42097609460

lighter fluid, motor oil, turpentine, anything that would burn. But
once he broke the window, he wouldn’t have much time.
He shattered the window with his elbow but heard no alarm.
Pulling out pieces of glass, he barely felt his fingers getting cut
and beginning to bleed. More chunks, the window coming apart
in sections. He thought the opening was big enough for him to
climb inside, but his arm caught on a jagged shard, deep. He
pulled, tearing flesh. But he couldn’t stop now. Blood flowed from
his arm, dripping and mingling with the cuts on his fingers.
The coolers along the back wall were still illuminated and he
walked the aisles, wondering idly if Cheerios would burn, if
Twinkies would burn. DVDs. He located the charcoal and the
lighter fluid—only two cans, not much. Not enough. He blinked,
looking around for something else. He spotted the grill in the rear
of the store.
Natural gas. Propane.
He approached the grill area, lifted the divider, and stood facing
the grill itself. He turned a burner on, then another. There had to
be a valve somewhere, but he didn’t know where to find it and he
didn’t have time because someone might be coming and Coffey
and Ramirez were talking about him, laughing and asking
whether he’d had the crab cakes in Provincetown.
Roger’s apron hung on a rack and he tossed it onto the flame. He
opened the can of lighter fluid he was holding and sprayed it on
the walls of the grill. The can was slippery with blood and he
wondered where the blood had come from. He hopped up onto
the counter and squirted some lighter fluid on the ceiling and got
down again. He ran a trail of fluid along the front of the store,
noticing that the apron had begun to burn in earnest. He emptied
the can and tossed it aside. Opening the second can, he squirted
more fluid at the ceiling. The flames from the apron began leaping
toward the walls and the ceiling. He went to the register and
searched for a lighter and found a bunch of them in a plastic bin,