Free Relics by Mary Anna Evans Page A

that had nothing to do with dawn. The air above her was a smoky haze that reflected the light in a dark, ruddy glow. She rolled off the bed onto the floor, hoping to find some cooler, cleaner air that her lungs could tolerate. Where to go? There were two doors to her room and two windows. One of the doors led to the house’s central hall, but it was part of a wall that was already on fire, so it was best to leave it closed. The windows appealed to her as the quickest and easiest way out, and Faye instinctively wanted to jump out the window and run, but she couldn’t leave Laurel.
    “Somebody help me! I can’t reach my crutches.”
    On all fours, Faye lunged across the floor and reached up for the old-fashioned iron doorknob of the door that connected her room to Laurel’s. It was hot, but not so hot that she couldn’t turn it. The opening door revealed Laurel, cowering on the floor against the room’s outside wall. Her crutches were propped against the wall on the far side of her bed, and that wall was on fire. Flames licked at the crutches and reached out for the bed where Laurel had been sleeping. The younger woman’s hands scrabbled at the wall, trying to find something sturdy enough to help her pull herself onto her feet.
    Faye crawled to the window nearest Laurel and tried to lift it. It was locked, and the locks were four feet above her head. She didn’t dare stand up into the toxic smoke that might blind her or scald her lungs. Instead, she grabbed the bedside table with one hand, slinging a lamp and a paperback book to the floor. The table was old and crafted of solid walnut, so it had a satisfying heft as Faye hurled it at the window. It crashed easily through the old, rippled glass.
    Using the base of the lamp, she knocked the broken glass out of the window frame, then dragged in a lungful of decent air and closed her eyes. Raising herself just enough to sit, crouched over, in the open window, she grasped Laurel under both armpits and lifted the younger woman to her lap. Then she let herself fall backward, and the two women toppled out.
    Faye’s head hit the ground with far more force than she would have preferred. The impact drove the air from her lungs and, as she struggled for breath, her field of vision collapsed into a narrow tunnel focused only on the hypnotic dance of the uncontrolled fire. It frightened her to watch the tunnel narrow, snuffing the orange and red flames, bit by bit. She needed to get them further away, but she was losing consciousness and there was nothing she could do about it.
    Where was Carmen? Why wasn’t she screaming for help? Had she escaped? Faye did her best to fight off the encroaching darkness, but she failed.
    ***
    Faye felt two small hands grasp her under the arms, then pull her a yard or so in the proper direction, which was away from the burning house. She opened her eyes to see Laurel crawl another few feet, grab Faye under her arms, and pull her again. Laurel might not have the full use of her legs, but she was doggedly stubborn. While Faye was unconscious, Laurel had managed to drag her a safe distance from the house.
    From Faye’s flat-on-her-back viewpoint, the fire was spectacular. Flames burst out of the walls beneath a tin roof supported by rafters that must soon fail. The fire reached for them out of every window of the all-wood structure that had been seasoning for a hundred years or more. It would burn fast and hot, and it would leave almost nothing behind.
    Her head clearing, Faye sat up. “Have you seen Carmen? Did she get out?”
    The firelight illuminated Laurel’s terrified eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe she got out her window. She’s on the other side of the house. I can’t…”
    “I’ll go look,” Faye said, rolling over onto all fours, shifting her weight onto her legs, then kneeling for a moment. She pushed off the ground and managed to stand up and take a wobbly step.
    Staggering and weaving like a drunkard, she made her way around the