Chapter 6 - TO THE SURFACE
The slide down the laundry chute was a terrifying blur of scorched sheet metal, roaring fire from above, and choked, breathless darkness.
Claire plummeted vertically through the heart of the burning house. She didn't have her knees or elbows to brake her fall this time—her left shoulder was useless, hanging limply at her side, sending blinding spikes of agony through her nervous system with every bump against the metal walls.
She hit the bottom of the chute at terrifying speed.
THUD!
She slammed onto the soft, shifting pile of loose coal dust inside the cellar bin.
The air was knocked completely out of her lungs. She rolled off the coal mound, crashing onto the cold, damp concrete floor of the coal cellar.
Beside her, Sarah lay unconscious on the ground, breathing in slow, rattling gasps, but alive.
The starved creatures that Leo had warned her about were gone—fled through a torn iron vent grate in the cellar wall when the explosion had rocked the building. The heavy iron grate hung open, leading out into the rain-drenched soil of the basement window well outside.
Above them, the ceiling was groaning violently. Heavy oak floor joists, consumed by the roaring gas fire on the ground floor, were snapping like dry twigs. Glowing embers and showers of white-hot sparks poured down through the open laundry chute, raining onto the coal pile.
In minutes, the entire house would collapse inward, burying the basement beneath fifty tons of burning timber and brick.
“Sarah!” Claire wheezed, her voice reduced to a raspy whisper. She dragged herself across the concrete floor using only her right arm and her knees, reaching Sarah’s side.
Sarah’s eyes drifted open slightly. She looked up through the darkness and smoke, her gaze locking onto Claire’s face. For the first time, the terrifying, vacant film over her eyes seemed to thin out.
“My... my baby...” Sarah whispered, tears cutting clean lines through the black coal dust on her face. “Leo... took him... didn't he?”
“Yes,” Claire sobbed, tears of pain and relief spilling over her own cheeks. “Leo saved him. Leo saved both of you. But you have to move, Sarah. You have to climb out.”
Claire pointed to the torn iron vent grate six feet up the cellar wall, where cold, fresh night air and pouring rain were streaming into the choked room.
“I can’t...” Sarah whimpered, her body completely depleted from months of chemical poisoning and trauma. “I’m too weak...”
“You are not too weak!” Claire yelled, her voice filled with a desperate, unyielding authority. “You survived two years in this hell! You survived that monster! Your sons are waiting for you in that hospital, Sarah! Leo is sitting in a police car right now, waiting to see if his mother is alive! ARE YOU GOING TO LET HIM WAIT ALONE?!”
The words seemed to strike Sarah like a physical shock.
A sharp, primal gasp tore from Sarah’s chest. The mother’s eyes locked onto the light streaming through the exterior vent. Something ancient and unbreakable reawoke inside her.
Sarah pushed herself up onto her hands and knees.
Together, the two broken women crawled across the wet concrete floor toward the window well.
Claire reached the vent first. She placed her back against the damp concrete wall, hooking her right arm under Sarah’s foot.
“Step on my hand!” Claire commanded through gritted teeth. “Reach for the iron lip!”
Sarah placed her foot into Claire’s hand. Claire screamed through the searing agony in her dislocated shoulder as she boosted Sarah upward with everything she had left.
Sarah grabbed the rusted iron edge of the window well, dragging her upper body out through the gap into the muddy grass of the back yard.
Above them, a massive structural beam snapped with a sound like a cannon shot. The roof of the Victorian house gave way, plunging the second floor down into the parlor directly over the coal bin. A massive wave of fire and collapsing masonry roared down the laundry chute.
“CLAIRE!” Sarah screamed from above, reaching her muddy hand down through the narrow vent opening. “GIVE ME YOUR HAND!”
Claire looked up. The ceiling directly above her head was buckling, glowing bright red.
She didn't reach for Sarah’s hand—she couldn't reach that high with one arm.
Instead, Claire jumped with all her remaining physical strength, jamming her boots against the rough concrete wall, scrambling upward like a climber on a sheer rock face. She drove her head and shoulders through the narrow metal vent frame.
Sarah grabbed Claire’s scrub collar with both hands, pulling with frantic, maternal fury.
They tumbled out together onto the wet, muddy grass of the backyard just as a colossal pillar of flame and debris exploded upward through the cellar floor behind them.
The shockwave knocked them both flat onto the mud.
Rain—glorious, freezing, clean rain—poured down onto Claire’s face, washing away the sting of the plaster dust, the smell of gas, and the heat of the fire.
Through the heavy downpour, Claire heard screaming voices and flashing red lights round the corner of the house.
“OVER HERE!” a tactical officer shouted, his heavy boots splashing through the mud. “WE’VE GOT SECONDARY SURVIVORS IN THE REAR YARD! MEDICS! GET THE GURNEYS NOW!”
Officer Vance burst through the bushes, dropping to his knees beside Claire. His face was pale with shock, his hands trembling as he checked her pulse and looked at her dislocated shoulder.
“Claire... Jesus Christ, Claire...” Vance breathed, his voice cracking. “We thought you were inside when the gas blew.”
Claire lay in the mud, staring up at the dark, rain-swept night sky. She let out a long, ragged laugh that turned into a heavy cough.
“Where is... Leo?” she wheezed.
Vance turned toward the front yard.
Through the pouring rain, a tiny figure in faded, oversized superhero pajamas was running across the muddy lawn, breaking past the police tape, ignoring the shouts of the officers.
“MOM!” Leo’s voice screamed through the storm, raw and hysterical. “MOM!”
Sarah pushed herself up off the mud, resting on her knees.
Leo hit the ground beside her, throwing his small arms around his mother’s neck with so much force they both tumbled sideways into the wet grass. Sarah wrapped her bruised, cut arms around her eight-year-old son, burying her face into his wet hair, weeping so loudly it rose above the roar of the fire and the sirens.
“I’m sorry... I’m so sorry, Leo...” Sarah sobbed, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his eyes over and over again. “I remember... I remember everything... I’m sorry I forgot...”
“You didn't forget, Mom,” Leo cried, holding her tight, his small shoulders shaking violently against her chest. “I brought the nurse. She helped me bring you back.”
Claire closed her eyes, letting the cold rain wash over her battered face, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of her own heart.
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The man in the wall was gone, swallowed by the fire he had built. The house on Elm Street was nothing more than a towering bonfire against the dark sky.
The nightmare was over. But the long road to healing was just about to begin.
