Delia drove with reckless abandon down the side streets toward her flat. She had left work in a hurry after hearing the news in her wards tea room and quickly told her supervisor that she needed to get home and that she would call latter. She hadn’t waited to be reprimanded or held back.
She rounded the corner on two wheels and skidded to regain control of the wheel. Her mind was racing through possible contingencies, as hers did in times of crisis.
Maybe the fire was only one flat, maybe her houseguest had already left? Maybe she would have contacted her if there was really any trouble? Was the running litany inside her head, until she saw the plum of grey smoke rising into the air a little to her left. She floored it still faster, eyes trained on the smoke. The ability to logically think through the situation was lost from her in a second as the internal monologue changed to a running stream of ****************** Her knuckles were white on the wheel. Sweat dripped down her forehead, making the flyaways escaping from her dishevelled ponytail stick to her face. Her breathing caught in her chest and her heart rate swelled to about the pace of a drumroll.
She kept driving. Fighting not to allow her mind to wander over the worst case scenario.