Chapter 5 - The Inferno
The lit match hit the puddle of gasoline at the top of the stairs, instantly igniting the entire landing.
A massive wall of bright orange fire roared to life, consuming the wooden steps in seconds.
The intense heat forced me to stumble backward, coughing violently as thick, black smoke immediately filled the enclosed basement.
"We have to get out of here!" Grandma choked out, covering her mouth with her sweater.
I ran to the tiny, narrow ground-level window at the far end of the basement, desperately wiping the grime away.
It was completely painted shut and reinforced with heavy iron security bars.
The flames were spreading rapidly across the ceiling joists, dropping burning debris onto the concrete floor.
I grabbed a heavy metal wrench from my father's old workbench and swung it wildly at the window glass.
The glass shattered into a million pieces, letting a small rush of fresh night air into the suffocating room.
But the iron bars remained perfectly intact, blocking any chance of squeezing through.
"It's no use," Grandma cried, sinking to her knees as the smoke inhalation began to overwhelm her.
I refused to die in this dark hole while my brother was sold to monsters.
I looked around the burning room, my eyes watering heavily, and spotted a pair of large, pressurized oxygen tanks sitting in the corner.
My father used them for his amateur welding projects.
"Grandma, get down on the floor and cover your ears!" I screamed over the roaring fire.
I dragged the heavy green tank directly under the barred window and aimed the valve toward the iron grate.
I grabbed the wrench, took a deep breath, and slammed the heavy metal tool down onto the fragile brass valve.
The valve snapped clean off, and the tank instantly became a highly pressurized, completely unguided missile.
It launched forward with a deafening screech, slamming brutally into the iron security bars.
The sheer kinetic force ripped the bolts straight out of the concrete foundation, sending the entire iron grate flying out into the yard.
I grabbed Grandma by her arms and practically threw her out of the narrow window.
I scrambled out right behind her, collapsing onto the cool, wet grass of the backyard just as the entire first floor of the house violently collapsed inward.
We lay on the ground, gasping for fresh air, watching our family home burn to the ground.
Sirens wailed in the distance, but I knew the local police could not be trusted.
"The airstrip," I rasped, helping my grandmother slowly stand up.
"We have to get to the regional airstrip before that plane takes off."
We ran to her truck, completely covered in soot and ash, and sped toward the private airfield on the edge of town.
We arrived just in time to see a sleek, unmarked private jet firing up its engines on the dark runway.
I drove the truck right through the flimsy chain-link perimeter fence, ignoring the damage to the vehicle.
I slammed on the brakes directly in front of the airplane's nose gear, physically blocking it from moving forward.
Dad stepped out of the open cabin door, standing at the top of the stairs with a silver handgun pointed directly at my chest.
"Move the truck, or I will put a bullet right between your eyes," he ordered coldly.
I put the truck in park and looked him dead in the eye.
"You are going to have to shoot me," I challenged him.
Before he could pull the trigger, the dark silhouette of a woman stepped out of the cabin behind him.
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It was Elaine, but she wasn't holding my baby brother.
She was holding a heavy, black duffel bag, and she aimed a completely different gun directly at the back of my father's head.
