Burn by Sarah Fine and Walter Jury

shove Graham hard and jump between the Scolinas and Congers as a flaming object whizzes down the hall, trailed by a plume of smoke. The room descends into chaos.

FIVE
    WILL HURLS HIS ENTIRE DUFFEL DOWN THE HALL NEXT. Smoke billows from it as it lands in the middle of the living room, several feet from the first smoke bomb. A fraction of a second later, two smaller smoke bombs bounce off the walls, spewing white-gray clouds. I lunge for Congers as he opens his mouth to shout an order. Gulping in one last lungful of clean air, I elbow him in the throat, knocking him backward before jerking his head down and kneeing him in the face. He slides to the floor as the fire alarms begin to shriek.
    â€œFire!” I hear Will shout from the hallway. “Call 9-1-1!” Hopefully the Scolinas’ neighbors are home and will do just that. We need as much confusion as possible.
    Leo helps. His backpack comes hurtling down the hallway and lands near Will’s duffel, doubling the smoke and adding a bit of fire when the fabric ignites—the chemical reaction must have melted through the plastic casing.
    My eyes burning, I yank my shirt over my mouth and nose. Mrs. Scolina screams, and I look up to see two figures wrestling in the living room—Mr. Scolina and Graham. Leo is on the floor with Mack, both of them coughing and gasping. As I run for the hallway to make sure Livia got out, Leo disarms the much larger man and pistol-whips his round head. Leo might be small, but he’s dead fast and knows what he’s doing.
    Still standing in the doorway, Will meets my eyes, and I nod.
    â€œCome on, baby girl,” he says, coiling an arm around Livia, who’s been huddled against the wall near the front door. He yanks her out of the apartment, heading for the stairwell. With any luck, he’ll be three blocks away before anyone notices she’s gone. I charge back into the living room, yank Graham’s gun from his holster as he struggles with Mr. Scolina, and press it against the young agent’s head. Clenching his teeth, Graham puts his hands up, and Mr. Scolina staggers back, coughing up a lung. His wife wraps her arms around him, and I smack Graham hard on the back of the head, dropping him to his knees.
    â€œThe fire escape!” I bark, but Leo’s already moving, taking Mrs. Scolina by the arm and dragging her through the dining room toward the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. Christina’s there, waiting to get them down the metal stairs and out onto the street, ready to throw some smoke of her own if she needs to. I put my arm around Mr. Scolina’s back and guide him to the hallway, my lungs raging and stinging.
    â€œMy daughter,” he rasps.
    â€œWill’s got Livia,” I say as I hustle him along. I can’t see anything now—I’m working by feel. My eyes don’t want to stay open—they’re streaming, blurring my vision. “And Christina’s right outside.”
    I shove him into the dining room, groping for the wall, praying for some fresh air, dying to see Christina and know she’s there and okay and—
    A hand grabs at my ankle and lurches me back, away from Mr. Scolina, who blunders through the dining room like a bull, knocking pictures to the floor with his shoulder. “Rachel!” he shouts to his wife as Graham plows into me from behind, knocking the weapon from my hand. I try to pivot around and meet the challenge, but steely fingers are still gripping my ankle, digging in. It’s Congers, on the floor where I left him, but very much conscious—and dangerous.
    Graham punches me in the stomach, and I gasp, inhaling the smoke. My body goes into full-on rejection mode, doubling me over as my lungs try to turn themselves inside out. The other agents are hacking and stumbling, too, but Graham throws himself on top of me, knocking me to the floor. I land on my stomach. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. Mack, bleeding