Page 8 of Colton’s Inferno

“What about him?”

“Well, he obviously wanted to talk to you alone. Why else would he send me to judge the pie contest?”

It was true, Ted did want to have a private word with Lucy. “It’s not what you think, Grandpa. He didn’t ask me on a date or anything. He wanted to talk about business.”

“Yeah? What kind of business?”

She was not about to tell her grandfather that Ted had offered to buy the ranch, especially since he might want to accept.

No, she wouldn’t even start that conversation.

With the money they’d make from the fair, the Five Steers would be able to stay open for another year. If she continued to invite them back again, they’d always be able to make ends meet.

“It was nothing major,” she lied. “He wanted to know what we thought of the carnival. How much we were making, that kind of thing.”

“Seems pretty nosy, don’t you think?”

“Well, he is the mayor.”

Before her grandfather could ask her anything else, she kissed his cheek. “Save a piece of pie for me.”

She walked through the crowd, leaving everything behind. Half a dozen old barns and sheds were clustered together. All the livestock were still in the upper pasture that was used in the summer. After the long weekend, they would all be brought closer to the house.

Lucy pushed the door to the small barn open. The space hadn’t been used for horses in more than a decade, but still the smell of tack, leather, and hay hung in the air. The door swung shut, blocking out the lights and the sounds from the carnival outside. She stood in the gloom. As kids, she and her brother used to play in this barn. In the silence, she could almost hear his voice.

“The outlaws are circling the homestead, Luce.” Her brother had a wooden gun that Grandpa Rusty had made for him. “There’s no way for us to survive. Unless we shoot it out.”

“Derek, we’re in this together to the bitter end,” she’d said, lying on her stomach and looking between the gaps in the planks.

She smiled at the memory as a single tear snaked down the side of her face. She swiped her cheek with the back of her hand. Then, she did what she’d done for the past ten years—she put one foot in front of the next. Forward, she knew, was the only way to escape from the past.

Reaching into the back pocket of her jeans, she took out her phone and turned on the flashlight. A beam cut through the dust motes and created an illuminated circle on the floor. She walked to the back of the barn and opened another door. Inside, an old work bench was pushed up against a wall. Its surface was covered with dust and cobwebs and a few grooming tools. An old brush with rotten bristles. A broken hoof pick. A tail comb with missing teeth.

She swung the light to the back corner. Lined up like soldiers were two dozen helium tanks. Leaning on the wall was a handcart. Lucy set her phone on the table, propping it up on the brush. The glow reached to the rows of tanks. She moved the dolly from the wall and walked while pulling one of the tanks to the dolly’s lip. She shoved the tank onto the platform, pushing it until it was flush with the handle. She tilted the next tank in line onto its bottom rim and rocked it back and forth, moving it toward the dolly. She lifted it onto the platform, tucking it next to the first.

She put another tank on the cart and then, one more. Sweat collect at the nape of her neck before trickling down her back. Lucy’s arms strained with the effort.

“How heavy can a cylinder of metal and a bunch of gas get?” she asked, using the hem of her shirt to wipe her brow.

The woman from the carnival had asked for four or five tanks. Right now, the cart was full. She supposed that this would have to do. All she needed was a ratchet strap or something else to tie down the helium.

Lucy went back to the table and picked up her phone. She shone the light into the hazy darkness. A cloud floated past. That was the minute she noticed an acrid scent. Lucy lifted her nose, sniffing the air.

Smoke?

Using her phone, she swung the flashlight’s beam in a wide arc. Tendrils of smoke floated under the door before rising into the air. She knew at once that something close was on fire. Was it the barn?

Her heart slammed into her chest, her hand trembled, and the light shook. No, she couldn’t panic. She inhaled deeply. The smoke burned her throat and her chest. She coughed, her eyes watering. But at least she knew what to do. Lucy had to get outside.

After shoving her phone into her back pocket, she crossed the floor. The handle on the door was just an iron ring, bolted into the grain. Grabbing hold of the metal, she pulled. The door didn’t budge. She pressed her shoulder into the wooden planks and pushed. That didn’t work, either. The boards were old and worn, and there were gaps where they didn’t quite meet. She pressed her eye to the door and looked into the other room. Flames danced along the ground, searching for more fuel. In the light from the fire, she could see a canvas tarp bundled in the corner. Once the fire reached the sheeting, there’d be no way she could put it out.

She grabbed hold of the handle, jerking the door hard. It flexed but didn’t open. The damn thing was stuck. She pulled on it again. And again. Lucy braced her feet on the boards and leaned back, using her body weight to pull it open. The door didn’t shift. She pushed with her feet and pulled with her arms. The handle snapped, breaking in two. She fell back, landing hard.

The smoke was thicker. A cloud hung near the rafters, and Lucy’s eyes burned.

She stood and the ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet. She waited a moment for the dizziness to pass. Then, she backed up, pressing her spine into the table. Mustering all her strength, she ran at the door. She hit it with as much force as she could. The wood shuddered but the door didn’t open.

What the hell?