Chapter 8 - FIRES OF REVENGE8
The industrial district of East Chicago was a desolate wasteland of towering steel frameworks, rusted shipping containers, and long rows of corrugated iron warehouses. Night had fallen hard, bringing with it a heavy, freezing fog off Lake Michigan that blurred the streetlights into eerie orange halos.
Kyle drove my father’s dark green SUV, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as we tore down the deserted industrial avenue. I sat in the passenger seat, my eyes fixed on the towering silhouette of the main Vance Logistics warehouse ahead.
"Penelope said Detective Vance is ten minutes out with backup," Kyle said nervously, glancing in the rearview mirror. "We should wait for them at the gate, Paige. We don't know what Marcus put inside that building."
"We don't have ten minutes," I replied, pointing through the wind-sheilded glass.
Thick, black plumes of smoke were already rising into the dark sky from the rear section of Warehouse Four. Faint orange sparks flickered through the high frosted windows.
Kyle slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching loudly as the SUV slid to a stop near the main chain-link perimeter fence. The heavy iron gate was hanging off its hinges, snapped open by force.
We jumped out of the vehicle. The air was thick with the foul smell of burning plastic and acrid chemical fumes.
"Paige, stay back!" Kyle yelled, reaching into the glove compartment and pulling out a heavy metal flashlight.
"I'm not sitting out here while our father's legacy burns!" I shouted back, pulling my coat collar up over my nose and mouth as I ran through the ruined gate toward the open loading dock bay.
Inside, the warehouse was a cavernous space filled with rows of twenty-foot-high steel shelving units packed with wooden crates. Fire was spreading rapidly along the western wall, consuming stacked cardboard boxes and crawling toward high-pressure chemical drums labeled with bright yellow hazard symbols.
Standing near the main electrical circuit breaker in the center of the warehouse floor was a lone figure wearing a heavy dark trench coat.
It was Marcus Blackwood.
In his hand, he held an industrial road flare, its deep crimson flame sputtering wildly, casting long, demonic shadows across his face.
"Marcus!" I screamed, my voice echoing through the burning room.
Marcus turned slowly, leaning heavily on his silver-headed cane. A twisted, insane grin spread across his face as the flickering orange light danced in his eyes.
"I told you, Paige!" he shouted over the roaring crackle of the growing flames. "I told you your father was a fool! He thought he could ruin me thirty years ago and walk away clean! He thought he could build an empire on my broken back!"
"You ruined yourself, Marcus!" I yelled, stepping carefully over scattered debris, Kyle right beside me with the raised flashlight. "You stole from him! You tried to steal from us! It’s over! The police are on their way!"
"Let them come!" Marcus roared, his voice cracking with unhinged rage. "By the time they get here, this entire complex will be an inferno! The toxic chemical plume will force the evacuation of three city blocks! The environmental fines will exceed two hundred million dollars! Vance Enterprises will be erased from the face of the earth!"
He lifted the red flare, preparing to throw it directly into a stack of open solvent barrels resting against the main fuel line.
"Marcus, don't!" Kyle screamed, lunging forward.
Before Kyle could reach him, Marcus swung his heavy silver-headed cane with terrifying speed, striking Kyle hard across the side of the head. The metal handle hit with a sickening crack. Kyle groaned, collapsing instantly onto the concrete floor, his flashlight rolling away into the dark.
"Kyle!" I shrieked, dropping to my knees beside my brother. Blood was trickling down his temple, his eyes fluttering as he tried to regain consciousness.
Marcus stood over us, breathing heavily, his face illuminated by the rising wall of fire behind him. "Your father ruined my life, Paige. It is only fitting that his children burn in the fire he built."
He raised the crimson flare high above his head, aiming for the chemical drums.
In that instant, everything shifted into slow motion. I felt no fear. I felt no hesitation. I saw the ghost of my father’s quiet strength standing right beside me.
I reached down and grabbed the heavy iron flashlight that had rolled beside Kyle’s hand. I stood up with all the strength in my body and swung the heavy metal cylinder directly at Marcus's knee.
The flashlight connected with a sharp, heavy thud.
Marcus uttered a strangled scream as his knee buckled violently inward. He lost his balance, falling hard onto the concrete floor. The burning flare flew from his grip, bouncing harmlessly off the concrete floor and rolling into a puddle of water near the drainage grate, sputtering out into a cloud of harmless white steam.
Marcus groaned on the floor, clutching his broken leg, his silver cane rolling away into the shadows.
"You... you little monster..." he gasped, his face twisted in agonized pain.
I picked up his silver cane, stood over him, and tossed it into the roaring fire behind us.
"That's for my father," I said coldly.
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The distant wail of police sirens and fire engine horns cut through the dark night outside, growing louder and closer by the second. Red and blue lights began flashing through the high warehouse windows, illuminating the smoke-filled air.
I knelt back down, pulling my brother’s arm over my shoulder, and dragged him toward the fresh air of the open loading dock as the first team of firefighters rushed through the bay doors with high-pressure hoses blazing.
