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between her knees. Then she struck another match. |
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She lit her shirt on fire. |
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'You're gonna burn yourself.' |
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'Probably,' she muttered. |
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As flames climbed around the fabric, she grabbed the knot, pulled the shirt from between her knees, and turned away from Kara. She took the knife from her teeth. 'Go firs,' she said. 'Run for the john. Don't stop for anything.' |
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The girl rushed past her. |
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Knife in her left hand, the blazing wad of shirt in her right, Denise dashed through the living room. She kept her arm high, carrying the fireball overhead like a torch. |
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Kara, a few strides in front of her, cut to the right at the foyer and dashed for the hallway. |
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Denise's shoes slapped the tiles. She turned. Raced after Kara. The pale beam of the girl's flashlight skittered over the hallway carpet, the walls and dark doorways. Then the carpet was under Denise. Her torch cast orange light into the gloom ahead, fluttered against the walls and carpet. She felt heat surrounding her hand. So far, she didn't think she was being burnt. |
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So your hand gets burnt, she thought. You can live with it. |
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And a dark shape lunged out through a doorway and blocked the hall and whipped the fireplace poker at Kara's face. The girl ducked under it. Her head |
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