CHAPTER SEVEN
The smoke was acrid in Watters’ nostrils. He breathed in, choked, and coughed, trying to catch his breath. He could hear voices, some shouting, others screaming, and one crying as the crackle of fire increased in volume. A harsh voice shouted, “Get up! Get out, or we’ll burn your homes over your heads! You’ve been warned!” A child screamed repeatedly, and somebody spoke in a language Watters recognised but did not understand.
Watters tried to move forward, holding out his hand to help, but only grasped at air. The child continued to scream, growing more frantic as the fire increased in intensity.
He woke with a jerk.
“George?” Marie sat up in bed. “What’s the matter? Patrick?” She looked over to the cot that stood a few feet from the bed. “Is Patrick all right?”
“Yes. He
