Slam, slam, slam.<br/><br/>Kenzie is in the windowsill, hammering at the boards. Isaac follows suit, swinging at a wide sheet of plywood blackened by rot.<br/><br/>Slam-slam-slam-slam-slam.<br/><br/>The rhythm is unbroken as the two alternate blows against the board. Despite the raging inferno at his back, Isaac is calm, focusing only on the board, on the small crack forming in the middle. The people behind him, the fire, the toxic black snow that blows in from the gaps in the board, all fade away, and the room grows dark until all he can see is the crack. It widens and falls away. Isaac turns to Kenzie, but the room is too dark to see her. He feels himself fall.<br/><br/>Darkness, and then a gruff voice.<br/><br/>"Herää!"<br/><br/>Light and sound flood in. Above him, the convict struggles with the boards, to his sides Kenzie and Phaedra crouch low to the ground, protecting their mouths and watching.<br/><br/>"Smoke," he whispers hoarsely as spots wheel in his eyes. He pushes himself up, muscles protesting against a fading adrenaline rush. The fire is massive, threatening to consume the entire room. His hand brushes against the toppled folding chair.<br/><br/>He rises, head low, sucking in the cold air that rushes past, smelling the chemical stink of the snow on his muffler. There's a hole in the planks, big enough for the women. Looks too small for Isaac. Doesn't matter either way, the convict is blocking it off, swinging against the boards in a frenzy.<br/><br/>He grabs the chair again, and the arm of the nearest person, Phaedra.<br/><br/>"The boards, if we can't break them, I'll get him out of the way, you get everyone out of here," he manages between breathes. His mouth is almost too dry for words.<br/><br/>He lets go of Phaedra, and crawls towards the window, careful to avoid Thomas's powerful back swings as he draws near. There's hope yet. The surrounding boards are more substantial than plywood, but black with mold.<br/><br/>Isaac's body sways as he slams the chair against the boards. He ignores the rebound against his hands, the sting of the snow in his eyes, the fire that burns in his rubbery arms.<br/><br/>Slam, slam, slam, slam, slam.<br/><br/>The fire is hot on his back.