its safe. The cooler should be lined with metal. Good enough place as any to keep you safe from a fire.”
“And what are you going to do?”
They found the lever-handled door of the cooler inside a back office, and Jake opened it, putting her down gently on boxes of wine coolers and light beers. “Stay here.” He whispered lightly in her ear.
“Wait, Jake!” She leaned against the metal-lined wall, soaking in the welcome coolness. “You didn’t answer me. What are you going to do?”
He stood, the door half-closed. “I’m going to stop them.”
He shut the door behind him, and the overhead light went out. She was alone in the dark cooler. “I can’t even see to find a decent bottle of beer.”
She couldn’t even laugh at her bad joke as she sat there, scared and waiting in the dark, fighting the urge to open the door to see what was going on. He had told her to stay here, that she would be safe here, but she didn’t feel safe. Confined spaced bothered her, and so did the dark.
The cooler rocked violently. Boxes fell over, bottles breaking and splashing alcohol everywhere. She was bounced to the cold, hard floor and left wondering what had just happened as her shoulder screamed in pain.
Complete silence fell. There was no sound except her own rapid breathing and the rushing of blood in her ears. She listened for anything else. But there was nothing.
She rolled up onto her knees, and from there she used the wall of the cooler as leverage to push herself to her feet. The door opened from this side by pushing a plunger in. She found it in the dark and rammed her hip against it. The door swung farther outward
Brianna couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
There wasn’t much left of the store. The front of it had been ripped open, jagged pieces of wall and ceiling surrounding a gaping hole, debris strewn everywhere, wood and steel and roofing tiles mixing with bags of chips and canned goods. Back here where she stood, the place had fared better, with the display racks still standing and a soda fountain still in place.
Everything was on fire.
Flames licked at everything. The walls, the ceiling, the coolers of milk, the soda, and the energy drinks. She picked her way carefully to the front of the store. What was left of it, anyway.
“Jake?” she called out. “Jake!”
Then she stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh my God.”
The parking lot was a seething, living mass of fire. Orange and red flames stood tall and bright against the night; burning everything. The gas pumps were blown apart, so much twisted metal and melted plastic. The overhang above the pumps was crumpled over to one side, burning along with everything else. A charred skeleton of the black sedan had been tossed several dozen feet from where she had seen it last and landed on its side. Flames danced along its remains.
In the middle of the fires stood Jake Valcour.
As she got as close as she dared, he turned toward her. He was standing in the flames themselves, but he was not burned. His skin was untouched. His black hair blew wildly in the hot winds of the fire that parted and coiled around him. His arms were outstretched, as though he was welcoming the conflagration, supporting it, inviting it to him. His clothes weren’t even singed.
But his eyes were very changed. They were no longer the pale green with streaks of gold. Now they burned brightly, gold throughout, from corner to corner. Even the whites blazed gold as they reflected the harsh light of the burning flames. The visual effect was stunning and terrifying at the same time.
“You should not be here,” he said to her, in a voice not his own.
“Jake? Oh, Jake. What did you do?”
“I burned them. I sent them back to the Hell where they came from.”
His voice was booming and forceful, yet melodic. It captivated her and held her in place. She wasn’t sure if she stood frozen out of awe or out of fear. Every syllable was crisp and powerful. In that moment, as she saw
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