Spark
Page 29
The line of flame ran straight up the center of the kitchen. No one was here. The sink, the oven, the dishwasher yeah, that was a hell of a lot of help. A pantry door hung open; smoke billowed out. Unidentifiable boxes of food were on fire.
Here.
The fire sounded desperate and excited, like it wanted to please him it just wasn’t sure how.
God, he couldn’t think with these wailing smoke detectors.
Here!
He gave an aggravated sigh and started throwing open cabinets.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
The fire started another imaginary wick and ran to the back wall of the kitchen again.
The refrigerator? The door was hanging half off the seal would have melted in this kind of heat. Gabriel yanked it anyway.
Nothing.
The cabinets under the sink.
Nothing.
The dishwasher, maybe?
Nothing.
The oven. Would someone climb in an oven?
He checked. No. Not in this house, anyway.
Another imaginary wick. Fire caught at the pantry door.
The open pantry. Why would the door be open? From the flames, it looked like the shelves started three feet above the ground. The pantry wasn’t that deep; even with the smoke, he’d be able to see someone under the shelving.
And they wouldn’t be alive anyway.
But when he stepped closer, the fire blazed around him, dancing excitedly.
Gabriel stuck out a hand. He felt the frame of the pantry, the inner walls, spongy and fragile from the damage.
And on the back wall, his hand found a handle.
Without thinking, he pulled. The wall seemed to swing forward on a hinge. He couldn’t figure it out. A hidden trash can?
He stuck a hand into the opening. Metal sides, some kind of vertical tunnel.
You idiot. A laundry chute.
The upstairs was completely consumed by fire. This level wasn’t much better. Would someone go down a laundry chute?
He could never fit. It would have to be someone tiny.
He thought of that anguished scream from the front lawn.
A child.
Holy shit. He needed to get back to the basement.
The stairs were on fire now, almost giving way beneath his weight. The basement was still a pit of blackness; he had no idea how he’d find a small kid. Based on the location of the kitchen, he slid away from the stairs, on hands and knees again.
He found the dead cat again.
Thank god he hadn’t eaten dinner.
But here was a door, the knob cool. He threw it wide.
More darkness. He’d kill for a light.
And just like that, fire swept down the stairs, slithering around his feet and into the opening, gorging on the fresh oxygen. A laundry room. Fire raced up the bare insulation that lined the walls, tearing into a rack of shirts hanging by the iron-ing board.
Raging toward a pile of sheets and towels.
He almost couldn’t make out the crumpled figure on top of them.
He dashed through the flames and grabbed hold of what felt like an arm, yanking the body into his arms. Someone small, fragile, all slim legs and knobby joints. Long hair a girl. He felt satin, like a nightgown. She weighed nothing and hung limply against his chest.
Was she breathing? He couldn’t tell. It was too hot to tell.
Fire grabbed the nightgown. He crushed it in his fist. More leapt from the wall to make another attempt.
He had to get her out.
But he had to get low, under the smoke. He clutched her to his chest with one arm and crawled with the other. Once he got out of the laundry room, the fire followed him. Flaming ash began to fall from the ceiling, sparking in his hair and on her face.
If the ceiling fell in, they were done for.
The smoke detectors fell silent.
Gabriel hesitated. He could hear himself breathing. He couldn’t hear her.
Then a crash shook the house and sent beams slamming into the floor.
The second level had fallen into the first.
And now it was going to fall into the basement.
He ran. Shoulder first, sliding his feet along the floor as fast as he could. He hit walls. Beams. Something cracked against his helmet, but he kept going.
He could feel flames coming through the floor, looking for him. The sound of wood giving way was deafening. Sparks and ash rained down.
He wasn’t going to make it. He was going to fail. Again.
Then a hand closed over his wrist and pulled, hard.
Gabriel followed what else could he do?
He burst into fresh air that felt arctic on his cheeks. That hand kept pulling, dragging him.
He stumbled and almost fell, but he caught himself before he dropped the girl.
He felt grass under his feet and slowed.
Someone was jerking the girl out of his arms. “Is she breathing?”
Hunter.
Had Hunter gone into . . . into that to drag him the rest of the way out of the darkness?
“Gabriel! Damn it, was she breathing inside?”
Hunter had her on the ground, his cheek over the girl’s mouth.
“No,” said Gabriel. “No, she wasn’t breathing.”
Hunter wasn’t even listening. He’d put his mouth over the girl’s and was now blowing into hers.
“Call the medics!” he yelled between breaths.
Gabriel ran around the side of the house and waved his arms.
“One got out the back! We need a medic over here!”
He’d never seen people move so fast. EMTs and firemen were just there, swarming the girl, treating her. Gabriel lost track of Hunter.
He needed to lose track of himself before someone figured out he wasn’t a real fireman.
Someone caught his sleeves and turned him.
Here.
The fire sounded desperate and excited, like it wanted to please him it just wasn’t sure how.
God, he couldn’t think with these wailing smoke detectors.
Here!
He gave an aggravated sigh and started throwing open cabinets.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
The fire started another imaginary wick and ran to the back wall of the kitchen again.
The refrigerator? The door was hanging half off the seal would have melted in this kind of heat. Gabriel yanked it anyway.
Nothing.
The cabinets under the sink.
Nothing.
The dishwasher, maybe?
Nothing.
The oven. Would someone climb in an oven?
He checked. No. Not in this house, anyway.
Another imaginary wick. Fire caught at the pantry door.
The open pantry. Why would the door be open? From the flames, it looked like the shelves started three feet above the ground. The pantry wasn’t that deep; even with the smoke, he’d be able to see someone under the shelving.
And they wouldn’t be alive anyway.
But when he stepped closer, the fire blazed around him, dancing excitedly.
Gabriel stuck out a hand. He felt the frame of the pantry, the inner walls, spongy and fragile from the damage.
And on the back wall, his hand found a handle.
Without thinking, he pulled. The wall seemed to swing forward on a hinge. He couldn’t figure it out. A hidden trash can?
He stuck a hand into the opening. Metal sides, some kind of vertical tunnel.
You idiot. A laundry chute.
The upstairs was completely consumed by fire. This level wasn’t much better. Would someone go down a laundry chute?
He could never fit. It would have to be someone tiny.
He thought of that anguished scream from the front lawn.
A child.
Holy shit. He needed to get back to the basement.
The stairs were on fire now, almost giving way beneath his weight. The basement was still a pit of blackness; he had no idea how he’d find a small kid. Based on the location of the kitchen, he slid away from the stairs, on hands and knees again.
He found the dead cat again.
Thank god he hadn’t eaten dinner.
But here was a door, the knob cool. He threw it wide.
More darkness. He’d kill for a light.
And just like that, fire swept down the stairs, slithering around his feet and into the opening, gorging on the fresh oxygen. A laundry room. Fire raced up the bare insulation that lined the walls, tearing into a rack of shirts hanging by the iron-ing board.
Raging toward a pile of sheets and towels.
He almost couldn’t make out the crumpled figure on top of them.
He dashed through the flames and grabbed hold of what felt like an arm, yanking the body into his arms. Someone small, fragile, all slim legs and knobby joints. Long hair a girl. He felt satin, like a nightgown. She weighed nothing and hung limply against his chest.
Was she breathing? He couldn’t tell. It was too hot to tell.
Fire grabbed the nightgown. He crushed it in his fist. More leapt from the wall to make another attempt.
He had to get her out.
But he had to get low, under the smoke. He clutched her to his chest with one arm and crawled with the other. Once he got out of the laundry room, the fire followed him. Flaming ash began to fall from the ceiling, sparking in his hair and on her face.
If the ceiling fell in, they were done for.
The smoke detectors fell silent.
Gabriel hesitated. He could hear himself breathing. He couldn’t hear her.
Then a crash shook the house and sent beams slamming into the floor.
The second level had fallen into the first.
And now it was going to fall into the basement.
He ran. Shoulder first, sliding his feet along the floor as fast as he could. He hit walls. Beams. Something cracked against his helmet, but he kept going.
He could feel flames coming through the floor, looking for him. The sound of wood giving way was deafening. Sparks and ash rained down.
He wasn’t going to make it. He was going to fail. Again.
Then a hand closed over his wrist and pulled, hard.
Gabriel followed what else could he do?
He burst into fresh air that felt arctic on his cheeks. That hand kept pulling, dragging him.
He stumbled and almost fell, but he caught himself before he dropped the girl.
He felt grass under his feet and slowed.
Someone was jerking the girl out of his arms. “Is she breathing?”
Hunter.
Had Hunter gone into . . . into that to drag him the rest of the way out of the darkness?
“Gabriel! Damn it, was she breathing inside?”
Hunter had her on the ground, his cheek over the girl’s mouth.
“No,” said Gabriel. “No, she wasn’t breathing.”
Hunter wasn’t even listening. He’d put his mouth over the girl’s and was now blowing into hers.
“Call the medics!” he yelled between breaths.
Gabriel ran around the side of the house and waved his arms.
“One got out the back! We need a medic over here!”
He’d never seen people move so fast. EMTs and firemen were just there, swarming the girl, treating her. Gabriel lost track of Hunter.
He needed to lose track of himself before someone figured out he wasn’t a real fireman.
Someone caught his sleeves and turned him.
