s nose and mouth and see the panic in her eyes and she lashes out instinctively, trying to push my hands away from her. I persist, pushing the wet napkin against her mouth.
“It will help you breathe,” I shout.
My shout comes out as a hoarse sounding whisper and I’m not sure she can even hear me. I pick up the other napkin and press it over my own nose and mouth, showing her what I’m trying to do.
The relief from the smoke is instant when I put the cold cloth to my face. It’s not total respite, but I feel like I can breathe again. I point to the napkin as another cough wracks Amelia’s body and I don’t know if she understands what I’m trying to do, or if she’s just too weak to keep pushing my hand away, because I finally manage to get the napkin in place over her nose and mouth. Her coughing eases off a little and she reaches up and puts her own hand on the napkin, holding it in place.