The Glass Inferno

CHAPTER 13

The faint glow in the darkened room has brightened to the point where an observer, if he were present, could make out the shadowy forms of three fifty-five-gallon drums and half a dozen carboys, as well as metal shelving extending along one wall. Some of the shelves have louvered steel doors; others are open and display rank on rank of metal cans and bottles, their labels smeared from careless pouring.

The glow is coming from a thousand tiny sparks nibbling at a stack of quilted cotton pads, the kind movers use to protect the surfaces of valuable wooden furniture.

The pile of pads, stacked untidily against the wall beneath some of the metal shelving, is almost five feet high; in places, cotton batting shows through holes torn in the worn fabric covering. The sparks are feeding on the charred threads of the third pad from the bottom.

The smoke sensor in the ceiling has so far failed to detect the curling tendrils of smoke; the accompanying heat sensor will not sound an alarm until the temperature in the room reaches at least 135 degrees,. The temperature is still somewhat on the chill side and warm air blows gently from the ventilator grill, fanning the sparks below.

In the center of the charred cloth and blackened cotton, intricate chemical processes have finally yielded enough energy for the threads to reach the kindling point. The bed of sparks suddenly glows brighter and a tiny flame abruptly appears like some sinister yellow butterfly emerging from its cocoon. It dances over the rapidly charring fabric and is quickly joined by others.

The infant beast has learned to walk.