Читать книгу The Treasure Man - Pamela Browning, Pamela Browning - Страница 8

Afterward, Ben couldn’t recall when he first smelled smoke. He had a vague memory of a whiff of it as he left Ashley in her seat at the front of the auditorium, but it was intermission at the Chico Chico concert, and a lot of people had gone out for a cigarette. If he’d noticed it then, he would have thought it was people smoking.

A long line of concertgoers wended their way through the lobby to the refreshment stand, and he hoped there would be some root beer left by the time he reached the counter. Root beer was his thirteen-year-old daughter’s favorite drink, and since it was her birthday, he didn’t want to substitute cola or 7-Up or whatever else might be left. Still, he hung back, figuring it was more important for the kids attending the show to buy their drinks and hurry back to their seats; he could always slip into place beside Ashley after the performance resumed.

And then he saw it—a huge black billow of smoke rushing toward him down the aisle. Simultaneously, someone in the theater yelled, “Fire!” A woman screamed over the cacophony of voices, and people started to pour into the lobby.

Ben knew this was bad trouble. With the acrid odor of smoke stinging his nostrils, the crackle of flames in his ears, he fought his way past the first wave of panic-stricken concertgoers.

“Daddy! Daddy! Help!”

It was his daughter’s voice. He’d recognize it anywhere. People pushed past him, running, screaming, crying. He tried to forge a path through the crowd, but there was no space. He noted with alarm that flames were now licking at the stage curtains, and the ceiling was ablaze.

Someone struck Ben a glancing blow on his forehead, but he kept pushing. It was like swimming against a fierce current, something he’d done many times in his work as a diver. Despite his anguish, he was driven away from Ashley, not toward her.

Desperately, he shouted her name, choking on the smoke. “Ashley! Daddy’s coming!”

He fell to his knees, struggled and stood, was bowled over again.

“Out of the way, man! The place is burning!” A man tried to help him to his feet but was swept into the melee.

Ben accidentally tripped a woman, but together they managed to regain their footing. Her progress toward the door left a small hole in the sea of people, and he pressed toward Ashley. He had to make sure she was safe, had to reach his daughter.

The heat of the blaze scorched his face, seared his lungs. Glowing sparks swirled in the air above his head—a surreal dance performed amid chaos and destruction. An usher’s shirt was on fire, and he screamed as he tore at the blackened fabric. Through a gap in the crowd, Ben saw that the seats where he had left Ashley only minutes ago were engulfed in flames.

Eyes streaming with tears, he crawled over several fallen bodies and managed to grab on to a theater seat so that he wouldn’t be carried backward. Now the smoke was so thick that he could see nothing through the tunnel of fire ahead, and it hurt too much to breathe. He went down again but clung to the seat to pull himself to his feet. His gut wrenched with the certain knowledge that he was losing strength.

A father’s main job was to protect his child, and he hadn’t been able to do that. As the blackness all around began to blot out his consciousness, Ben prayed that Ashley had found a way out of the building. They had been sitting near an emergency exit, so perhaps she had kept her head and escaped. He held that hope in his heart as he slid slowly to the floor, the roar of the flames echoing inside his head until he heard…nothing.