A frantic scramble up the stone steps. The smell of smoke intensified with every upward rush, a bitter sting in my nostrils. Julian wasn’t just trying to erase history; he was trying to burn it to the ground.
I burst out of the chapel, my eyes tearing from the acrid fumes. The commune’s wooden record repository, a small, detached building nestled between the chapel and the main hall, was ablaze. Flames licked at the windows, orange tongues dancing in the pre-dawn gloom.
A wave of heat washed over me. Julian, I thought, his desperation turning to destructive fury. He was aiming to destroy any physical land records that contradicted his claims.
I didn’t hesitate. I ran towards the burning building. Panic lent me speed. Inside that building, I knew, were decades of deeds, contracts, and potentially other documents that validated my ownership.
As I reached the door, a figure was already there, wrestling with a fire extinguisher. It was Silas. His face was grim, streaked with ash and sweat.
“I saw him,” Silas coughed, struggling with the nozzle. “Julian. He splashed something, then threw a torch.”
“Where’s the central lockbox?” I yelled, pulling another extinguisher from its wall mount.
“Inside! Just past the main counter!” he shouted back, battling a spreading wall of fire.
We fought the blaze, a desperate two-person team against the roaring inferno. The heat was immense, forcing us back in waves. Smoke filled my lungs, making each breath a painful gasp. My hands ached, my arms burned.
The wooden shelves inside were already collapsing, sending sparks showering through the air. But I could see the glint of the old, riveted metal lockbox, just as Silas had described. It was a sturdy thing, designed to withstand just such an attack.
“We have to get to it!” I screamed, pushing past a falling beam.
Silas laid down a suppressing spray, creating a momentary path. I ducked low, running through the suffocating smoke and heat. My fingers closed around the heavy iron handle of the lockbox. It was hot, almost too hot to touch, but I gripped it.
With a grunt, I dragged it back, pulling it across the floor as flames licked at my heels. Silas continued to spray, protecting my exit.
Just as I pulled the lockbox clear of the building, the roar of sirens pierced the morning air. Red and blue lights flashed through the trees. Sheriff Danforth had arrived, followed by a fire truck, its siren wailing.
The fire department immediately took over, their powerful hoses unleashing torrents of water onto the burning structure. Steam hissed, obscuring everything.
Sheriff Danforth ran towards us, his face a mask of disbelief and anger. He took in the smoldering ruins, then looked at Julian, who stood a short distance away, watching the scene with a chilling detachment. Julian’s clothes were clean, his hair undisturbed.
“Marsh!” the sheriff boomed, his voice cutting through the hiss of the water. “What in God’s name happened here?”
Julian merely shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “An act of divine judgment, Sheriff. The Lord clearing out what is unholy.”
“Divine judgment doesn’t leave a trail of accelerant, Julian,” the sheriff retorted, pointing to a dark, oily patch near the building’s foundation.
He turned to me, his expression softening slightly. “Elena, are you hurt?”
I shook my head, coughing. My throat was raw. “Just some smoke. We saved the lockbox, Sheriff. The deeds are safe.” I gestured to the heavy metal box at my feet.
Sheriff Danforth nodded, then glared back at Julian. “Consider this a formal warning, Julian Marsh. Arson is a felony. State inspectors will be on these grounds by midday. They’ll find out exactly what happened.”
Julian’s smirk vanished, replaced by a flicker of fear. The sheriff’s words, backed by the wailing sirens and the smell of burning wood, were a tangible threat Julian couldn’t dismiss as divine will. The state was coming.
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