The deafening, ear-ringing shock of sound. The stink of cordite. The sputtering sound that was burning flesh. It all came back to him: that time in Ireland … that time when he was four … that time his mother and sisters died. But Hawker wasn’t a boy now. Now he could do something about it. He jumped to his feet and ran toward the main room of the Ennisfree. The entire bar was a roaring flame. From deep in the flames he could hear a man’s screams. He knew it had to be Jimmy O’Neil. Hawker jerked a tablecloth off a booth and began swinging at the flames, fighting his way toward his best friend. The intense heat seared his face, and he realized the sudden stink was from his own melting hair. Someone had grabbed him. Someone was pulling him back. It was Megan, her face red and wet with tears. “No, James, no!” she yelled above the roar of the fire. “There’s nothing we can do now. He’s lost! He’s gone! We’ve got to get out and save ourselves!” The screams had disappeared in the din of burning wood and exploding bottles.
