Through the Flames Read online

  Surely he would retreat when he reached the wall of flame that filled the third floor, wouldn’t he? But what if he didn’t? Judd felt a huge and terrible responsibility for his new friend and brother. He couldn’t afford to lose Lionel. He would never forgive himself. He charged into that building like a crazy man, not knowing whether he was there to drag Lionel out or help him find his uncle André. All he knew was that he was on his way.

  People tried to stop Judd just as they had tried to stop Lionel. But the roar of the fire grew, and soon people worried only about themselves. To Judd it seemed the heat and noise intensified with every step up the stairs. On the second-floor landing he ran into a family who seemed to be moving in slow motion. The man was huge and heavy. He waddled across the landing, his big belly leading the way, with an old woman straddling his neck and a frail, elderly man in each arm. The men howled and the woman sobbed. The man merely looked resolute, as if the only thing on his mind was saving every member of his family. Judd hesitated and watched them go. The man stumbled on the first step leading to the lower floor and had to run awkwardly downstairs to remain upright. He turned at the last moment and his shoulder crashed against the wall, making his wife scream, but he somehow kept any of the three he carried from getting hurt.

  Judd turned back in time to see Lionel barging up to the third floor, where the heat and flames were so oppressive Judd couldn’t imagine how anyone could breathe, let alone survive. His instincts screamed at him to turn back, but he would not let Lionel do this alone.

  When Judd finally caught up with him on the third-floor landing, Lionel had stopped at last. The fire billowed, flames devouring the ceiling, popping bulbs and melting fixtures. Old drywall and slats burned and fell around them. “We can’t go any further!” Judd hollered, but Lionel either didn’t hear or refused to pay attention.

  “He’s right through there!” Lionel screamed, pointing at the first door across the hall. The door seemed the only thing above floor level not on fire. “LeRoy would never have had time to lock him in!”

  “That knob will be hot!” Judd said, but Lionel was ahead of him, pulling off his shirt and wrapping his hand in it. He ducked and scampered to the door, turning the knob while Judd kicked at the door.

  The knob was so hot it started Lionel’s shirt afire. He beat it out on his thigh as the door swung open and banged against the wall. There was no doubt the fire had begun in this room, and LeRoy—if he had done it—had not even tried to hide the evidence. A five-gallon gas can lay in a corner, sending flames licking to the ceiling.

  Judd had never felt such heat, and it seemed as if his skin were blistering and might slide right off his face.

  “Here he is!” Lionel shouted from the bathroom. “He’s bleeding!”

  Judd caught himself just in time to keep from telling Lionel not to try to move André. How absurd would that be? No matter what André’s injuries, even tossing him out the window would be preferable to letting him roast to death in this room.

  Judd made his way to the bathroom door, where Lionel had already begun dragging his uncle out by his shoulders. Judd was bigger and stronger than Lionel, so he told Lionel to grab André’s feet. Judd thrust his fists under André’s arms from behind and began scooting backward out of the bathroom and toward the door.

  Praying they would have time to get the man down the stairs before the whole building came crashing around them, Judd heard sirens and people screaming. He was suddenly aware that his left forearm was being drenched anew with every beat of André’s heart.

  “At least he’s still alive!” Judd shouted.

  EIGHT

  Hard Truth

  THOUGH André was not a big man, he was barely conscious and unable to help Lionel and Judd get him down two flights of stairs. Judd thought André was trying to talk, but all he could hear was a gurgle above the roar of the flames and the crashing of his own heart.

  Judd tried to keep his eyes closed because the heat and smoke grated on them. He peeked each time he felt Lionel backing into another turn, and once he saw a burning wood slat drop onto Lionel’s shoulder. Lionel flinched when it hit him, but when it stuck and kept burning, he had to drop one of André’s legs to brush it away. That made Judd lose his grip, and he fought to hang on. André’s weight carried Judd down toward André, and he found himself nearly stumbling over the wounded man.

  As the boys struggled to get a new hold on André, a great roar and crash came from above them, and Judd knew the top floor was giving way. Would it take the second floor with it and crush them beneath a fiery load? They didn’t have time to wonder. With his skin blistering and his lungs desperate for clear air, Judd thrust his hands deeper under André’s arms, lifted, and began moving as quickly as he knew how. He tried to keep as much weight as possible off Lionel, who was lighter and lower on the stairs, trying to guide their cargo to safety.

  André thrashed and screamed, and Judd wondered if he would have to punch him in the face to protect him from himself, the way he had seen in movies. But there was no time, and he didn’t know if he was strong enough to knock out a grown man anyway.

  Fire surrounded the boys, and Judd heard the walls and ceiling dropping behind him. The whole staircase shuddered beneath their weight, and as the last of the other tenants pushed through the front door and out into the night, three firemen swept in, axes in hand, and surveyed the scene.

  They apparently didn’t see Judd and Lionel and André at first. They studied the crumbling holocaust, looked at each other, shook their heads, and turned to head back out.

  “Hey!” Judd shrieked. “Help us!”

  The three whirled as one, tossed their axes out through the glass doors, and rushed up the stairs. “You boys get out now!” the first said. “We’ve got this guy!”

  Judd let go of André, who now rested awkwardly with his head upstairs and his feet in Lionel’s hands. Lionel refused to let go. Judd kept the front door in sight, fearing he would pass out if he didn’t get fresh air, and right now. He grabbed Lionel on the way past and was amazed at how strong the younger boy was. Judd could barely budge him at first, but with his weight heading down, he got enough leverage and yanked Lionel away from his uncle.

  Just as the first fireman lifted André and threw him over his shoulder, the whole staircase dropped three feet. That made the firemen and the boys fall onto the burning floor, and André dropped onto his back. “Get out! Get out!” the first fireman yelled. “All of you!”

  He lifted André again and used his knees and shoulders to herd the boys the last few feet to the door. At a dead run now, the big man carried the thrashing André on his back. He charged through what was left of the glass, Judd and Lionel a step ahead of him. The four of them tumbled and rolled out into the night air, landing in a heap in the grass. Judd sucked in the sweet air for his very life.

  The fireman dragged André thirty feet from the inferno and laid him on his back, barking into his radio for paramedics. He whirled to face the building and, not seeing his coworkers, sprinted back, grabbing his axe on the way. Judd watched him call for support, frantic to get to the two firemen still trapped inside.

  As more firemen donned oxygen masks and began the dangerous journey into the fire, Judd turned back to see Lionel sprawled nearly atop his uncle, who appeared to be breathing his last. Blood still spurted from the right side of his neck, but his heartbeat had slowed and weakened. “No! No!” Lionel screamed. “God, don’t let him die! André!”

  Judd covered with his hand the deep wound in André’s neck as the man tried to talk. “This is what hell will be like,” he rasped. “I deserve it, Lionel.”

  “No! We all deserve it, André! But you don’t have to go! Don’t go!”

  “It’s too late for me. I’m not gonna make it, boy.”

  “André! You can still go to heaven! Pray! Pray!”

  “It’s too late.”

  “It wasn’t too late for the thief on the cross! Please, André!”

  Judd’
s fingers were directly on the carotid artery, which is where Judd assumed André had been shot before the apartment was set afire. He felt precisely when André’s heart stopped. André thrashed a bit more, shaking his head. “Can’t breathe,” he whispered. And suddenly he went rigid.

  Lionel sobbed while using his shirttail to wipe André’s face and his own mouth. He leaned over and began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but Judd knew the heartbeat was as important as the breathing. Judd began rhythmically pushing on André’s chest, and with each thrust a tiny rivulet of blood eked from André’s neck.

  “It’s no use, Lionel,” Judd said. “He’s gone.”

  “No! Don’t give up!”

  Two medics arrived and pulled the boys off André. “Let me get in here, guys,” one said. “I can do more than you can.”

  He slapped an oxygen mask on André as his partner felt for a pulse in the neck. “What happened to this guy?” he said.

  “I think he was shot,” Judd said.

  “Keep him alive!” Lionel insisted.

  “It’s too late, son. I’m sorry.”

  “Try!”

  “Son, this man is gone. Now we have firemen to attend to. I’m sorry.”

  Lionel was inconsolable. He would not leave André’s body, even when the medics came back and covered it with a sheet and told Lionel someone would be there soon for the body. Judd tried to get Lionel to come with him back to the car, but he would not budge. He didn’t talk, didn’t pray, didn’t do anything but kneel next to André, rocking and shaking his head as he wept.

  “I’m going to go tell Vicki and Ryan what happened and bring the car back to get you,” Judd said. Lionel didn’t respond. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, but I’m probably not going to be able to park very close. You don’t have to come until someone comes for André, OK?” Judd got no reaction from Lionel. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  Judd planned to jog back to the car, but when he rose, he could barely walk. He didn’t know what he had done to strain his ankles, his knees, his hips, even his shoulders. He felt like an old man, slowly making his way past the tenants, the onlookers, and the emergency vehicles. The cool night air felt good in his lungs, but it stung his face, which he was afraid to touch. He knew he would have blisters and burns, but he was sure he had not been seriously or permanently injured.

  The farther Judd got from the burning building, the stranger the experience seemed. Was this a dream? Had it really happened? He couldn’t imagine anything as traumatic as losing his family to the Rapture and being left behind, but neither had he ever been through something like this. The sounds of the blaze faded more with each step, and though he saw the shadows of the flames in the darkness, he had to turn and look once more to let the reality set in.

  Judd began to pray. He felt sobs rising in his chest as he thanked God that LeRoy, or whoever had done this, had not arrived while Lionel was still in that apartment. Surely he too would have been shot and burned to death.

  Lionel had tried so hard to reach his uncle for God. Judd could only hope that Lionel would eventually accept that these decisions were personal. After all, that was why both he and Lionel had been left behind in the first place. No one could make the decision for them.

  The police had already barricaded several streets leading to the apartment fire. Gawkers seemed to come from everywhere. Judd finally decided he couldn’t cater to his fatigue and pain anymore. He owed it to Vicki and to Ryan to get to them and tell them how much longer he would be.

  But when he got to where he had left them in the car, he found nothing. Now what? Neither of them was old enough to drive. Had someone stolen the car? If so, where were Vicki and Ryan? Had LeRoy come by here?

  Judd spun around in the street, his eyes landing on a cop directing traffic away from the fire. The cop was short and husky with thick, wavy blond hair. “Someone stole my car!” Judd shouted. “And two of my friends were in it!”

  “So they stole it,” the cop said. “Find them, you find your car.”

  “They’re both too young to drive.”

  “Then find ’em quick. I’m kinda busy here.”

  “I have no idea where to look.”

  The cop talked without looking at Judd, keeping his attention on the traffic. “What kind of a car was it?”

  “A BMW.”

  The cop laughed. “Daddy’s car, hmm?”

  “Yup.”

  “And what was a nice boy like you doing in a neighborhood like this with a car like that?”

  “Looking out for a friend.”

  “Another rich kid with no business here?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Can’t help you, son. ’Fraid lost or even stolen cars are pretty low priority these days. We barely had enough guys to handle this fire.”

  “If I tell you who firebombed that building and murdered a guy, will you help me find my car?”

  The cop suddenly focused on Judd. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “I couldn’t be more serious,” he said.

  “Wait right there,” the cop said. He hurried to the side of the street and dragged into the intersection an oversized, blue wooden construction horse with “Police Line. Do Not Cross” painted on it in white. He stepped to his squad car and spoke into his radio. Then he waved Judd over. His nameplate read Sgt. Thomas Fogarty.

  “That’ll take care of the traffic until I get some backup,” he said. “Now, listen—whew, you smell like you were in that fire.”

  “I was,” Judd said, eager to tell his story.

  Sergeant Fogarty grabbed Judd by the shirt and pushed him up against a light pole. “You listen to me, kid. This has nothing to do with you, but I was in the homicide division until I got busted back down to traffic detail for reasons you don’t need to know. I tell you that only so you’ll know that I understand murder. I’m not lookin’ to crack some new case to get back into homicide, but that wouldn’t be bad either. The thing is, if you know anything about this fire and it really involves a murder, I’ll know whether you’re lying or if there’s a ring of truth to it. Now what’s your name?”

  Judd told him and showed him his driver’s license. “How long you been drivin’?” Fogarty asked.

  “Not that long,” Judd said.

  Fogarty directed Judd to the squad car, where they sat in the front seat. The cop radioed in a request for an APB (all points bulletin) on Judd’s car. Then Judd told him the whole story. He began with losing his family in the vanishings (“I lost a few relatives myself,” Fogarty said) and told how he and Lionel had met. He told the cop about the phony suicide/murder, the invasion of Lionel’s home, Ryan’s close call, Lionel’s visit to André that evening, and everything that followed.

  “So you’re guessing this LeRoy is the shooter because your friend, what’s his name—?”

  “Ryan.”

  “Right, Ryan ID’d the yellow and brown van.”

  “Right.”

  “Let’s get you back over to the scene and see if we can help your friend and be sure the body is taken care of.”

  As Sergeant Fogarty pulled out into traffic his radio squawked to life with the news that a cruiser had just pulled over the BMW that was the subject of the APB. “Who’s the driver?” Fogarty asked.

  “Female Caucasian, Byrne, Victoria, underage, no license. Other occupant male Caucasian, Daley, Ryan, age twelve.”

  “Ten-four. What’s their story?”

  “She says they were awaiting two other friends, the driver, male Caucasian, Thompson, Judd Jr., sixteen, and male African-American, Washington, Lionel, thirteen. Long story, Sarge. She thought they were safe with the doors locked and engine idling. Claims they were nearly hit by a van.”

  “Let me guess. It was yellow and brown.”

  “Ten-four.”

  “That checks out. Don’t cite her unless there’s some obvious violation.”

  “She wasn’t moving when I found her. Nothing to cite.”

  “Give me y
our ten-twenty, and I’ll bring the driver within the hour.”

  André’s body was being loaded into an ambulance when Sergeant Fogarty pulled up to the scene. He asked a paramedic to check for a carotid artery wound. “Already checked, sir. In our opinion, it was the cause of death. That’ll have to be confirmed by the coroner, of course, but this man bled to death. No ID on him, by the way.”

  “Let me give you one,” Fogarty said. He got the information from Judd and Lionel, who sat sullenly in the backseat of the squad car, and the medic pinned the identification to the body.

  “It’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Fogarty told the boys as he drove them back to Judd’s car, “but we’ll use heavy duty metal detectors to try to find the bullet, and maybe the weapon, in the rubble.”

  Judd sighed heavily, feeling every ache and pain and grieving with Lionel, who cried softly in the backseat.

  NINE

  The Setup

  EARLY the next morning, Judd stood gingerly in the shower, his scalp and face and neck and hands stinging from the spray on his tender flesh. If everybody else in his house had slept like he did, they had been dead to the world. What a night that had been!

  All the way home, Ryan and Vicki had told and retold their harrowing escape from LeRoy and his brown and yellow van. Lionel had listened but did not respond at first. “Are you sure it was LeRoy?” Judd had asked.

  “Positive,” Vicki said. “Ryan got a clear look at him. We were just sitting there when we heard someone race up behind us. I was sitting behind the wheel, just to see what it felt like, and the engine was running. I had driven my friends’ cars before, you know, like in an empty parking lot late at night, so I knew the basics. Anyway, we see this van come barreling past us, and we both lean up against the window for a closer look.”