Soul Fire (27 page)

I can’t see my best mate anymore.

‘Cara? CARA!’

But it’s hopeless. The explosions are too loud for her to hear me, and, even if they weren’t, I
know
my best friend too well. I bet she’s gone into the fire with Ade.
She can’t help herself.

I try to stay calm. If I can’t find Cara, at least I can stay glued to Sahara. No harm done . . .

But when I spin round again, there’s no one there. I stare at the bank, but all I can see is a pane of glass reflecting the explosions back at me. The air is foggy with smoke, and
firecrackers flash continuously as though press photographers are capturing a movie premiere.

Or the scene of a disaster.

I try not to panic, to think logically. I lost sight of Sahara when we surged forward, but that doesn’t mean she’s gone after Cara. We’ve just been separated by the crowd. In a
few seconds, there’ll be another wave of people and we’ll be washed up together again. Human flotsam and jetsam. That’s all.

So why can’t I breathe? My dark thoughts are as relentless as the drum beats . . .

Sahara argued with my sister just before they died.

Sahara told everyone Tim killed her.

Sahara is the one who keeps insisting she was closer to Meggie than anyone.

Sahara would never let Ade go without a fight.

The smell – no, it’s more the
taste
– of gunpowder fills my mouth. I look up at the phone box, try to shout out to Lewis, but he can’t hear me, even though
he’s only metres away. I wave, but he’s too busy focusing his stupid phone camera on the action below.

If Sahara was my sister’s killer, then she knows she’s got away with it once. Maybe twice, if she killed Tim, too.
What’s to stop her doing it a third time
?
There’s no stronger motive than betrayal.

Thump
,
thump
,
thump
. Twenty teenagers dressed in red costumes are marking the beat on drums and cymbals, the sound reverberating inside my head. It’s so loud it hurts,
but I know I must push closer, further forward. A curtain of sparks cascades in front of the drummers. More dragons and devils fill every space.

But there’s no Cara. And no Sahara either.

The paraders seem to have an instinctive understanding of how far to go with their torches and their firecrackers. But Sahara was scared of it all. So she can have gone into the parade for one
reason and one reason only.

To harm Cara.

Suddenly I am
certain
she saw my friend kissing her boyfriend. And I’m even more certain that the only reason Sahara has kept it to herself is to buy herself time to take
revenge.

All it would take would be a blow from one of those tridents, or a firework thrown towards Cara on purpose, and . . .

I’m the only one who can stop this.

I push forward again. There’s a clear line between the runners and the spectators. I’m terrified of crossing that line. But Cara’s my best friend. She’s stuck by me
through the highs and lows. I have to do the same for her. I pull my jacket round me, turn the collar up to protect my neck, and launch myself towards the fire.

People spin round as they sense me pushing through, their faces full of suspicion. Perhaps they think I’m trying to steal their wallets. I try to smile. ‘Sorry. Sorry.’

Just one more row of people . . .

Now I’m right in the thick of it.

I freeze as everyone dances around me. It’s like being the only sober person at a party, except it’s not booze that’s intoxicating, it’s
fire
.

The drummers pass by, but what’s approaching is scarier: an even bigger dragon is bearing down on us. On
me
. I turn away, as the catapults attached to its body send flames hurtling
into the air and then sizzling down on top of us.

The dragon seems to be floating above the road, moving of its own accord, but then I notice that there are more devils, using handles to carry it along. They’re reloading the bangers as
soon as they run out.

‘
N o PASA! NO PASA!
’ the people alongside me have started to chant at the dragon. They sound so angry, though I see delight in their faces. Even as I back away, they sprint
towards the dragon, crouching down to attack it from below. But the creature keeps moving, and they keep shouting, and another shower of sparks heads towards me.

It’s too fast. I have nowhere to run. I crouch over. Put my hands over my head. Close my eyes. Wait.

The embers hiss as they hit me. I feel nothing for a split second, but then it stings like acid, not just on my hands, but also on my back, despite my clothes. I open my eyes, but the
dragon’s so close that the lights blind me temporarily. The crackers whizz over my head, louder than an aircraft engine, and I wonder if my eardrums will burst.

‘
N o
PASA!
’

There are loud screams and laughter as the bandits make a last attempt to stop the dragon in its tracks, but the beast is fearless, crashing past. I’m being swept along by the group in its
wake.

But it’s helping me to move much, much faster than I was. The momentum of the crowd is impossible to resist. We surge forwards in time to the bangs and crashes, like a dangerously fast
pulse.

I
must
be gaining on the others now.

Where
are
you,
Cara?

A white hot flash explodes above me, and I can’t tell if I’ve closed my eyes or if the light has blinded me.

Gradually, shapes form again. I look for my best friend, but all I see are more beasts, and manic grins from the few participants who haven’t covered their faces. There’s one tourist
next to me wearing the thinnest cotton shirt, with nothing over his balding head. Already there are burns on his scalp, like pink confetti, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed.

As he turns, I smell alcohol: could his breath catch fire, like a dragon’s? He tries to take my hands, to dance with me, but I barge past.

I’m looking for Cara in Ade’s shirt, or for the black balaclava covering Sahara’s face. If I can only find one of them, everything will be OK.

The drumming continues, as though the group wants to exorcise its demons. Or summon them up. The constant bombardment has made the air stink of sulphur and flames. Is this what hell smells
like?

Hell?

I’m on a shopping street in a modern city. Ninety-nine per cent of me is sure I’m imagining things. But one per cent . . .

When I look to the right, up the centre of the road, all I can see is red and black and orange. Fire colours. What about the lime green of Zoe’s head scarf, the pale blue of Ade’s
shirt, the bright white of Cara’s hair?

Please let her be safe. This is
my
fault. If she’d never met Ade, she wouldn’t be here. And she’d never have met Ade if it wasn’t for me.

‘Ali! ALI!’

Am I hearing things? Or is that Cara, calling?

I turn towards the voice, but someone laughs loudly, right in my ear, and I can’t hear Cara anymore.

I’ve come a long way, but when I turn back I can still just about see the yellow phone kiosk sticking up above the crowd.

Except maybe I’m wrong. Because though the other photographers are twisting around each other to get a shot, there’s no sign of Lewis.

I don’t have the energy to fight against the crowd anymore. My ears are ringing from the firecrackers and my throat is sore and dry from the smoke.
Where
is
everyone
?
We’re moving faster now, sweeping down towards the end of the road, and the harbour beyond.

I try to think rationally. Cara’s probably with Ade, snogging in some dark alley. And Sahara’s probably gone back towards the hostel, because she’s realised this is
so
not her scene.

And she never saw her boyfriend kissing my best mate at all.

I relax and allow the crowd to carry me along. Once this is over, we’ll meet back at the Metro station, just like Zoe said, have a drink, a few tapas, and Cara will tell everyone at school
about it. ‘Yeah. It was a riot,’ I’ll say. ‘Barcelona is full of pyromaniacs. One of the maddest nights of my life.’

Finally, the crush is easing off. There are fewer people ahead, and there aren’t as many bangs and flashes. It’s as though a sudden cool rain shower has snuffed them out.

Yet it isn’t raining. It’s still midsummer hot.

A horrible, familiar feeling is overwhelming me, darker and stronger than ever before. The lights are dimming, one by one, till all that’s left is night and death and
absence.

Then the screaming begins.

At first it’s a single voice – a girl’s.

It’s horribly familiar.

Cara!

The scream is so piercing, I’m surprised all the windows in the street aren’t shattering, sending shards of glass raining down onto our heads.

I push forward towards the scream. I wish I could move faster, but terror is forcing the air out of my lungs, slowing me down.

Another surge of the crowd pushes me the right way. Now, more people are wailing like banshees.

‘CARA! Cara, I’m coming!’

Apart from the screaming, the sounds of the fiesta have been silenced. The drumming has stopped, and the firecrackers too. What am I going to see? Has her hair caught fire? Or could she have
been blinded?

‘Cara?’ I call out, but there’s no answer.

‘Lewis? Ade? Is anyone here?’ I push through, with elbows, knees, head. ‘Let me through. Let me through.’

It’s not Spanish, but people understand me. They’re shouting in a dozen different languages.

‘Help her,’ a man calls out in English. ‘Do
something
.’

‘I’m coming, Cara,’ I call out.

AmI already too late? The girl’s screams have stopped now.

And then the final row of people melts away. There’s a tiny figure on the ground.

It’s
not
Cara.

The girl’s legs are covered, and she’s not wearing Ade’s blue shirt.

Definitely
not
Cara
. Thank God.

Then I realise the figure is wrapped in a blanket.

I crouch down, next to a paramedic in a fluorescent jacket, who is shouting into a radio.

‘Shit. What’s going on, Alice?’

I swing round to see Cara next to me. ‘Oh, Jesus, Cara.’ I reach up and grab her hand. ‘I thought it was you. Where the hell have you been?’

Behind her, Ade appears. For one paranoid moment, I think that they’ve played some practical joke on me.
Correfoc
hide and seek.

There’s a whimper from the person on the ground. And then I
know
why the first voice I heard, the girl screaming, was so familiar.

‘
Zoe?’

I lean forward and the first aider tries to shield his patient, but not before I catch a glimpse of lime green fabric pulled across her face like a veil.

Oh, God.

Enough of the scarf is still wrapped around her scalp, and I think that at least no one else has seen that she’s lost her hair. She’ll be relieved about that when she comes round.
She fought so hard to keep it a secret.

There’s a raw red mark across her right cheek. Her eyes are closed, and the sockets look deeper in the torchlight, as though she’s already a skeleton.

‘Zoe.’ I reach out for her hand, which is lifeless. ‘Zoe, what happened? It’s me. It’s Alice.’

‘
Dejala!
’ the first aider says. ‘Leave her!’

‘This is my friend,’ I say. ‘Please.’

Maybe the first aider recognises the desperation in my voice, because he stops shouting.

‘Zoe, what happened to you?’

Her eyelids flicker.

‘If you can hear me, Zoe, I need to know if this was an accident, or . . .’ I’m aware of the others right behind me, so I whisper, ‘or if someone
did
this to
you.’

Her lips move.

Unless it’s a trick of the firelight.

‘Try again,’ I whisper.

‘
Tim.’

‘Tim? But he’s dead, Zoe. Tim is dead.’

Her lips purse but nothing comes out this time. Then I’m being pulled away and I realise Ade is behind me when he takes my arm to steady me.

Two paramedics are moving in to treat Zoe. I want to explain but I don’t have the words. Lewis could probably manage the odd phrase . . .

Lewis!
Where is he? And Sahara’s missing too.

A siren’s getting louder,
closer
. Ade steps forward, but a policeman pushes him back, and it’s obvious the officer means business. He’s on his radio, and I hear
Ingles
. Maybe they’re calling for someone to translate.

‘Our friend. Our . . .
amigo
,’ I say, not knowing if that’s the right word or not. ‘This is our friend.’

But the circle of emergency staff around Zoe is getting bigger, and I can’t see her at all anymore.

None of this seems real. Less than an hour ago, everything felt alive, electric, full of hope. Javier’s family were safe, Gabe knew he’d made a difference, and I was almost allowing
myself to hope that I could be closing in on my sister’s killer.

But now I’m lower than ever.

‘What the hell happened?’ Ade asks.

‘You should know. She went into the fiesta at the same time as you!’ I tell him.

‘No.’ He shakes his head and I see the briefest glimpse of guilt on his face and I know, then, that he was with Cara, and that they were oblivious to everything but each other.

‘What’s going on?’ It’s Sahara, pushing forwards and ripping off her balaclava. Her hair is messy, but she looks calmer than she has done all trip.

‘It’s Zoe,’ I say. ‘She’s hurt. They’re treating her, but . . .’ Sahara opens her mouth and I wait for a scream. Instead, she takes a gulp of air, and
then another, and begins to fall towards us.

Ade catches her effortlessly, as though it’s something he does all the time. And as he pulls her back, the police begin to clear a path so the paramedics can bring Zoe through.

Everything seems out of sync and blurry, like a pirate DVD of real life.

Zoe’s stretchered away before we can explain to the police that she’s with us. We finally find an officer with good English. He arranges for us to be taken to the hospital but, once
we get there, no one will talk to us because we’re not blood relatives. We’re in the dark; we don’t know what’s wrong with her, or how serious it is, or even exactly where
we are, except that we can see the sea from the hospital entrance.