56
Chloe
Forgetting everything, I hike up the long skirt of my dress and climb up the ladder, my terror growing as I climb through the open ceiling door and thicker smoke envelops me, the acrid smell snaking into my nostrils and making my eyes burn.
“Slava!” I cough, peering through the hazy, red-tinted darkness. “Slava, come back!”
Nothing. No response.
“Chloe, wait!”
Ignoring Alina’s cry, I climb out completely and survey the smoky hell that is the inside of the garage. It’s like a scene from a disaster movie, complete with plaster-covered cars with shattered windows and flickering flames by the big metal door—a door that sports a giant, burning hole.
My pulse skyrockets and I launch into a run, ignoring the shards of glass and rock-like bits of broken concrete biting into my bare
