Torch (Take It Off #1)(22)
Author: Cambria Hebert

Like when you’re alone in an empty library.

The thought caused me to look over my shoulder. Of course, no one was there, and I laughed lightly at my paranoia. Still, my footsteps quickened as I moved deeper into the shelves of books to finish my task.

A few minutes later, I heard the front door open and close. Great, I thought. Only on nights when I am tired and ready to go home do people come in minutes before I lock up and expect me to stay late.

The little bell on the front desk chimed and rolled my eyes. “I’ll be right there,” I called out, abandoning the cart and stepping down the aisle.

The bell started ringing again. Impatiently this time. Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring!

Irritation slammed through me. I knew they could hear me. It was so quiet in here, they would have to be deaf not to. Guilt followed the thought. Perhaps it was someone with a hearing problem.

I heard an odd scraping sound, a sound that caused me to pause and listen. It sounded as if someone were dragging something across the tiles that surrounded the front entrance and information desk.

Apprehension crawled up my legs like a long-legged spider, and my skin broke out in a cold sweat. I picked up the thickest, heaviest book nearby and held it out in front of me like a club, and I tentatively moved toward the sound.

I might be scared. But I wasn’t going to run.

The sound of a scraping match echoed through the entire building and caused momentary spots to form before my eyes, blocking my vision. I sagged against a shelf and gave myself a mental pep talk. If it really was what I thought it was, I didn’t have time to stand here and be scared. I had to act fast; I had to get out of the building.

Holding my breath, I turned the final shelf, stepping out into the open, facing the door and front entrance.

And that’s when I saw it.

A cry ripped from my throat as I rushed forward.

The large metal trashcan that I kept behind the tall circular-shaped wooden information desk was now in front of the double glass doors.

And it was bursting with flames.

I have no idea how the flames got so high, so fast, but they were growing by the second. If I didn’t do something, this entire building would go up like a bone-dry forest in California. All the books would be toast in minutes.

I tried not to shriek when I realized the flames were taller than me, and I cringed as the metal can began to distort and twist from the too-intense heat. I rushed past it, over to the wall where the fire extinguisher hung, and reached out to grab it.

But it was gone.

That meant two things:

One, I had to find another one and fast.

And, two, whoever started this fire was still in the building.

As much as I wanted to let fear and paranoia overtake me, I knew I couldn’t. I had to put out this fire. And so I did something I always yelled at the TV for when dumb, big-chested idiots ran up the stairs when a killer was after them.

I ran toward the back of the library.

I knew where the other extinguisher was. It was the closest and I felt I could get it the fastest. I lugged the book as I ran, not willing to let go of my impromptu weapon just yet.

When the extinguisher came into view, I cried out in relief, thankful it was still there. With just a few feet between me and the red can, I lurched forward to grab it, and at the same time a very tall, very heavy shelf of books began to tip…

Everything that came next happened in excruciating slow motion.

I screamed, holding the giant book up above my head as if it would protect me, and turned back, trying to jump out of the way of the falling shelf. Books of all shapes and sizes began tumbling off the shelves, raining paper and hardbacks. I deflected them as best I could, lunging away and using the book like a baseball bat to fend off the biggest that fell.

And then I tripped.

The bookshelf plunged after me.

11

I lurched forward, pitching myself to the side, and as I hit the ground, so did the shelf. It landed mere centimeters from my head.

Books piled on top of me, half covering my body. The silence that followed the crash was the quietest sound I ever heard.

Seconds ticked by and I began to move, to test my arms and legs, to take stock of my body and see if I was injured. I didn’t think I was. My wrapped wrists were screaming in agony and I looked up, noting that one of the bandages was torn and my seared flesh was exposed.

I knocked away the books that covered me, pushing up to my hands and knees.

A pair of shoes stepped into my vision.

They appeared to be brand new, or at least rarely worn. They were a common brand, a man’s shoe, but the feet were not nearly as large as the man’s feet I’d become accustomed to seeing.

I lifted my head to look up, to see the face of the man trying to kill me, but before I could see anything, he kicked me.

The toe of his sneaker slammed into my already aching wrist. It buckled instantly, and I fell onto the ground with a sharp cry.

I cradled the injury to my chest as I rolled, nausea grabbing hold of my body and taking me for a spin. I shut my eyes tight, trying to swallow back the worst of the pain.

Get up!

Run!

Fight!

My brain demanded so much more than I wanted to give, but I knew I couldn’t just lie here and let him kill me. And there was still the fire…

The man lifted his foot again and I prepared to fend off another blow, but then a shout from the front of the room caused us both to lose focus.

“Katie!” Holt roared. Just the sound of his voice made my body sing with joy.

“Back here!” I screamed as I rolled, picking up the giant book and throwing it at my stalker. He made a grunting sound as I jumped to my feet, and I turned to stare him in the face.

But he was running away with an oversized black hoodie over his head as he retreated.

“Stop!” I demanded, and to my own surprise I ran after him. He pushed through the emergency exit door and disappeared into a torrent of rain.

“Katie,” Holt said, his voice much closer than before. I turned and saw him standing amongst the books and shelf, staring at me with gut-wrenching worry etched into the planes of his face.

“The extinguisher!” I cried, pointing. “The fire!”

He nodded swiftly, ripped the can off the wall, and then rushed out front. I ran after him, stopping to watch him release the white foamy spray. To my intense relief, the fire went out.

The double glass doors were covered in heavy black soot, but otherwise, nothing seemed to be too damaged except for the floor where the trashcan was sitting.

“What the hell happened?” he said, swinging around to face me.

My body was trembling all over from the rush of adrenaline and fear. My teeth were chattering and my body was shaking uncontrollably.