One Fine Fireman

by Jennifer Bernard

  She sighed happily. She was a fool for love, that’s what she was. Six years of trying to be smart, to be careful and make good choices, gone in a burst of gloriously orgasmic impulsiveness. But to hell with it. This was right. She knew it with every singing cell of her satisfied body.

  Next to her, Kirk lay equally stunned, or perhaps asleep. She blew on his ear. “Kirk.”

  “Shh.” He lifted a hand abruptly. She drew back, confused. That wasn’t a very romantic afterglow kind of response. Then she saw he was listening closely to the low murmur of his police scanner.

  “Sounds like there’s some sort of fire out on Highway 90.”

  “Highway 90?” She sat up. “Where that warehouse is?”

  “Yeah. A lot of other buildings too. Hang on.” He got up and walked to the scanner, which sat balanced on the windowsill in the absence of a bedside table. With absolutely no apparent concern for his naked, scarred state, he leaned over and turned up the volume. Maribel experienced a wave of sheer awe at his physical condition, at the body that had withstood an assault of cancer and chemicals. The hollows of his pelvic bones probably dipped deeper than they used to. He probably moved with less energy. She hated the fact that she hadn’t been there for his bout with chemo. As soon as she could, she was going to learn every detail of what he’d gone through.

  The voice of the dispatcher intruded. The woman spoke fast, in a kind of code Maribel didn’t understand. She caught the words “structure fire” and “three alarm,” “incident report” and “uninhabited.”

  “Uninhabited. That’s good, right?”

  But Kirk didn’t answer, waiting tensely until the address came through again. “Three thousand Highway 90.” Then he wheeled on her. “It’s the warehouse. Pete isn’t out there, is he?”

  “No, of course not. He’s in school. Besides, he knows he’s not supposed to go out there alone.”

  “You sure he’s at school? I told him I was going to pick up Hagrid this afternoon and put him on a plane to Colorado.”

  Maribel got a sick feeling in her stomach. She scrambled to her feet and looked around for her purse. Kirk located it and tossed it at her. Cell phone. It was off. When had she turned it off? Doesn’t matter. Turn it on. One unheard message. From Pete’s school.

  Kirk was already pulling on his clothes. Maribel’s hands were shaking so hard she could barely play the message. Kirk plucked the phone out of her hands and clicked on the speaker.

  “Ms. Boone, this is Janet from San Gabriel Elementary. Your son Pete hasn’t been seen here at school since this morning. Please give us a call as soon as you can and let us know if you took him home.”

  “Come on,” said Kirk roughly. “Get dressed, we’re going out there.” He picked up his own phone and clicked a speed-dial key. “Captain Brody, it’s Thor. That warehouse fire out on 90, there might be a kid inside. Nine-year-old boy going after a dog. Ten-four. I’m on my way.”

  He stuffed the cell phone in his pocket and helped Maribel finish dressing. “Do you want to stay here, honey? Captain Brody and the guys are on it, and they’re the best. I want to be there because Pete knows me. But if it’s too much for you—”

  “I’m going,” she said tensely.

  “Okay.” He didn’t argue, as she was afraid he would. They ran through the house to the driveway, where her car was parked behind his older-model brown truck, blocking him in. “We can take your car, it’ll be faster. Mind if I drive?”

  She dug in her purse and threw him her keys. If she drove in this state of mind, every telephone pole between here and the warehouse would be in danger. She dashed for the passenger seat and fastened her seat belt.

  Good thing too, because her little Volvo had never been driven like a race car in the Indy 500 before. In Kirk’s hands, her car suddenly acquired powerful acceleration, precision turns, speed limit–obliterating velocity. They screamed down the highway. She wouldn’t have been at all surprised to find a platoon of state troopers behind them by the time they’d reached the city limits. But luck was with them, and before long they spotted giant billows of black smoke belching above the horizon.

  “Oh my God,” she started chanting, a thick dread clutching at her throat. Her boy, all that black smoke . . . But he couldn’t be there. It must be a mistake. She should call Janet back and make sure. She punched redial on her phone. When a woman answered, she babbled, “Pete Boone, I’m calling about Pete. Is he there?”

  “Ms. Boone? We’ve been trying to reach you. We called your workplace number too. No, no one’s seen Pete since lunch. Are you saying he’s not with you?”

  Maribel dropped the phone, all her focus now on the looming black cloud a half mile away . . . a quarter mile . . . down the next road . . . at the end of the—Oh good Lord!

  A hellish sight waited at the end of the road. The warehouse was completely engulfed in a thick, toxic-looking mass of roiling smoke, lit by a red, eerie glow. Orange flames darted here and there, like flickering snakes’ tongues. Several fire engines were parked at different angles around the building, and helmeted, tank-bearing firemen were dragging hoses and setting up ladders.

  “This could be a hazmat situation,” muttered Kirk, peering into the mess. “Who knows what chemicals are in there? See how they’re staying upwind to be safe? You’d better stay here.”

  “But Pete—”

  “I don’t see his bike. He usually drops it right by the front door. See?” He pointed to the front door, which, amazingly, was still intact. The fire was concentrated toward the back of the building. The front step was empty; no little blue Schwinn. Maribel went faint from relief. Maybe Pete had gone to the Lazy Daisy, or home to work on his book. He’d get a consequence—scolding, no computer games, something big—but at least he wasn’t caught in a toxic inferno.

  “Do you have a scarf or something?” Kirk was asking.

  “What? Why?”

  “I don’t have any gear with me.”

  “Gear? Kirk, you can’t go in there.” She clutched at him, absolutely appalled.

  “I’m just going to check it out. I’m not going inside, don’t worry. How about that apron?”

  She reached into the backseat and tossed it to him. He folded it, wrapped it around the lower half of his face, then tied the strings at the back. Above the rough cotton, his gray-green eyes stared at her intently. He looked like a pirate or a spy. Then he waggled his eyebrows, completely ruining the effect and making her burst into hysterical giggles.

  “Be right back,” he said, muffled in cotton. “Keep the windows closed.” And he was gone, dashing toward the horrible gushing smoke. She watched him until he disappeared behind a fire engine. Even through the glass windows, she heard the hollow roar of the fire, like a blowtorch multiplied to a monstrous size, and the occasional yells of the firemen. The stench drifted in—through the vents, maybe? She put her hand over her mouth, gagging a bit.

  She found her cell phone and called the house. Pick up, Pete. Come on, sweetie. But the only answer was her own voice on the outgoing message. Next, the Lazy Daisy.

  “Haf not seen him, Maribel. And I’m on my own, cannot talk.”

  “Sorry. Call me if he comes in, would you? I’m getting frantic.”

  “I vill.”

  She hung up and looked back at the fire, a fresh wave of panic sending flutters to her heart. Where was Pete? With a sudden chill of dread, she knew he’d come here. Maybe he’d left his bike somewhere else for once. Maybe it was even now being incinerated in a chemical bonfire . . .

  She had to get to Pete. Get him out. She jumped out of the car. The sickening smell of the fire nearly knocked her off her feet. “Pete!” she yelled, running toward the warehouse. Her voice sounded weird, nearly inaudible over the vast roar of the fire. But she kept at it anyway, yelling “Pete, Pete,” until someone slammed into her and swooped her off the ground.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Kirk yelled in a hoarse voice. “I told you to stay in the car!” He held her against his
chest while she struggled against him.

  “Pete . . . not at home . . . can’t find him,” Maribel panted. “Have to find him.”

  “The guys are on it. They haven’t seen a bike. No sign of anyone. You’re just going to get killed if you go in there.”

  “But Kirk . . .” Tears were flowing down her cheeks. “I know he’s here. I just know it. Please. You have to listen to me.”

  He stilled, scrutinizing her face. Would he listen? Would someone, for once, hear her?

  “Okay,” he said, putting her back on her feet but keeping a tight grip on her arm. “But you can’t run into a burning building. That’s what firefighters are for. We’ll circle around the edges. And you don’t make a move without me. Here.”

  He pulled a red bandanna from his pocket and tied it around her mouth and nose. The soft cotton, with a pleasant tang of laundry detergent, was a balm after the nasty, harsh stench of the smoke. “I had this stashed in Engine 1. Now come on.”

  But before they’d taken more than a few steps, he squeezed her arm so tightly she yelped.

  “Shh!”

  He waited, stock-still, until Maribel heard it too. The sharp bark of a dog. “I think that’s Hagrid. That’s the bark a rescue dog makes when they’ve found something. Let’s go.”

  He ran toward the sound, which didn’t come from the building but from the birch woods behind it. She ran after him, keeping her hand over her mouth so the bandanna didn’t slide off. Even though they gave the burning warehouse a wide berth, it was absolutely terrifying, like a grotesque smoke monster bellowing and thrashing. In quick, fascinated glimpses, she saw yellow-suited firefighters brave the smoke, aiming streams of water into its depths. The flow of water looked puny compared to the crazed beast of fire, but the firemen seemed undaunted. They worked together seamlessly, at least to her eye. It occurred to her that Kirk would have been right there with them if he hadn’t quit the department.

  Awe at his courage—at their courage—battled with sheer relief that he wasn’t risking his life at the moment.

  At the edge of the woods, a small white blur raced toward them. Pete’s little dog.

  “Hagrid! Z-boy!” Kirk rushed toward him. Man and dog met halfway, the dog nipping eagerly at his leg. Maribel caught a glimpse of his dark brown eyes, bright with urgency. Then the little guy wheeled around and raced back into the woods.

  Chapter Ten

  * * *

  SOMETHING WET WAS sliming Pete’s cheek. He opened his eyes, then squinted them shut right away. A bright shaft of light from above had nearly blinded him. And what was that black slippery stuff all around him? He tried to struggle to his feet, but he kept sliding around in the mud.

  The mud.

  Memory flooded back. He’d been running through the woods, away from the sneaky-looking men who’d shown up at the warehouse, when the ground had disappeared from under him and everything had gone black. He must have fallen into some kind of hole, like a trap.

  His heart raced. Where was he? Where were those men?

  He lifted his head and listened. Should he try to climb out of the hole? Was it safe? What would Robin Dareheart do if he saw a bunch of creepy men with red plastic containers that smelled like gasoline?

  Robin Dareheart probably wouldn’t have run. At least he’d grabbed Hagrid, although he’d had to leave his bike behind. Maybe it was a good thing Hagrid hadn’t wanted to get in the saddlebag he’d brought.

  “Hagrid,” he whispered. “Are you here?”

  Then he remembered. Halfway between the warehouse and the woods, he’d heard a shout, then a sharp pop.

  Hagrid had wormed out of his arms and raced back toward the warehouse, barking like a maniac. Terrified, Pete had kept running until he reached the woods, then kept on, going in wild zigzags, until blackness had swallowed him up.

  He gave a sob. Hagrid. Hagrid must have gone back to attack those men, scare them away. He’d probably gotten shot. That pop must have been a gunshot, right? He was probably lying dead outside the warehouse while those horrible men set it on fire. The building was probably burned to a crisp by now and Hagrid, poor brave Hagrid . . .

  A sharp bark made him jerk. That sounded like . . . Was Hagrid still alive?

  “Hagrid, shh!” He spoke in a loud whisper that hopefully wouldn’t carry too far in case the men were still out there.

  Quick little scrabbling sounds came from overhead, followed by the thump of running footsteps. Oh no, the men were after Hagrid. He had to get out of here, had to help . . . He made his hands into claws and dug them into the muddy sides of the hole. The light wasn’t too far above him, just a few feet. If he could grab onto a tree root or something . . . He craned his neck at the opening overhead. Something was blocking the light. He squinted.

  A furry white head peered down at him and gave a soft bark. The footsteps were still coming after him.

  “Hagrid! What are you doing, boy? Run and hide. Hide!”

  Then another figure appeared next to the dog. “Pete, is that you?”

  Kirk. Dizzy with relief, Pete slid back down to the bottom of the hole. “I’m down here. Are those men still here?”

  “The firemen? Yep, they’re here, but they’re a little busy.”

  “No,” said Pete, but it didn’t seem worth explaining right now. “I’m kind of stuck down here.”

  “So I see. Hang tight, I’ll get a rope. You okay for a few more minutes?”

  “Oh sure. Take your time.” Now that Kirk and Hagrid were here, all fear left him. Kirk disappeared, but then his mother knelt next to Hagrid, the sunlight making a red halo out of her hair.

  “Pete! Are you hurt?” She’d obviously been crying; he could tell from her voice. And he felt horrible all of a sudden. He’d snuck out of school, broken the rules, been shot at, nearly gotten Hagrid killed.

  “No,” he said in a thin voice. He hadn’t felt like crying until this very moment. But now . . . “I’m not hurt. And I’m really sorry, Mom. You can ground me. I don’t mind.”

  “Oh sweetie. You look pretty grounded already.” She went for a laugh, which partly worked.

  She’d made a joke. His mom, who must have been freaking out, had tried to make him laugh. Tears sprang out of his eyes. He wiped them away, getting mud all over his face.

  His mother sneezed.

  “Mom, you’d better get away from Hagrid. He’s making you sneeze.”

  “Not yet. We’re fine for now, me and Hagrid.” He saw a movement up above that looked like a pat on the dog’s head.

  “You’re going to have to take a bath when we get home,” he said.

  “I have a feeling I’m not the only one. Just how muddy are you?”

  “About as muddy as the giant slug in the Cave of Torment.”

  “Wow! But sorry, I don’t think we have a bathtub big enough for the giant slug.”

  Another joke! Everything was going to be okay. And then Kirk was back, and he knew for sure that everything would be fine.

  “Okay, buddy. Time to show off your climbing skills.” A rope, knotted at the end so he could easily grip it, slowly made its way down the hole. “You can tie it around your waist or just hold on.”

  “My hands are really muddy.”

  “Then tie it around your chest, under your arms. No hurry, Pete. Take your time, tie a good knot. That’s right. Good job.”

  Kirk’s calm voice made all the difference. Pete wasn’t nervous at all as he tied the knot.. He felt a little goofy dangling from the rope as Kirk hauled him up. He used his feet to hold himself off the sides of the hole. As his head cleared the opening, the first thing he felt was Hagrid’s enthusiastic, joyful licking of every inch of his face. Next came his mother’s arms, scooping him up tight, never mind the mud all over him. And then the unfamiliar, reassuring weight of a strong male hand clapping him on the back.

  MARIBEL COULD BARELY stand to hear the details of Pete’s adventure. A rescue ambulance came and paramedics checked him out and wrapped him in a blank
et. Even though it was eighty degrees outside, her son kept shivering. Shock, they said. Luckily, they didn’t feel a trip to Good Samaritan hospital was necessary. She stayed with Pete, sitting close to him on the tailgate of the rescue ambulance, and listened to the details of his story. He’d planned to stash Hagrid in the garden shed behind their house. Since she never did anything resembling yard work, it might have worked, if Hagrid had never barked or ventured outside during daylight hours.

  “Honey, I wish we could keep Hagrid. I really do. But—”

  “I know. It was stupid. I don’t care anymore. I mean, I care, but I’m just glad he’s alive.”

  They both glanced over at poor Hagrid, whose ear was being swathed in ointment by Fred, who’d spread out a blanket on the grass to tend to the dog. The fire was now a smoldering shadow of its former terrifying self, and the firefighters were putting away their equipment. A few of the fire engines had already left, but the San Gabriel crew was still there.

  “He’s a great dog,” said Maribel softly. “You were right, Pete. He’s special.”

  Pete nodded wearily. She wanted to throw up at the thought of everything he’d gone through—gunshots, arson-witnessing, getting knocked unconscious. She put her arm around him, wondering how she was ever going to let him out of her sight again.

  Captain Brody walked over to them and surveyed Pete with sober charcoal-gray eyes. “Pete, the arson investigators are going to want to talk to you. Are you okay with that?”

  “Why?” Maribel asked in alarm. “He’s just a kid.”

  “But he’s a smart kid. If he saw something that might help locate the arsonists, we might be able to lock them up so they don’t do anything like this again. We might not even know it was arson if Pete hadn’t seen as much as he did. These are dangerous people, professionals probably hired by the owners when they couldn’t find a new renter It’s not only arson, but attempted murder.”

  The blood drained from Maribel’s face. She hadn’t thought of it in those terms. “And Pete’s the witness? But he didn’t see anything. And they didn’t see him, did they, Pete? Just from the back while you were running into the woods?”