Chapter 7 - The Smell Of Gasoline
The sharp, pungent odor of fresh gasoline cut right through the damp, mildewed air of the old boathouse. Clara pressed her hands against the broken window frame, her knuckles turning bone-white as she watched the two figures in dark raincoats move methodically along the wooden dock.
“Mark,” Clara whispered, her voice dropping to a panicked hum. “They’re pouring gas on the dock. They’re going to burn us out.”
David limped over to the window, peering out into the pouring rain. Even through the sheets of water, the faint glow of a lighter sparked in the hand of one of the men outside. A tiny orange flame flickered against the dark backdrop of the woods.
“They aren't just going to burn us out,” David said grimly, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “They want to erase everything. The stolen funds, the ledger, us. They want it all to go up in smoke and sink to the bottom of the reservoir.”
Mark pushed past David and grabbed a heavy iron crowbar leaning against a stack of dusty wooden crates in the corner of the room. He rushed back to the heavy oak door, jammed the flat end of the tool into the gap between the door and the frame, and threw his entire body weight against it.
The old wood groaned in protest, splintering loudly, but the reinforced iron latch held firm. Mark grunted in frustration, swinging the crowbar down like an axe, hacking away at the rotting timber around the lock.
“Daddy! The window!” Lily cried out, pointing toward the back wall of the boathouse where a tongue of bright orange flame was beginning to lick its way up the exterior wooden planks.
The fire caught quickly, fueled by the gasoline that had splashed against the lower walls. Thick, choking black smoke began to billow into the room, stinging their eyes and catching in their throats.
Clara scooped Lily into her arms, coughing violently as she tried to shield the little girl from the encroaching heat and smoke. “Mark! We have to get out of here now! The whole place is going up!”
Mark swung the crowbar one final time with all his remaining strength. With a loud crack, a section of the door finally splintered open, revealing the heavy steel chain wrapped tightly around the exterior handles. He reached his arm through the gap, trying to grab the chain, but the heat from the blazing wall was already becoming unbearable.
David grabbed Mark by the shoulder, pulling him back just as a burning rafter collapsed from the ceiling, crashing down onto the floorboards right where Mark had been standing a second before.
“The floor is collapsing!” David shouted over the roaring crackle of the flames. “We need another way out!”
Clara pointed toward the back of the boathouse, where a set of rusted iron maintenance stairs led down into a dark, flooded sub-level directly above the water.
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Without hesitation, Mark grabbed Clara’s hand, leading them toward the dark descent as the roof above them began to cave in.
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