“But—”
“Promise me, G, or I’m not going back for him.”
Gianna nodded and hugged her knees to her chest, tears streaming down her soot-stained face.
Benito backed away from her, then turned against the tide of people flowing from the block and ran back inside.
The smoke was thicker than ever. He wrapped his arm around his face, wishing he’d thought to grab Gianna’s wet towel, and dropped low, crawling up the stairs towards the heat of the flames, sweeping his hand for any sign of Sullivan. That damn fucking cat.
On the third floor, his legs gave out. He slumped against the wall, coughing. Away from Gianna and his mum, the urge to sleep forever returned.
Just for a minute.
Seconds and minutes past with the slowing thump of his heartbeat. Half his brain knew he was dying, the other screamed at him to keep moving. He listened to neither and felt nothing. Floating. Or maybe he was sinking, it was hard to tell.
And I don’t care. I don’t—
A soft thud battered his legs. Then claws. For the second time in five terrifying minutes, Benito opened his eyes to a wily orange feline scaling his body.
Sullivan. You little bastard.
For a moment, they stared at each other, man and heroic, and yet awkward as fuck, beast. Then the survivor in Benito’s soul kicked in too. He grabbed the cat and lurched to his feet, coming upright as another body emerged on the landing.
They collided hard, sending both of them sprawling.
Benito cursed, squeezing his hands around the cat. He couldn’t lose him now.
Somehow, he kept Sullivan tucked against his body. He found his footing again and turned to face a weathered-looking man he’d seen around.
A tall man with strong hands.
He gripped Benito’s wrist. “Come on, son. Down we go.”
They found their way to the first floor, picking up stragglers on the way. Benito hooked his arm around the little old lady from number seven, hiding her face with his free arm.
The final set of stairs was three feet ahead. Benito hauled them forward, chest burning, but as he reached the banister, it fell away, and the staircase collapsed, obliterating their only way out.
21
Mickey drove like a madman, speeding through the night as fast as the icy roads would allow, white knuckling the steering wheel as he shouted at Isha. “How did this happen the same goddamn day we start installing fire breaks? Is this a fucking joke?”
“I don’t know how it started,” Isha said urgently. “Just that the whole block has gone up. I’m half an hour away. Where are you?”
“Ten minutes out. I can fucking see it from the road.”
“How bad is it?”
“Bad. If that cladding catches like it did at Grenfell, it’s going to be a massacre.”
Isha swore, as caught up in the moment as Mickey. He’d founded DOSHA with Dom to protect lower income households from unsafe housing, but contained by bureaucracy and red tape, it took years to facilitate real change, and this was the result: tower blocks that could kill hundreds of people at once if the right kind of fire took hold. Elderly folk. Kids. Whole families.
Benito’s family if they hadn’t got out in time.
Mickey ended the call with Isha and jabbed at the screen on the dashboard, keeping a sharp eye on the road. He called Rosetta. Her phone was off.
He called Gianna.
No answer.
“Fuck.” Mickey pounded the steering wheel as the orange glow on the horizon grew bigger. Call him. He needs to be here. But coward that Mickey was, he didn’t have the balls to call Benito and tell him his mother’s home was burning and he had no idea if his family was safe.
Just get there.
Six minutes later, Mickey was as close to Barnfield Court as the emergency cordon would allow him to be. He threw his car up the kerb and leapt out.
He raced to the nearest police officer controlling the crowd. “I need to get past. This is my building.”
The officer shook his head. “We’re not letting anyone through. If you’re worried about relatives, you need to give your name to the incident command and wait over there.”
“I’m not a resident. I’m from the housing association that manages some of the properties. I have a list of every household, blueprints of the building, and documentation for the ongoing maintenance work.”
Mickey flashed his DOSHA ID and the folder of paperwork he’d had the foresight to grab when he’d charged out of his house.
The officer let him through.
Mickey dashed across the road, smoke from the fire already burning his eyes. Firefighters swarmed the area at the foot of the tower, shepherding coughing residents across the precinct to the fried chicken shop. Mickey scanned every face, searching out those he knew, ticking them off in his brain.
Mrs Foggarty
The Howlets
The Aslams
Mr Grecco
For a heart-stopping moment, that was it, then he finally found the fear-filled gaze of Rosetta De Luca.
Gianna was at her feet, curled into an upright foetal position on the pavement, pale and tear-streaked. Mickey longed to go to her and scoop her up while he called Benito to come and be with his family, but he couldn’t. Before he could stop pretending Benito and his family weren’t everything to him, he had to locate Mr Morris and track down the lead fire fighter.
The white hat of the lead firefighter was by the engine closest to the building. Mickey ran to him and handed over the household list he’d gathered for the maintenance work. “I only manage the housing association properties, but this is a full list. Did you get everyone out? I can’t see one of my residents. Mr Morris. Third floor.”
“Morris. Yup. We’re looking for him. The third floor caught the worst of it. We’re also missing the son of the lady in the De Luca flat at the top. He went back in for the cat.”
Dread gripped Mickey’s heart. “Benito? But—but he doesn’t live here.”
“Visiting, apparently. Stayed the night on the couch. We’re looking for him, but there’s a structural weakness in the stairs. Access is—”
A loud crash from inside the building cut the firefighter off.
He swore and abandoned Mickey to intercept the fire crews exiting the tower.
Mickey watched him go, then tipped his head to gaze up at the tower block as fresh flames shot from the third-floor windows, completing a loop of the building and cutting off the upper storeys.
The dread in Mickey’s heart grew jagged edges. Sharp fear choked him. If Benito was anywhere above the third floor, it was over. He wasn’t getting out.
“Mickey!”
Mickey turned on autopilot.
Gianna ran towards him, arms outstretched. She threw herself against him as he reached for her, and he lifted her as if she was years younger than twelve. “It’s my fault, it’s my fault,” she wailed. “I made him go back for Sullivan.”
Mickey carried her away from the building and back to Rosetta. “You need to stay over here. It’s not safe that close, okay?”
Gianna nodded, still clinging to him.
Rosetta gripped Mickey’s shoulder. “Beni went back in. It happened too fast; I couldn’t stop him.”
“He wouldn’t have listened to you,” Mickey said numbly. “Just wait here. Please. Wherever he is, all he’d want is for you both to be safe.”