Darla's Story
Page 7
Two firefighters climbed out a window. One jogged to the truck and got two long, T-shaped metal pry-bars. The other guy walked over to me.
“Are you okay? Having any trouble breathing?” he asked.
“I’m okay.”
“Good. Look, normally we’d call a paramedic and the Red Cross truck to get you some help, but we can’t even raise dispatch. You got anyone you can stay with?”
“He can stay with us,” Darren said. “Till we can get hold of his family, anyway.”
“That okay with you, kid?”
“Yeah, fine.” I’d have preferred to see Mom’s minivan roaring up the street, but Joe and Darren were okay. They’d lived across the street from us forever.
“The fire’s pretty much dead. We’re going to aerate some walls and do a little salvage work. Make sure you stay out of the house—it’s not stable.”
“Okay. What started it?”
“I don’t know. Dispatch will send an investigator out when we reach them.”
“Thanks.” I wished he knew more about what was happening, but it didn’t seem polite to say so.
“Come on,” Darren said. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I struggled to my feet and plodded across the street alongside Darren. The sun had gone down; there was a hint of orange in the west, but otherwise the sky was a gloomy gray. No lights had come on. About halfway across Darren’s yard, I stopped and stared at the white steam still spewing from my partly collapsed home. I put my hands on my knees and looked at the grass. A numb exhaustion had seeped into every pore of my body, turning my muscles liquid, attacking my bones with random aches. I felt like I’d been sparring with a guy twice my size for an hour.
Darren rested his hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be all right, Alex. The phones will probably be back up tomorrow, and we’ll get your folks and the insurance company on the line. A year from now, the house will be as good as new, and you’ll be cracking jokes about this.”
I nodded wearily and straightened up, Darren’s hand still a comfortable weight on my shoulder.
Then the explosions started.