Free Mammon by J. B. Thomas Page B

to be reckless. Stay here. Protect yourself. Protect Grace.’ Dad nodded. ‘No matter what happens. Remember who and what you are – you can’t take stupid risks.’
    â€˜ This isn’t stupid, Dad!’
    â€˜Joe! For once, do as you’re told!’
    Joe slumped. ‘Okay, Dad.’ He pocketed the bullets and threw Grace a look. ‘Don’t you think she should have a gun, too?’
    Grace’s head began to spin; the taste of smoke in the air made her heart beat faster with panic. She couldn’t be trapped here with fire raging above. ‘Mum, let us go up with you. Please.’
    Mum stroked Grace’s hair back from her forehead, tucking loose strands behind her ears. ‘You need to stay here.’
    Grace took shuddering breaths, blinked aching eyes, gulped air – as fresh tears burned. Mum’s hands were comfortingly warm against her cheeks.
    â€˜Honey. Promise me you’ll try to stay calm while we’re up there.’
    â€˜I don’t want you to go!’
    â€˜Promise me.’
    Mum didn’t normally speak like this. Or hold her like this.
    â€˜I will, Mum.’
    â€˜Good girl.’
    Joe kicked at the wall. Time was getting away, and he couldn’t stop it. He speared his fingers through his hair. ‘This isn’t right! I want to go with you!’
    Dad’s hand gripped his shoulder. ‘No. Stay here. Guard Grace.’
    Joe paced uselessly; with a hard thump he banged his fist against the wall.
    â€˜Son. Don’t do that. Sit down.’
    Joe pointed up. ‘No! I’m going with you!’ He lunged towards the ladder; but Mum swerved in front of him, taking his shoulders. Firmly, she pressed him against the wall. ‘Son, we told you to sit down, and that’s what you’ll do.’
    Joe drew in a sharp breath, staring past Mum’s shoulders. He could charge up there now . . .
    â€˜Do what your mother says, son.’
    Joe sighed. He sank to the ground, arms folded. The rifle lay by his side. ‘This isn’t right.’
    Smoke had turned the sickly fluoro into a brownish grey. Mum threw Dad an urgent look. ‘We have to get moving.’ Dad nodded. Together they began to climb the ladder with calm, purposeful steps.
    â€˜Be careful! Please! ’
    â€˜Dad and I know what we’re doing, Grace. Stay calm!’
    As they disappeared into the smoke, Joe grabbed the ladder and slid it across the floor, resting it against the wall – all the while his gaze pinned on the hole above, where smoke had begun to escape, leaving a black spot in the ceiling.
    Struggling to swallow, Grace’s throat was dry and tight. What was coming to kill them?
    Joe’s fingers tightened around the gun. His heart drummed uncontrollably, adrenaline giving his mouth a bitter taste. He glanced at Grace, who was also staring into the open trapdoor. ‘We should’ve gone with them.’
    She nodded. ‘I know.’ In the distance, a door slammed.
    â€˜Calm yourself. They’ll be fine. Everything will be fine,’ Grace tried to convince herself.
    Who was she kidding? Even now, as residual smoke stung her eyes, and her throat clenched with a rush of tears, it was the heavy cloud of emotion that hit her hardest: her parents’ fear, doubt and false confidence.
    Dread washed over her in waves. She knew what was going to happen, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

HER MIND WAS torturing her. In her imagination, the world that was this little underground room vanished and she pictured the violence that was going on above. Mum and Dad dead on the ground. The sound of savage footsteps. Hard voices, murderous hands that would reach down into this place to kill her and Joe.
    She drilled her fingers into her temples, trying to squeeze the horrors out. Holding her breath until it was all over, she huddled in the corner. She drew her knees to her chest and took a deep, shuddering