"No," Jack whispered under her breath.
No. They were too close--she and Donovan were going to escape, they were going to leave everything behind, they were going to have each other. Jack's heart burned in her chest as she stared wide-eyed at Margaret.
Max Slate was going to burn Donovan, the Bookers' house, and the deed to Soka's land to the ground all in one fell sweep.
"When?" Jack demanded, clutching Margaret's scrawny arm between her fingers. "When, Margaret? Now? Tonight?"
"Now." Margaret panted, trying to extricate her arm from Jack's grasp. "That's why I was trying to catch you. It's gone too far, Jack. I didn't want anyone else to die. I swear."
Rage blinded Jack for a moment--rage at everyone who had allowed all this meaningless death to continue unabated, but she had no time to punish Margaret for her stupidity. The girl was trying to save Donovan's life, and that was all that mattered.
Jack released Margaret and dropped her lunch box on the ground. "I have to go. Margaret, please. Tell the town. Tell the firemen, the mayor, Dr. Benjamin, and the Bookers--they need to know. Tell everyone--I'll need help."
Margaret nodded, her hazel eyes still wide, and she pushed Jack's bicycle towards her. "Take it. I'm sorry."
Jack accepted the bicycle, her hands forming around the handles. She knew she should thank Margaret for her belated warning, but her heart was threatening to thump its way out of her chest and she had no more time to lose, so she just nodded and hopped onto the bicycle, her skirts falling behind her. She kicked off of the ground leaving a trail of dust in her wake and pedaled furiously towards the Bookers' house.
Was she too late? Had Max Slate already burned the house, along with Donovan and the deed, to ash? No. She couldn't be too late. She couldn't be.
Jack struggled for breath as she pedalled faster and faster, lungs and legs aching. The bicycle skipped over rocks, teetered on the edge of a ditch, and sumitted the final hill when she saw it--smoke. A huge cloud of smoke rose into the sky, angry and dark. Jack tossed the bicycle to the side and started to run, half bent over by the cramp aching in her stomach.
The Bookers house was in flames. The conflagration engulfed the house in angry flames of red, orange, and gold, leaping up the walls of the house. Jack sprinted towards it, shielding her face from the heat. Donovan's car. She found it parked to one side, but it was empty.
"Donovan?" she screamed, running forward.
Maybe he wasn't inside. Maybe he was hiding somewhere, watching everything for fear that Max Slate would show up to finish him off. Maybe. But the automobile was empty, and no one emerged at Jack's frantic cries.
The heat and the flames brought Jack back to the day the factory had burned down in a huge explosion; Jack remembered the heat searing and melting her skin as she dragged people from the wreck, burns on her arms and legs. She couldn't go back in there. She couldn't try to save him, but there was no one else to help. Margaret had given Jack her bicycle, and the firefighters would not get her in time to save him.
One of the walls collapsed, and Jack shrieked as the siding and shingled roof slid into the yard, surrendered to the flames. She scampered back as a flaming shingle landed at her feet.
She had to save him, and the house was falling down as the fire took over. The Bookers were with their daughter Esther, and no one else lived for miles around. There was no one but Jack to save him.
Half of the house appeared to still be intact and the flames were weaker in the back; perhaps Donovan was still alive, passed out by the toxic smoke and fumes. Perhaps he just hadn't heard her through the roar of the fire. Perhaps he was dead, and Jack would have to drag his body so it wouldn't be incinerated.
Stop thinking, Jack. You have to go in there, and that's that.
Jack reached for the hem of her skirt and tore off the bottom edge, tying it around her mouth so she wouldn't inhale the smoke. Then she tore off smaller strips and wrapped them around her hands, hoping that would be enough to protect her hands from burning. There was no more time to waste. Jack rounded behind the house, scampering through the front yard where the grass was already singed from the fire. The heat decreased as she reached the back of the house, and Jack found the back window. She hoped Donovan had been smart enough to hide in Julius's study. But if he had, then why hadn't he escaped through that very window?
She ran towards the window and clung to the windowsill on her tiptoes. Leaning her face away, Jack punched through the window and the glass shattered. Through the heat, she felt blood drip down her arm where the shards of glass struck her. She cleared as much of the glass as she could with her covered hands and then held onto the windowsill and pulled herself through it. The remaining fragments of glass bit into her skin, but Jack ignored the pain.
She tumbled into the study, landing in a jumble of scarred limbs, and she groaned as she jumped to her feet. "Donovan?" she cried, coughing as her eyes scoured the smoky room. "Kitchi?"
He wasn't here. Was she wrong? Had he already escaped and she was endangering herself for no reason? But he had to be here. His automobile was here, and Minnie had said that he needed to return to gather his things and fetch the deed. If he wasn't in here, then he must be in the main sitting room, half of which had already collapsed from the fire.
Julius's office was unharmed besides unbearable heat and smoke, and Jack searched it for any keepsake she should save for her friends who would now have nowhere to live. She fetched a small album of photographs from his desk and chucked it through the window, but Jack was running out of time. She had to check the main room.
Jack inched towards the closed door that led to the sitting room, and the heat emanating from it made her break out in a sweat. She coughed again, and then reached for the door handle. The metal was so hot that it burned through the strip of cloth on her hand, and Jack pulled the door back with a gasp, releasing it immediately. She didn't look down but she bit her lip at the stinging burn. There was no time to worry about that.
"Donovan!" Jack yelled, inching through the door; she couldn't see anything through the smoke and flames except for shadows. "Are you there? Please, answer me!"
Jack stepped forward but then instantly jumped back when a rafter on the far side of the room crashed to the ground. Sparks flew into the air and Jack buried her head in her hands for a moment. Her entire body, her throat, her eyes, everything burned, but she had to find Donovan.
"Jack?"
His voice was a balm to her burns, coarse and quiet, but she still heard it. He knelt on the floor by one of the front windows, and Jack gasped. His right shirt sleeve had burned away leaving a searing scar on one arm, and another burn marked his cheek.
She rushed towards him, ignoring the pot that brushed against her calf and left a burn, and reached for him, her hands touching every inch of his face and then falling to his shoulders. He's here. He's alive.
"What are you doing?" he asked in between coughs, touching Jack's face with one hand. "You have to get out of here!"
"Not without you," Jack exclaimed. "Come on, we can get out the back. I broke a window."
"Go," Donovan said, motioning for her to leave ahead of him.
As he spoke, a shingle fell through the roof and struck him on the back and Jack reached forward to push it off of him to the floor, which ignited beside him. Jack leapt to her feet, but Donovan didn't follow her. He remained hunched in front of a cabinet that had spilt on its side.
"What are you doing?" Jack screamed, her eyes filling with tears from the harsh smoke billowing through the building.
"I have to find the deed, Jack. You go. I'll follow you as soon as I find it."
"No," Jack croaked, falling to her knees and digging through the jumble of papers. "I'll help you."
As they searched, Jack glanced at Donovan through the bleary air, and saw that his face was drained of blood and his eyes were red and watery. How long had he been in the middle of the fire? How much longer could he last?
Jack gave up the pile and reached for her skirt, now singed and gray from the fire and the smoke, and tore off another piece. "Cover your face!" she hissed, and Donovan accepted it. That was when Jack saw his other hand, burnt and blistered beyond use. Her stomach rolled at the red, swollen skin and she tied the cloth around his face for him.
They both returned to the pile of papers, pawing through it feverishly. "Here!" Donovan cried through a cough, flaunting the piece of paper. "Let's g-"
But his words were cut off as one of the house's rafters came hurtling to the ground. Jack cried out and reached for Donovan as he reached for her. She tried to shield him, but it was too late. He covered her head with his arms and Jack heard the beam crash to the ground. Somehow, the room grew hotter and Jack pulled herself away from Donovan.
Somehow, the fallen cabinet had kept the beam from falling onto Donovan, but it still burned against his back and seared through his shirt onto his skin.
"Get up!" Jack screamed, shoving the deed down her dress. She reached for his arm and tugged on it, but Donovan remained still. The beam hadn't pinned him, but the pain dazed him and he opened his eyes slowly. They were red and only half open as Jack pulled on him.
"Kitchi, we have to get out of here," she yelled, tears welling in her eyes. "We're so close. You can't give up!"
Something in Jack's impassioned cry brought Donovan to his senses and he sluggishly rose to his feet, his back burned and blistered so badly that Jack couldn't look at it. She pulled his arm around her shoulder and he leaned on her as they painstakingly limped towards the office and the broken window. Jack struggled under Donovan's weight, the heat and the smoke overpowering her. I have to get him out, she thought in between spasms of burning pain, I have to save him.
They limped into the office and Donovan collapsed to the ground as Jack pulled the door shut, no longer noticing the burns on her hands, her legs, or wherever else. Her chest pounded but the air was clearer in this room and she sucked the oxygen into her lungs greedily, slumping to the ground next to Donovan.
The clearer air, though still smoky, roused Donovan and he forced himself to sit. "Jack, why...why are you here?" he rasped through rattling lungs.
"Margaret," Jack whispered. "I...I was coming to tell you something, and she caught up to me. She told me Max wanted to burn you and the deed to the ground so he could take the land from Soka."
"So you came to save me, huh?" he murmured, a ghost of a smile appearing on his soot-covered face. He used his good hand to touch Jack's face. "You're a hero, Jack."
She wanted to tell him why she'd really come--to tell him she wanted to run away with him--but none of that seemed to matter. They were alive, though barely. That was what mattered.
"Do you think you can pull yourself through that window?" Jack asked, and Donovan nodded. With Jack's help, he got one leg through the frame and then he jumped to the ground.
Suddenly, the door separating the office from the main room was blown down by a fierce flame. The gust of smoke that came through knocked Jack's weakened frame to the ground and the cloth fell from her face. She sucked in a deep breath of smoke and coughed furiously, and then fell back on the ground. The heat was too much; she was melting, and there was nothing she could do.
Jack closed her eyes and stopped breathing.