“Oh, come on,” Jasper shouts. “There’s nobody coming!”
“I wish they weren’t, believe me,” Quentin says with a calm shake of his head. “Some of them are here already. Fiona has a bullet wound to prove it.” But the way he says it makes me feel like Cassie was probably right: Quentin was responsible for that too. He turns then and crouches down in front of that thin hole in the cabin wall. “I’ve always thought that the only thing worse than having no way out is falsely believing that you do.”
I hear a faint sound then near the door, Stuart’s voice maybe, talking to Lexi? Jasper coughs to cover the sound. Lexi doing as she promised, getting Stuart off the door. This is it. We can’t wait any longer. This is our chance. Quentin is still crouched down, looking at the carefully cut rectangle in the wall. He is distracted enough to buy a moment. I turn to Jasper and Cassie.
“Go,” I mouth at them. “Now.”
Maybe I will even be fast enough to follow before Quentin grabs me. Do I believe that? No, not really. But somebody has to get away. And part of me died the day my mom did. Maybe this is a sign that it’s finally time for the rest of me to go.
What happens next happens so fast. And none of it is what I intended. None of it is what I wanted.
The cabin door does not fly open. I do not watch Cassie and Jasper disappear out into the night. It’s Cassie who moves first, and so fast. But not toward the door like she’s supposed to. Instead, she lunges to the side and grabs up one of the lanterns. A second later she swings it high overhead, then smashes it to the ground between Quentin and me.
And I think: What? Why?
Quentin seems to think the same as he stands and we all stare down at the small pile of broken glass, and the silly little blue flame sputtering in its midst. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks Cassie, amused almost.
Jasper speaks next. Because he doesn’t understand either. “Cassie, what are you—”
But then she spins to face me, puts a hand in the center of my chest, and shoves. Hard. As I stumble back, I catch a whiff of the smell. The jeans and coat she never changed out of are still tinged with gasoline.
Suddenly, I understand everything. “Cassie, no!”
But it’s too late. The rest is slow and terrible. Impossible to believe even though I am staring right at it. And her.
“Go!” Cassie screams again, as she steps forward into the flame and the edge of her coat catches fire.
“No!” I rush toward her. But her body is already engulfed in flame. And it’s—she’s so hot, even from a couple of feet away. I can feel my eyelashes being singed as I move closer. I hold my hands up in front of my face. But it’s no use. My palms have already started to burn.
The worst part is the silence. Her silence. The only sound the crackle of things bursting into flame. And Cassie doesn’t cry out. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t move. It’s almost as if she’s escaped somehow, slipped out into the cloud of smoke above. But then suddenly, she collapses to her knees.
“Stuart!” Quentin shouts as the couch next to him catches fire, and some paper on the other side of him. He is trapped by flames on every side.
“Oh shit!” A voice from behind the door. Stuart rushes past, grabbing up a blanket to smother the fire.
And then I am jerked backward, dragged away from the smoke toward the door. I am kicking, fighting to be let go.
We have to do something. We have to save her, I think, even though I know it’s already too late.
“Come on, Wylie!” It’s Jasper shouting in my ear. Pulling me out. His voice is high and tight like a terrified little boy. “We have to go!”
Outside, we run. It’s cold and dark and the air smells burnt. Of flesh. And of death. Of Cassie on fire. The smell is coming off me. Seeping out of my pores. I gag hard as we rush across the pitch-black, damp grass toward the even darker woods. No moon tonight, no stars. Like the universe has folded in on itself and disappeared. There are tears in my eyes and a burning in my chest as we run. No, I think again. That did not just happen. None of this is real. And my legs are so heavy suddenly, too heavy to move.
“Come on.” Jasper tugs me on as I slow. “We can’t stop. She’d want us to go.”
And he’s right. She died so we could get away. And there is still my dad to warn. I don’t know what he believes. What Quentin and the pretend Dr. Simons may have convinced him of. Why he thinks he’s coming here. But I feel sure he’ll never get back out alive. When we finally reach the trees, I turn back once, hoping I’ve imagined it. But the cabin glows orange in the distance.