Made To Be Broken (23 page)

It was the smell that hit me first. A deep, dark, nasty smell that caught in the back of my throat. I coughed, clearing it from where it clung like a vice with teeth. Sharp and nasty.

Then the drama unfolded like a slow motion reel as I watched people running from the front end of the building with wide panicked eyes. And others running towards it. The ones running away were front counter and other staff that came in to do a nine to five job behind a desk, not risk life and limb while they were at it.

The sound was the next thing to hit me. A rushing, like wind, with a crackle inside of it. All with a building momentum. Taking on a life of its own. Raised shouts over the top of it. Screams and instructions mingled together.

The slow motion reel slowed further as I took in the sound, sight and smell before me and it hit me at maximum volume. All of it.

I ran out of the Ladies, into the corridor. The heat punched me full in the face. It felt as though someone had jammed the heating up in the middle of summer. Screaming assaulted my ears and my nose and throat constricted as the acrid particles from the smoke grabbed hold and clung on, smothering. I coughed again. Hard. Bending over double trying to clear my airway so I could move and help.

Quickly I turned towards the front of the building to see what had happened. It was roaring. Bright orange flames danced, licking their way up the walls towards the ceiling. Searching their way across by means of pictures and posters, finding their next meal to consume and feast on. Some cops had fire extinguishers but they were all but useless.

‘Fuck.’

I turned around. ‘Check the offices as you move backwards. Make sure we don’t leave anyone behind.’

‘Okay.’ The young officer opened the door to our right and went in, bellowing. As he did I heard something else. I looked back at the fire. Then heard it again. Someone was shouting from the other side of the fire.

I looked back but the officer who was just here had gone, and was now sweeping the offices looking for people left in this corridor. He moved fast. Through the roar of the fire, the squeal of the alarm and the air gushing out of the extinguishers being used by the cops next to me, I could hear faint shouts.

I tapped the two guys on their shoulders, which were pulled up tight and tense. Their shirts damp. One was only young, his face straining with concentration. The other was older, gut fighting with his waistband, his hair all but gone. I saw recognition of my rank when they looked at me but their focus was on the flames and the heat that was engulfing our station.

Leaning in close, I yelled, ‘I can hear shouting.’ Indicating with my arms in front of us, ‘Through the fire.’

Their eyes widened, then their grips tightened on the red canisters in their hands.

I looked around for another fire extinguisher but there wasn’t one. They were being used.

And they were now empty.

The two cops turned to me. We were moving back as the flames pushed forward, the corridor not much wider than my arm span. ‘Go,’ I shouted. ‘Make sure people are getting out further back.’

‘But Ma’am?’

He meant the people on the other side.

‘Go. Help others get out. Now.’

This was a big station.

They dropped the empty shells with a clatter and ran.

I stood. I listened.

What the hell?

I was further away now. Pushed back by the fire. I could hear … I didn’t know what I could hear any more. The sound of the fire and the building creaking. The screaming of the fire alarm and the noise all crashing inside my head.

The heat was stifling me. But there were people, cops, and civilian staff, trapped on the other side.

Suddenly, it seemed to jump forward, towards me. The heat a solid brick wall and the flames were an angry barricade. I turned to run but hadn’t realised how far back I’d been pushed. I was now at the end of the corridor where the stairs were. I crashed straight into the corner of the wall, my head and upper arm slamming directly into the sharp corner.

Pain lit up my synapses. I stumbled back.

The heat lapped at my back.

My arm throbbed deep and my brain slowed.

Vision became narrowed, tunnelled. Greying at the sides.

I sucked in air. Gasping for it to fill my lungs, to fill my head.

Grabbing hold of my arm, I forced my feet forward, towards the stairs. With my good arm I reached forward for the banister, letting go of my arm, letting the pain slice into my brain. I needed to haul myself up the stairs. In the incident room they might not be aware this screeching sound of the fire alarm was the real thing. Often we ignored alarms while someone went to check out whether it was real or not. Now, as I clung to the rail at the bottom of the stairs I realised how stupid this was.

But it didn’t matter now. I needed to get them out.

My chest hurt.

The greying in my vision became worse.

I sucked in more air.

I clutched the handrail tighter and pulled with everything I had. One slow step at a time.

My feet felt sluggish, heavy, my head like cotton wool.

I pulled harder on the handrail. I had to keep going. The ringing of the alarm was so loud here in the stairwell. The air was clear in here but my head was not. I figured I was feeling the effects of inhaling too much smoke now as my brain felt fuzzy and sluggish. 

Just a few more steps.

My knee slammed hard onto the concrete slab of the step as I struggled to pull myself upwards. The pain shot through and up to my brain, piercing the fog that was threatening to close me down altogether. With the palms of my hands on the cool step, I pushed up. I was nearly there.

As I looked at the door at the top, it opened. Ross walked through, his phone to his ear, chatting animatedly. It took him a second or two before he noticed me pulling myself to my feet. I couldn’t catch my breath to shout him.

‘Ma’am!’ He nearly dropped his phone, hands bouncing in front of him as he juggled to keep hold of it, eventually shoving it in his pocket. A look of shock registered on his face. He moved quickly and was at the side of me in seconds. His arms under mine, lifting me upright.

Now, we had to get everyone out of the building before our killer managed to take the lives of police officers.

We stood in the car park, freezing. The heat from the fire made the evening air feel even cooler than it probably was. Several staff members had been taken to the hospital for smoke inhalation. The people I had heard shouting were actually trying to make sure people at the other side were okay and were in fact not in any more danger than I was myself. That wasn’t saying much, considering I had nearly given out to the effects of smoke inhalation myself. A couple of ambulances were in attendance, treating people.

There was still a lot of work to be done and what had happened showed that it was more urgent that we got on with the task at hand. The city was losing its mind.

Perched inside the ambulance with the oxygen mask over my face, I tried to process what we knew and watched as another marked car lit up its blues and sped out into the darkening day. A day where people were panicking and were hurting each other, when what they were afraid of was being hurt.

The ambulance dipped slightly as Aaron climbed in and sat opposite me. ‘The fire service has it all out now.’

I pulled at the clear plastic covering my nose and mouth. Not holding on properly and letting the elastic that kept it in place pull it back with a slap. ‘humph.’

‘What was that?’

I pulled again, this time with a firmer grip, sliding it up over my head, depositing the hissing mask at my side. ‘Go on.’

‘They said, though it looks bad, it’s not actually that structurally serious. Part of the front of the building is damaged and there is a lot of smoke and water damage, but the building itself is sound.’

‘Great. So, we can go back in?’

‘The building’s been cleared; I didn’t say
you
had.’

‘Oh for God’s sake. Aaron.’

‘They’re going to put a couple of uniforms on the front to protect the building for the rest of the evening. Mutual Aid has been requested and is on its way over to help with the public order that’s taking over, not just in the city but spreading county wide.’

Mutual Aid was us asking for policing assistance from other forces in the face of this public order outbreak we were dealing with. It was common practice and we provided assistance to our colleagues whenever needed. ‘How long before we can get back in?’

‘How long before you get cleared by the paramedic?’

‘What are you, my father?’

‘Are you going to let him know? He’s bound to have seen this on the news.’

I sighed. ‘Yes, I’ll do that now.’ I picked up my phone. Aaron was right. Dad would be worried. He would have seen it on the news. I tapped out a brief text. Aaron glared at me. ‘What?’

‘Not a phone call?’

‘We’re busy. Have you seen what’s happening around us? We need to get a move on, Aaron. If I phone him, we’ll get into an awkward and uncomfortable discussion that’ll last twice as long as it would need to.’

‘So why don’t you go see her?’

‘You really are channelling him today aren’t you?’ I snapped. I’d been through enough today without talking with Aaron or my father about my sister.

‘I don’t understand why you don’t talk to your dad about it, Hannah. He’s your dad and she’s your sister. He wants to talk to you about it, but you avoid it and then you avoid him. Avoiding doesn’t help you.’

‘It’s helping me just fine.’

‘It looks like it.’

‘Can we get on with the job we have here?’

The paramedic treating me had insisted I be checked out at A&E for the effects of smoke inhalation. Apparently it could be pretty lethal.

It took another couple of hours for the fire service to allow everyone back into the building and by then light really wasn’t available. The rest of the staff who had stayed had stomped round in circles to stave off the cold that the dwindling light brought with it as they’d waited to gain entry.

The ambulances had long gone and so, after several hours of being assessed, I’d made it back inside.

The lower part of the station was not in any state to be used. Everything was sodden, and that included computers. Luckily, everything was backed up on the force server, so was still accessible by those computers that were still working.

Once inside, I made a beeline for the kettle. No work was going to get done until I had a warm drink in my hand. Then we had to get our heads together for a few hours before I sent everyone home for a few hours’ sleep. The frustration was rattling around inside me, making me twitchy. Not only could we not bring in this offender but he was also setting off a chain reaction within the city. If it wasn’t contained soon, it could very easily spread out to the rest of the country, as we had seen happen on past occasions with the London riots being a prime example. Nottingham had felt more than a ripple from those. This was already a disaster but had the potential to scale up and that was a sight I really didn’t want to see. This killer was responsible for enough already. We had to stop him and we had to stop him now.

Isaac sat at home, watching the television, shocked by what he was seeing. This wasn’t what he wanted.

The television flashed images of flickering orange and angry sounds. Newscasters shouting to be heard over crowds who were screaming about police incompetence and loss of life. Missiles thrown indiscriminately. Bottles filled with petrol, with their instantaneous effect, bricks, and empty bottles; shearing glass, shards meant to slice.

He looked at the screen.

Shocked.

Mouth ajar.

Isaac listened to the reporter talking about the growing discord. How social media was a tool in spreading the word and growing the numbers of people out on the streets. She used words he didn’t understand. Hashtags. Twitter and Facebook. He barely used his mobile phone for texting and he’d only done that so he could keep in touch with Em. She’d preferred to text rather than talk. It was something she could do when time was short and he would rather have that contact than none at all. She’d been the one to talk him into buying a mobile phone. When she was a child she’d wheedled at him for her own phone because everyone at school was getting them. Although he didn’t believe in getting things for that reason, a phone seemed sensible when she sat him down that evening and talked to him about the pros of having it. Of being able to keep in touch with her when she went out. Of having that constant link with her. If he was ever worried, he could phone or text her. Looking back now, Isaac could see she had played on his fears for her safety. Like any typical teenager, she was not infallible to being manipulative but he could see the sense in the argument and had bought her one. After giving in to her, he’d had to buy himself one so he could text her if needed. It was easier than phoning her. Especially when she was younger. When she didn’t want to be hanging out on phone calls with her dad all the time. She could throw a text back out at him and she knew he would be happy she was there.

Now, he looked at the screen and didn’t understand how technology meant to progress and help lives was causing so much destruction.

‘It’s his fault you know.’ Connie was stood in the doorway behind him. Always behind him.

‘What?’

‘This. It’s his fault.’ She walked into the room. Watching events unfold on the television as she moved. The flashing images reflecting in her eyes. More life mirrored in her eyes from the television screen than actually being lived through them, he thought as he studied her.

‘Whose fault?’

‘The killer who’s poisoning everyone. That’s where this started. All this. It’s his fault.’

Isaac felt those words like a physical body blow.