The cold rain soaked my clothes, making them heavy.

I could hear the sirens getting closer, but they were still too far.

Mark reached the barn door and shoved it open.

He disappeared into the dark interior.

I reached the threshold and stopped.

The smell of old dry straw and kerosene filled the air.

He had prepared this.

He had placed fuel here before I arrived.

“Mark, stop!” I called out into the darkness.

A flashlight beam cut through the dark of the barn.

Mark was standing near the center, next to a pile of wooden crates.

He had the lighter in his hand, holding it near a stream of liquid on the floor.

“Don’t do this,” I said, my voice shaking.

“This is my legacy,” Mark said. “If I can’t have it, nobody will.”

He lowered the flame toward the floor.

A small spark caught.

A blue line of fire began to crawl along the dirt floor.

I ran forward, looking for anything to smother it.

I grabbed an old canvas tarp from a shelf and threw it over the flame.