Blackbeard Fire Starter Novels & Stories

His tone was urgent, the voice of someone who had seen more battles than most. I looked over at him, my vision still tinged with the red haze of fear. He was already directing the others, barking out orders like a general on the battlefield. “Get the oil! Anything that will burn. Hurry!” The rest of the pack scrambled to obey, gathering up anything that could be used as a weapon against the smoke creatures. Broken furniture, old crates, even rags soaked in alcohol—anything that could catch fire was fair game. I watched them work, a flurry of motion, but my mind was still on Astrid.

Then he draped it over my shoulders where I still sat in a heap on the floor. I struggled upright, my muscles protesting. ‘Thank you.’ ‘We need to get a fire going.’ He turned his attention to the fireplace, peering into its depths with a frown. It was utterly empty, not even a forgotten ash. I rummaged in the backpack he’d given me. My fingers, clumsy with cold, closed around a solid object. I pulled out a heavy-duty lighter. ‘We have ignition!’ I announced. ‘All we require is fuel.’ He searched the rest of the cabin, which took all of thirty seconds given it was roughly the size of a generous prison cell.

Burn this. “And you?” I asked, voice dry. He shrugged, drinking coffee. “I have a boat in Burlington. 28 feet, hidden space below. They won’t look north yet.” He gave me a silver lighter with a small anchor. “Need help? Light a flare. I’ll see it.” We stood in the gravel lot, smoke from the bus around our feet, door open. The burner phone buzzed—R: Bounty raised. $100K if alive. $50K for proof. Dark web calls you ‘The Ghost Star.’

he muttered looking into the wood and rearranging some logs pointlessly. “We're the masters at fire building, it'll light” Alissa blew on his embers for him, small flames licked at the dried birch fungus. He slowly pushed the now burning ball into the centre of the bonfire with a stick as Alissa lit another fire starter made up of birch fungus, dried sawdust and pine needles.

“And where do you expect me to get dry bark in this swampy mess?” She smiled and took a step back. Reaching into the side pocket of her jacket, she pulled out a curled, brittle lump of amber-colored gunk and pressed it under the damp kindling. Without a word, she shifted a few sticks to shield it, then nodded for him to strike again. He narrowed his eyes, but did as she suggested. Flint sparked. This time, the fire caught like magic, hissing as it licked up the twigs. Barkov blinked, disbelief apparent in his voice. “What the hell is that?”

I swallowed before I spoke in one breathe, “FIRE CRACKER” The end.

“What happened the first time you caught fire?” Looking straight ahead, I said, “I don’t want to talk about it.” “I’m asking because I want to figure out what your triggers are,” he clarified. “Fear,” I responded, still not looking at him. “I suppose that’s a start. How many times have you caught fire?” “Four.” Maybe if I were short with my answers, he would stop asking. He sighed. “Then you are just starting to set into your immortality. What do you know about fighting?”

He taunted. “What fire?” He scoffed, pulling out supplies from the trash bag, the fuel, matches, lighters, flint and steel, and magnifying glass. “I’d have easily bombed this place with you in it but the trick is becoming stale, I need something new and big, like a wildfire. One that Marcello won’t ever see coming.” “You need to let me go, please!” I stiffened in my seat, waves of fear rushing through me as I watched him sort out the supplies.

Until the bedroom of Cal Steele was engulfed in flames, shining with fire in every corner and every inch. Giro, who could barely summon an ember yet can still remain unharmed around the brutality of the flames, gave Cal a middle finger. But Ansel…he did not so much as flinch as he wrapped his body around Sasha. As if he himself was made of fire and embers, smoke and flames. He is The Firestarter. And today, he just proved to the so-called Alpha Cal that he is more than that—that he is the King of Fire, whose very blood burns with ravishing flames.

And had no idea what she was trusting her with. The bonfire was Lily's idea, like most good things were. By nine o'clock, they had a proper blaze going — driftwood stacked in the stone pit at the bottom of the beach stairs, flames eating up into the dark sky, sparks lifting and dying before they reached the stars. Jake had found an old Bluetooth speaker in the garage. Lily had found the marshmallows. The night was warm and salted and loose in the way that beach nights always were, like the ocean air had quietly dissolved the edges of everything.