Ch.60: The Fire

The timer hits zero.

It isn't a single explosion. It's a series of cascading failures.

First, the sub-basement. I feel it through the soles of my feet before I hear it. A deep, tectonic shudder that ripples up through the concrete.

*WHUMP.*

The gas mains rupture. The spark I set earlier—the shorted wires—meets the fuel.

The blast wave travels up the ventilation shafts. It blows the floor grates out.

Then, the lab.

The oxygen tanks I shot. The chemicals I mixed. They all go up in a sympathetic detonation.

*BOOM.*

The door to the cell bulges inward. The steel warps, turning orange with heat.

But it holds.

Aris is on the other side. I see him through the reinforced glass observation window.

The fire engulfs him.

It isn't slow. It isn't romantic. It is instant, absolute annihilation.

He doesn't scream. He can't. His lungs are paralyzed.

His eyes—what's left of them—widen for a fraction of a second. He sees the fire coming. He feels the heat stripping the skin from his bones.

And then he is gone. Swallowed by a wall of white-hot plasma.

The glass cracks. A spiderweb fracture that obscures the inferno.

I turn away.

I don't need to see it. I know he's dead. I know the Vane Institute is dying with him.

I grab the hard drives from the desk. The black box Aris taunted me with. The evidence.

I shove them into the pockets of my ruined gown.

The floor tilts.

The foundations are compromised. The house is collapsing into the crater below.

I have to move.

I run for the service exit. Not the main stairs—they're gone, a smoking hole in the floor. The emergency tunnel. The one Greta told me about. The one they used to bring in the supplies.

It’s behind the supply closet.

I kick the door open. Smoke billows out.

I drop to my knees. The air is cleaner near the floor.

I crawl.

My hands are raw meat. My knees are scraping on concrete. My lungs are burning with every breath.

But I crawl.

I hear the house groaning above me. Timbers snapping. Steel beams twisting.

It sounds like a dying animal.

I reach the tunnel. It’s dark, damp, smelling of mold.

I scramble inside.

The tunnel shakes. Dust rains down from the ceiling.

"Keep going," I whisper to myself. "Just keep going."

I drag myself forward. Five feet. Ten feet.

A tremor hits. A section of the ceiling collapses behind me, sealing the way back.

I don't look back. There is nothing back there but ash and ghosts.

I see light ahead. A grate.

It leads to the garden. To the storm drain near the gate.

I push the grate. It’s heavy, rusted.

I shove with my shoulder. I scream with effort.

It gives.

It falls open.

Rain hits my face. Cold, clean rain.

I pull myself out. I roll onto the wet grass.

I am out.

I lie there for a moment, gasping, letting the rain wash the soot from my skin.

Then, a sound.

A roar.

I sit up. I look back at the house.

The Glass Fortress.

It is imploding.

The roof caves in. The walls buckle. The windows blow out, showering the lawn with diamonds of broken glass.

A column of fire shoots into the night sky, illuminating the storm clouds.

It is beautiful. It is terrifying.

I stand up. I sway, dizzy with exhaustion.

I clutch the hard drives to my chest.

Police sirens wail in the distance. Blue and red lights flash against the trees.

I start walking toward the gate.

I am bleeding. I am burned. I am skinless.

But I am alive.

I walk past the statue of Hygeia, the goddess of health. Her face is cracked, blackened by smoke.

I walk past the rose bushes, now trampled and broken.

I reach the gate.

The police are there. A wall of cars, lights, and guns.

They see me.

A monster emerging from the flames.

"Freeze!" an officer shouts. "Put your hands up!"

He raises his gun. His hands are shaking. He is terrified of what he sees.

I don't put my hands up. I can't. I'm holding the evidence.

I keep walking.

"I said freeze!"

Thorne pushes through the line. He is wrapped in a blanket, an oxygen mask on his face. He rips it off.

"Don't shoot!" he screams. "That's her! That's the victim!"

He runs toward me. He ignores the officers shouting at him to stop.

He reaches me. He grabs my shoulders, steadying me.

"Elena," he breathes. "You made it."

I look at him. I look at the burning house behind me.

The Vane Institute is falling.