Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
And they’d succeeded.
“Oh my God.” The studio was so dark that he couldn’t make out a single feature. Orange flames flickered, engulfing almost everything. Thick smoke hovered in the air like black fog. He coughed as the hot, smokey air filled his lungs. Every breath singed his insides and made him hack and choke more. He tucked his face into the crook of his arm, but it did little to purify the filthy air.
Think. Think.
What was he supposed to do in the event of a fire?
Heat rises.
He pulled the neck of his T-shirt over his nose, then dropped to his hands and knees. Pain exploded through his right palm. He cried out, then bit his lower lip, blinking back tears. The air down there was maybe a fraction of a percent more breathable, but he’d take it. The fire had grown too big, too fast. He’d never be able to contain it himself, but maybe he could save a few things from a blazing death.
He crawled forward a few shuffles, aiming for the front desk. Smoke and ash stung his eyes, making tears pour down his face. The air was so viscous and dark that he couldn’t see a foot in front of his face. With each inch he advanced, the ground grew hotter, his vision decreased, and the coughing worsened.
Keep going.
He tried.
Hot fragments fell from above, scorching his neck, arms, and legs. If he could just make it to the desk, he could grab his laptop or some files, something to make it feel like he hadn’t lost everything.
A violent cough ripped through him, jolting him so hard he levitated off the ground. Sweat dripped from every pore in his body. Panic clawed at his throat. His brain screamed at him to go back upstairs and call the fire department before it was too late, but he needed to save something. Just one little piece of his dream.
All around him, the flames were closing in. He crawled another few feet forward before a coughing fit made his arms give out. His chest hit the ground with a thump. He shouted, but the sound instantly disappeared into the roar of the fire.
Defeat and despair washed over him. He couldn’t do it.
He’d failed.
A sob burst from deep in his gut, turning into another vicious cough. This time, he spit a wad of gunk onto the ground.
The instinct to survive took over, making him nearly desperate for clean, fresh air. Still on all fours, he turned back toward the stairs.
Or did he?
The smoky darkness stole his sense of direction. He didn’t have a clue where the stairs were. All he could see was gray fog and flames.
Get out. Get out.
Tears blurred what remained of his vision. Every breath felt like spikes driving into his chest. Burning palms and raw, stinging knees kept him moving at a snail’s pace.
He crept forward for what felt like hours. Each movement was agonizing and caused more hacking. Dizziness set in. He needed clean oxygen and fast.
For all he knew, he was heading straight into a studio room and to his certain death.
His arms trembled, threatening to give out at any moment. Each movement took a monumental effort. He wasn’t going to make it. The exhaustion was too great.
Where the hell am I going?
Another coughing fit stopped him dead in his tracks. It zapped what little remained of his strength. He collapsed to the floor, unable to push himself up again.
Do. It. Get up!
He tried. His arms shook, and his shoulders ached as he tried to push onto all fours again. But it was a wasted effort.
I’m sorry, Tate…
He choked on a sob.
This would destroy Tate.
As Liam lay prone on the burning floor with his eyes drifting shut, a distant shout tried to break through the haze of delirium.
It happened again. Liam couldn’t get his brain on board to decipher the noise.
“Liam!”
Oh my God. His name. So far away.
“Liam! Oh, Christ. Liam, are you in here?” The sound grew, still muffled by the flames but closer now.
“Here,” he managed in a weak whisper.
“Liam!”
“Tate?” Tate was there?
Oh God, no.
“Don’t.” He tried to shout, but it was barely audible. “Go back.”
A boot crashed into his shoulder, followed by a muffled, “Holy fuck. I found you.” Strong arms rolled him onto his back, then hooked under his armpits. His eyes drifted open and shut as he was dragged out of the fire and up the stairs.
“Fuck, what were you thinking?”
“Tate?” he whispered before coughs stole his breath.
“No. But he’s on his way.”
The air became clearer as his rescuer hauled him up the steps and into the apartment. As soon as they made it inside, his rescuer let him go and slammed the door shut. Liam immediately rolled to his stomach and coughed up a bunch of garbage from his lungs. “I-I can’t see yet.”