It sounded like heavy diesel engines approaching the driveway.

I froze in place.

Through the small cabin window, bright headlights swept across the trees, painting long, distorted shadows on the wooden walls.

A car door slammed in the distance.

Then another.

“They’re here,” Alexander breathed.

I looked toward the back door, but then I smelled it.

A sharp, chemical odor was drifting under the front door frame.

It smelled like gasoline.

Suddenly, a bright orange flash illuminated the window.

The sound of a sudden, roaring *whoosh* echoed through the cabin.

The front porch was instantly engulfed in flames.

The fire rages. Alexander coughs. The back door is the only way.

“We have to go out the back,” I whispered, pulling his arm over my neck.

He stumbled, his boots dragging on the hardwood.

The heat from the front porch wall was already pressing against my back.

I unlocked the kitchen door and pushed it open.

The freezing Maine air hit my face like a physical blow.

Snow flew into the kitchen, mixing with the black smoke.

We stepped out onto the back steps.