Burnington Gaol

T H I R T Y - T H R E E | Adeline

I closed my tired eyes, felt the thick bags beneath them shudder.

My grip loosened on Billy's hand, heavy head falling back against the chair. I sucked in a bleach-stained breath as the harsh fluorescent lights flickered above me. Sweet, sweet darkness curled against my bones, sweeping me up and pulling me under.

"Oh, sweetheart."

I flinched. One groggy eye peeled open, saw a small, sad smile on the face of Billy's nurse.

"Darling," she whispered, "why don't you go home and get some rest? I can look after him here."

I straightened up in the chair, rubbed my eyes.

"I'm okay," I said. "And I don't want to leave him."

The nurse tilted her head like a mother would to a stubborn child.

"There's nothing you can do here," she assured. "I promise, if he wakes while you're gone I'll call you personally."

My bones ached, limbs heavy and eyes tired. The offer was so tempting – my own bed, in my own tower, my own home...

"You promise?"

The nurse smiled, nodded. I looked at Billy.

"Okay. But only for a few hours. I'll be back before nightfall."

The nurse almost laughed.

"No problem. I'll see you soon."

I stepped out into cool morning, the sun shining softly through the curling leaves, illuminating the pavement in pieces. I pulled my jacket over my shoulders and ran my fingers through my hair, pulled it back into a loose ponytail. My mind turned and kept turning – the loud bang of the gunshot, Billy's limp body, the blood seeping into the dull carpet. I looked up from the concrete, fatigue nestled under my skin, and breathed in a thick, black scent.

Smoke.

But it wasn't a sweet, oaky smoke, like you'd find billowing from the top of a fairytale chimney. Nor was it the charming, bitter taste of a burning cigarette or cigar. I crinkled my nose, felt the smoke on my tongue. How else to describe it, but... destruction?

Then I turned the corner, saw the mass of deep, black smoke swell up into the sky and swallow the distant sun. Below it roared the fire as it consumed every inch of the Burnington Gaol.

Cold, sharp adrenaline exploded in my chest and washed down to my knees. They buckled under the greying sky as my hands trembled and the breath was pulled right out of my lungs. There was only one thought in all this terrible chaos: Dad. So, I clenched my fists and forced my legs to break into a desperate run.

I hit the crowd gathered at the front gates – a swarm of guards, inmates, cops and civilians. Even the toughest of them stared up at the smoke with a mixture of awe, fear, and relief etched into their faces. I skidded to a stop, frantic eyes scanning the crowd as my heart pounded in my ears.

Oh, God.

First Billy, now Dad.

I couldn't lose them both.

A set of strong hands grabbed me by the shoulders. I jumped, startled, and turned to face the man with teary eyes.

"Adeline," Dad said, his face mirroring my own.

He pulled me in for a tight hug and I returned it, buried my head in the safety of his chest.

"Billy's still at the hospital, isn't he?" He asked, words brushing against my mattered hair.

I nodded, broke away.

"He's still asleep. Everyone's okay."

Gingerly, I looked back at the fire. The outer wall remained untouched, but the left side of the prison choked under masses of thick smoke. Screams began to pierce the sky as the fire spread to the cells. And then I realised that I was wrong – not everyone was okay. Not everyone was here.

"Where's Frank?"

Dad frowned, pulled back ever so slightly.

"Who?"

The screams grew louder as men burned alive, the scent of their sizzling flesh wafting into the crowds. Frank was in there. He was dying. And all I knew was that I had to save him.

So, I reached down, swiped the keys from my dad's belt and sprinted, hard, through the rusted white gates.

"Addie!" Dad shouted, chasing after me. "Come back! Adeline!"

I rushed into the Turning Circle, burst through the door to the West Wing. The building was filled with an impenetrable darkness, one that crept up my nose and in my mouth and settled in my lungs. I buckled over, coughing, felt my rips crack as the deafening roar of the fire damn near burst my eardrums. Pulling my shirt over my nose, I ventured into the darkness.

"Frank?!"

The once distant screams of inmates became intimately close, their suffering echoing down the hallway. I folded the cloth over my face, squinted in the blackness.

"Frank!"

The heat intensified, the blaze getting closer as I was left blinded in the hall of killers.

"Frank!"

"Here!"

The voice was rough, grainy, pained. I turned to the direction from which it came.

"I'm over here!"

I tore down the hallway, following Frank's unruly voice until I found his cell in flames. I jerked backwards, tears welling in my stinging eyes as the heat seared my skin, and the blinding light and smoke and destruction and screaming – Frank leapt forward, tattooed hands clutched the bars as he cried into the face of death:

"Help me! Help me!"

The fire engulfed his small bed and licked up the walls. Frank pressed to the bars, the heat at his back. I blinked. He was dying. He was dying!

I reached for the lock, the keys shaking in my hands. Trembling, I grabbed the first key I felt, struggling to find the lock. It didn't fit. Neither did the second, or the third, or the fourth.

"Get me out of here!"

The supporting beams began to crack, the fire eating through the ceiling. The place was coming down all around us.

"Adeline!"

"I'm trying!" I yelled, finding another key.

Frank turned, the fire wrapping around his searing flesh. His scream ripped through the building, and the smell of burning meat filled my nostrils.

Then the key turned, and the bars popped open.

I grabbed Frank by the arm, the wetness of his burns sticking to my hand. Quickly, I dragged his body from the blaze, and he collapsed in front of me.

"Get up!" I screamed. "Frank!"

I grabbed his jumpsuit, dragging him to the exit. He groaned, barely conscious. I slapped his face.

"Get up! We're going to die!"

Through the blackness, I could just make out those piercing dark eyes, the shock registering inside him. He scrambled to his feet and I carried him down the hall.

The smoke was unbearable. My lungs and throat were burning, eyes stinging, limbs growing weaker, but I could see it – the light, the world outside, and we were so close. Until my eyes rolled to the back of my head, my legs gave way, and the both of us tumbled to the hard ground.

© A.G. Travers 2018