He was curled up in the corner, in a tight little ball. Hot tears ran down his face, stinging his bruised chest. The adrenaline filled him with the need to move, to run far away, yet in that moment, he found himself unable to move.
Smoke quickly filled the room. Their shouts of protest were muted by his heart, pounding in his own ears.
Then a creak. Perhaps the sound of the house settling, readjusting iself to accommodate the impending lack of an upper floor. Perhaps it was only his imagination. But it was enough to get his attention.
Standing, limping from his injuries, he fled the second floor, leaving his parent's bedroom far behind. He didn't look back.