The fire is instantaneous, as if the air itself decides to combust. One moment I'm standing there, waiting for attendance to finish, and the next, my right sleeve is a burst of red fire, searing heat licking up my arm. The world slows down, sound and sight merging into one overwhelming, incomprehensible blur. It takes a second--just one stupid second--for my brain to catch up to what's happening.
Then it hits.
Pain. Pain like nothing else, raw and sharp and all-consuming, the kind of pain that turns your thoughts to static. My breath catches, my lungs seize, and I can't think, can't process, can't even scream. But instinct kicks in where logic fails--I yank at my jacket, trying to tear it off, my body moving on autopilot.
Around me, chaos explodes. The alarm's blaring mixes with the rising shrieks of students and the shouts of teachers trying desperately to regain control. Kids scatter, some running, others frozen in place, their faces masks of terror. Somewhere to my left, someone yells, "Oh my God, she's on fire!" as if I need the reminder.
My sleeve burns hotter, the flames devouring fabric and licking at skin. The pain sharpens, white-hot and almost unbearable, and I know, somewhere deep down, that this isn't normal fire - the thought seems almost funny. Of course it isn't. It's blood red, it's so much hotter than every bonfire I've ever seen in my life. I grit my tooth caps together, almost breaking them in an attempt to not scream. As if my day would be even better if everyone saw my crazy shark teeth.
I drop to my knees, slamming my arm into the wet grass, trying to smother the flames. The ground is slick with half-melted frost, but the fire doesn't care--it clings stubbornly to my sleeve, refusing to die. I can feel it now, eating through the fabric, searing into my skin, my body screaming in protest.
"Get it off!" someone shouts, and suddenly, hands are on me, rough and panicked. A teacher, I think--Mr. Calhoun?--tries to rip my jacket away, but it's fused to my arm now, the edges curling and blackened. The fire's spread to the hem of my shirt, creeping toward my shoulder, and I bite back a scream as the cold air hits raw, blistering skin.
A burst of white foam sprays over me, dousing the flames with a loud hiss. The chemical stench fills my nose, making me gag, but the fire finally sputters out, leaving behind charred fabric and angry red burns. My arm feels like it's been dipped in acid, the pain radiating up to my shoulder and down to my fingers. I clutch it instinctively, my breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.
Around me, the chaos continues. More flames erupt, scattered across the crowd, licking at the edges of jackets and backpacks. A girl near the front of the line lets out a piercing scream, her ponytail catching fire before a teacher throws his coat over her head, smothering the flames. Students shove and trip over each other, trying to get away from the invisible threat. Some run back toward the building, others bolt for the parking lot, their fear turning the evacuation into a stampede.
The firefighters move in quickly, their shouts cutting through the noise like a blade. "Stay calm! Form a line! Move toward the sidewalk--now!" They work with practiced efficiency, hoses and extinguishers spraying foam across the scattered fires. The air fills with smoke and chemical mist, the acrid taste clinging to my tongue.
"Let me see," someone says, their voice firm but gentle. A firefighter crouches in front of me, his gloved hands reaching for my arm. I flinch instinctively, pulling back, but he holds steady, his expression calm and focused. "You're okay. We've got you."
I nod, swallowing hard, my throat raw from the smoke. My arm feels like it's been flayed open, every movement sending fresh waves of pain shooting through me. The firefighter cuts away the remaining fabric with a pair of scissors, his touch careful but brisk. The cold air stings as it hits the burns, and I have to clench my teeth to keep from crying out.
"Second-degree," he mutters, his brow furrowing as he examines the damage. "You're lucky--it could've been worse."
Lucky. Sure. If this is luck, I'd hate to see what unlucky feels like.
Another firefighter steps in, spraying more foam over the remnants of the fire on my arm. The sensation is cold and shocking, like being hit with a bucket of ice water. It clings to my skin, soaking into the burns and making the pain flare briefly before it starts to dull, the chemicals doing their job. My teeth chatter as the rest of the foam settles over me, the wet fabric of my clothes sticking to my skin.
I glance around, trying to pinpoint where Aaron is. He has to be here, watching. His fire doesn't leave tracers--no smoke trail, no glowing ember to follow. Just heat and destruction, coming from nowhere. I scan the parking lot, the rows of cars, the clusters of students and teachers huddling together for safety. Anywhere with a line of sight could be a firing point. Anywhere. He could be in the crowd. On the roof. Across the street.
I can't see him.
"Sam!" Melissa's voice cuts through the fog, high and frantic. She's running toward me, her face pale and stricken. "Oh my God, are you okay? What happened?"
I open my mouth to answer, but my voice catches, the words sticking in my throat. I can't tell her. Not here. Not now. "I'm fine," I manage, though my arm feels like it's on fire all over again, even with the foam. "I'm fine."
She doesn't look convinced, but the firefighter steps in, raising a hand to keep her back. "Miss, we need to get her to the ambulance. Please stay with your class."
"Wait--" I start to protest, but the firefighter's already helping me to my feet, his grip firm and steady. The world tilts slightly as I stand, the pain and adrenaline making my head swim. My arm hangs limp at my side, wrapped in a loose layer of gauze that doesn't do much to hide the angry red burns beneath.
"Come on," the firefighter says, guiding me toward the edge of the parking lot. The ambulance is parked there, its doors open and waiting. I can hear the faint murmur of a radio, the crackle of static as someone relays instructions.
The crowd parts as we move, their eyes following me with a mix of fear and curiosity. Whispers ripple through the students, fragments of questions and speculation carried on the cold wind. "Did you see her arm?" "How did it start?" "Is she gonna be okay?"
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
I keep my head down, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Every step feels like a struggle, my body weighed down by exhaustion and the lingering sting of the burns. The cold bites at my skin, the wet foam making it worse, but I grit my teeth and keep moving.
As we reach the ambulance, the firefighter helps me up onto the edge of the open door, his hands steadying me as I sit. The paramedic inside glances at me, her eyes sharp and assessing. "Burns?" she asks, already pulling on a pair of gloves.
"Right arm and shoulder. Second-degree," the firefighter replies, his tone clipped. "Clothes caught fire during the evacuation."
The paramedic nods, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she unwraps the gauze. I bite back a hiss as the cool air hits my skin again, the raw flesh exposed to the elements. She doesn't say much, just murmurs instructions and reassurances as she applies a soothing gel to the burns, her touch light but deliberate.
The pain dulls slightly, the gel working its magic, but my mind is still racing. Aaron's out there. Somewhere. Watching. Planning his next move. And I can't do a damn thing about it while I'm stuck here, playing the role of the helpless victim.
"Hang tight," the paramedic says, wrapping my arm in fresh gauze. "We'll get you to the hospital to check for infection, but you're stable for now."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. My throat feels tight, the weight of everything pressing down on me like a vice. The world outside the ambulance blurs slightly, the voices of the crowd fading into background noise. All I can think about is Aaron--where he is, what he's planning, and how I'm going to stop him.
----------------------------------------
The ride to the hospital is every bit as miserable as I expect. The ambulance bumps along the uneven roads, jostling me just enough to send fresh waves of pain radiating from my arm. The paramedic sitting beside me adjusts the straps on the gurney, her expression a perfect mask of professional detachment. I can tell she's trying to keep me calm, but I'm not sure if she knows how irritating that makes her.
"How's the pain, sweetheart?" she asks, her voice saccharine enough to make my teeth ache.
"Fantastic," I mutter, wincing as we hit another pothole. "Ten out of ten. Would recommend."
Her lips twitch like she's trying not to smile. "We'll have you on some better pain meds as soon as we get to the hospital. Just hang tight."
I roll my eyes but don't say anything else. My arm feels like it's still on fire, the burns raw and throbbing under the layers of gauze. The gel helps, but only just. Every time the ambulance lurches, the pain flares, sharp and insistent. I clench my jaw, trying to focus on anything else.
The paramedic across from me, a guy with tired eyes and a five o'clock shadow, fiddles with his clipboard, jotting down notes. "Alright, Samantha, we've got second-degree burns on the right arm and shoulder, no loss of consciousness, no head trauma. Anything else we should know? Any other injuries?"
"Nope," I say, forcing the word out through gritted teeth. "Just the arm."
He glances at me over the clipboard, his expression skeptical. "You sure? You took a pretty big hit."
"I'm fine," I insist, more forcefully than I mean to. The last thing I need is for them to dig deeper. "It's just the arm."
The paramedic shrugs, going back to his notes. "Alright. We'll let the doctors take a closer look, just to be safe."
"Great," I say, slumping back against the gurney. "Looking forward to it."
The woman beside me chuckles softly, shaking her head. "You've got a mouth on you, don't you?"
"I spontaneously ignited," I mutter, my eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Sorry if it's making me a little testy,"
The fluorescent lights flicker slightly, casting uneven shadows that dance across the cramped space. I try to focus on the rhythm of the bumps and turns, anything to keep my mind off the pain.
The siren wails above us, cutting through the usual noise of the city. I can only imagine the scene we left behind--students scattered across the lawn, firefighters trying to calm the chaos, the lingering smell of smoke and extinguished flames. And somewhere out there, Aaron is probably watching it all unfold with that smug grin on his face.
Not for long. Not if I can help it.
----------------------------------------
The hospital is as chaotic as I expected. The paramedics wheel me through a maze of hallways, fluorescent lights glaring down at me from every angle. Nurses and doctors move with practiced efficiency, their voices blending into a steady hum of medical jargon and clipped instructions.
I'm ushered into a small room with a curtain separating me from the rest of the ER. A nurse with short-cropped hair and a no-nonsense expression sets to work unwrapping the gauze from my arm, her movements brisk but careful. The gel clings to the burns, and every touch feels like sandpaper against raw skin.
"You're lucky," she says, her voice neutral. "Could've been a lot worse."
"Yeah," I mumble, wincing as she applies a fresh layer of gel. "That's what they keep telling me."
She doesn't respond, just keeps working. I glance around the room, my eyes landing on a clipboard hanging from the edge of the bed. It's filled with notes and diagrams, documenting the extent of my injuries in painstaking detail. Second-degree burns, partial thickness, covering approximately 30% of the right arm and shoulder. I can already see how this is going to complicate things later. Hospitals love paper trails, and mine's growing by the second.
The curtain pulls back suddenly, and a man steps into the room. He's wearing a police uniform, his badge catching the harsh light. His face is lined, his expression unreadable as he takes in the scene.
"Samantha Small?" he asks, his voice low and steady.
"That's me," I say, trying to keep my tone casual.
He pulls out a small notepad, flipping it open with a practiced motion. He's not someone I recognize. I don't know, intuitively, if he knows about my other persona. Best play it safe for now. "Officer Harper, 15th District. I need to ask you a few questions about what happened at the school."
I glance at the nurse, who's still working on my arm. She doesn't seem fazed by the intrusion, her focus entirely on her task. I turn back to the officer, nodding slightly. "Sure. What do you need to know?"
"For starters, can you tell me exactly what happened? From the beginning."
"I was outside with the rest of my class," I say, carefully. "We were doing the fire drill, and then...I don't know. My sleeve just...caught fire. Out of nowhere."
"Out of nowhere," he repeats, his pen poised above the notepad.
"Yeah," I say, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "I didn't see anything. No one near me. It just...happened. It was bright red like that coffee shop fire."
He frowns slightly, jotting something down. "And you didn't notice anyone acting suspicious? Anyone out of place?"
"No," I say quickly. Too quickly. "I mean, there were a lot of people around. It was chaotic. But nobody that looked like they could set me on fire remotely."
He nods slowly, his pen scratching against the paper. "Alright. We've got officers on scene interviewing other students and staff. If anything comes to mind, you let us know."
"Of course," I say, plastering on a weak smile.
He closes his notepad, tucking it back into his pocket. "We'll be in touch. Take care of yourself."
As he steps out, I exhale slowly, my shoulders slumping. The nurse glances at me, her expression unreadable. "Anything you want to tell me?" she asks, her tone light but pointed.
"Nope," I say, shaking my head. "Worse things have happened to me this week,"
She snorts softly, finishing her work and stepping back. "Alright, you're good for now. The doctor will be in to check on you shortly."
"Great," I mutter, leaning back against the bed. The gel numbs the worst of the pain, but the throbbing ache in my arm is still impossible to ignore. At least in here, it's safe. Nobody's going to come and light me on fire again while I'm sitting in a hospital cot. They've got security guards.
That's what I'm telling myself, at least.