“Landon . . ."
But she didn’t complete the sentence, and he didn’t expect her to. There was nothing more to say. This was as cordial as things got, and he was determined to leave with it all relatively unbroken. Alex had already had enough heartache in her life to last her for her remaining days. It was the right time to walk away.
Wasn’t it?
Stay, a voice in the back of his mind whispered. Stay and fight.
There’s nothing to fight against, he thought. Alex isn’t my enemy. She knows what she wants.
It isn’t Alex you’re fighting against. It’s Alex you’re fighting for.
But no matter how insistent the whisper, he kept to his course. He walked back into town, one resolute step leading the other. He heard a twig snap, off to his left, as something followed him beyond the copse of trees he was passing. He kept walking but turned his head to look with incurious eyes.
A pair of startling silver eyes shone back at him, reflected in the streetlight.
It was the dog, the same stray he had rescued from the fire, what felt like a lifetime ago. It wasn’t limping anymore, but its tail hung between its back legs as it skulked along. The dog paused when he paused, and he saw the tail give a feeble wag when the bedraggled creature noticed his gaze.
“It’s okay, boy." Landon dropped to one knee and set his duffel bag aside. He tried to coax the dog out of the cover of the trees, but it wouldn’t come to him.
He inched slowly nearer. The weighted moment hung between them, and just when he thought his odds of approaching were good, the dog turned and bolted away, swallowed by darkness.
He knelt in the dirt for a long moment after that by himself. Then, with a heavy sigh, he heaved himself back to his feet. Maybe he had only been fooling himself all these years.
Maybe he was a cat person after all.
Chapter 14
Alex
"Well, I did it, Henry. I sent him away," Alex informed the wrinkled photograph in her hand. "Or drove him away. Or he walked away. I guess it depends on how you look at things, but . . . shit, this is my house again, isn't it? I get to decide the narrative."
The narrative should have been a familiar one: a grieving wife, sitting with her legs splayed out on the kitchen floor, a bottle of wine in one hand and a cardboard box of photos torn open in front of her.
But it wasn't familiar. Not to this house. For Alex, this marked the first—the very first—time she had ever sat herself down and reopened the past.
The wine was exceedingly necessary.
"Guess it was kind of all three," she whispered. She took another swig straight off the bottle and studied the photograph. Henry had always insisted on having a disposable camera around, even as technology barreled on ahead of physical photos. She couldn't count the number of camera misfires that were in this sleeve of photos alone—or the number of times she’d looked on in red-eyed exasperation as he took her candid portrait—but she had been so grateful for them when he died, she had nearly caught herself weeping . . . before she had hastily shoved the box into the back of her closet and forced herself to forget about it.
A tear leaked down one cheek. She let it slip along her chin and fall into her lap as she stared at the photo of Henry she held. "I'm so afraid of getting over you," she whispered to the face of her husband, to the smile that would never again grace the rooms of her empty house. "I never thought I would. I thought you were it, Henry, but now . . . what if you're not?"
Her throat hitched on a sob, and she glanced up at the clock on the far wall.
It was late. She didn't know how long she had been sitting here, alone and lost in the past. She stirred and pulled herself to her feet.
She took the photograph—and the wine—with her into the living room and sank down on the couch. She curled up on the cushion Landon used to favor and closed her eyes, losing herself in darkness. A while later, she felt Raphael jump up, arrange himself in the curve of her waist, and purr contentedly to himself. She didn't reach for him, and he didn't complain when the usual strokes weren't forthcoming.
They fell asleep like that, together, their chests rising and falling as one.
When Alex next woke, it was to the sound of her phone blowing up—not actually combusting but vibrating its way across the floor where she had left it beside the box of photos. It had nearly gained the kitchen by now.
She scrubbed her eyes and took a moment to blink herself more fully conscious. Her head was heavy from the wine, although she wasn't drunk any longer, just steadily steamrolling her way toward a killer hangover. How long had she been out for? Long enough to sleep off the effects of the alcohol, at least—but she had started drinking pretty early in the day A glance out the window showed her nothing but a black patch of night.
She was tempted to leave her phone and go right back to sleep. The thought that it might be Landon trying to reach her propelled her off the couch.
Raphael hissed and sprang out of reach as she wheeled around and dropped to her knees on the floor. Alex cursed, cradling her jarred head, and rose unsteadily, managing to retrieve her phone just as it ceased ringing. She thumbed it open and looked down in astonishment.
Twenty missed calls? Twenty? And almost twice as many texts flooded her home screen from various contacts. Panic rose like bile in her throat as she scrolled through them all, one after another. The sick feeling didn't subside even as her read messages began to outpace her unread.
"Oh, my God," she muttered to Raphael—to the lonely, darkened house. She crossed to the television and flipped it on to the local news. She turned the volume up, then bolted out of the room to get changed.
Fire had swept into town.
* * *
When Alex arrived on the scene, it looked like every ambulance and available body was already there. She lost herself in the chaos, eyes scanning over the rushing river of heads. She knew from her texts, and from the TV, that Cedar Springs was in the process of evacuating the entire block, although no one within her sphere of information seemed to know yet how fire had gotten this far into town—and taken such an immediate hold.
The apartment building in front of her was on fire. It was a horrifying vision to witness firsthand after seeing the live news coverage, and Alex found herself frozen in place for a moment as she took in the hellish sight. The building still stood, but every window was blacked out and busted open; tongues of flame licked their way out of the empty sockets. Glass littered the ground around the building, like a moat of sharp teeth waiting to bite anyone who might dare to come—or go—from the doomed structure. Firetrucks and firefighters seemed to be everywhere, including crews directing streams of water onto the buildings to either side to keep the fire from spreading.
"Alex!" Cherise was already on the scene and hastening toward her. The older nurse's hair was in complete disarray, and her face was streaked with ash, but her eyes glowed with stern life.
"Cherise!" Alex exclaimed. She caught the older woman by the arms before she could barrel into Alex. "What's going on? What happened? Has the fire reached town?" It seemed impossible that it should have descended on the town already, but how . . .?
"Gas main," Cherise replied grimly. "It was unmarked. Nobody knew it was here until it blew. Come on! I'm in desperate need of someone with a cool head to help me." She gestured toward the coughing, miserable locals lining up for treatment.
Alex took in the grim assemblage, and even as her heart broke, she rolled up the sleeves of the shirt she wore beneath her scrubs. Flecks of swarming ash flew through the air and sparked against her bared skin, but she ignored the stings as she followed after Cherise, duty-bound. She could see that many of the greener nurses were already looking distraught and overwhelmed.
What will we do, she thought, when the real fire gets here?
Maybe it's already arrived.
The ambulances came and went in a constant stream of patients. Alex kept her head down, kept herself focused on the task—on the people—at ha
nd. A blackened teenager sat upright on one of the available stretchers. Alex didn't even have to ask him to widen his eyes as she flashed a light from one pupil to the other. All signs pointed to nothing more pressing than shock. She heard herself speaking to him, a string of standard, comforting words, as she tried to gently ascertain the location of his family. He raised his hand to point. Alex followed the line of his arm . . . and froze.
Beyond the clot of civilians the kid was gesturing toward, she saw the Alaskan volunteers assembled by their borrowed truck. Her eyes ran down the long line of the hose, to the three figures manning its nozzle. Her heart clenched.
She saw Landon pointing, shouting to them, although she couldn't hear his words. She could see another clump of people, strung out in a line, pouring out of the burning building.
She didn't have to hear the context of his words to know what he was about to do.
He was off the hose. He was running toward the fire.
And all she could do was watch.
Please, God, let us make it through this night.
Chapter 15
Landon
This shouldn’t have happened. Landon knew it was useless to entertain such thoughts now, with the raging fire devouring everything in front of him, but he couldn’t help it. He and Brent and Andrew were latched onto the firehose and spraying down the burning building.
An old, badly marked gas main. That’s what they had told him. An old gas main, sitting like an undiscovered fossil, ready to rear back into horrifying life as soon as the sparks from a backhoe hitting the pipe ignited it.
At least the subsequent explosion had been relatively contained to this one building, but it was a hell of a mistake on the part of the surveyors.
“Hold up!" he called suddenly. The two other men manning the hose glanced at him, but they followed his orders from long practice, shutting down the nozzle just as a couple of crew members came out of the bottom floor herding a group of staggering, soot-stained civilians. Landon saw the moment one of the women collapsed. His heart lurched ahead of his body.
“Hold the hose!" he shouted to the others. As soon as he was certain they had the weight of it firmly fixed between them, he disengaged and ran for the crumpled figure.
“Civilian down!" one of the squad members he passed was yelling, but Landon was already on it. He dropped to one knee beside the woman’s unconscious body; a wall of heat hit him, stinging his eyes, and he yanked his mask down quickly over his face to avoid inhaling the smoke. He grasped the woman and pulled her up over his shoulders, rose, expertly balancing her weight, and swiveled to sprint for the triage area.
Alex was there. Among the assembled nurses, she shone like a beacon, a blonde avenging angel, sword drawn against the consuming fire. By turns, she was divvying out orders, taking her patients' vitals, administering oxygen, and wiping grime from desperately furrowed faces. She looked up only when he approached—as if sensing his incoming presence without eyes.
Even with the mask on, she recognized him. “Landon! Here! Bring her here to me!"
No time to be distracted. He slid the woman off his shoulders, moving gingerly, and deposited her on the first available bed. The paramedics swarmed her, and one motioned unnecessarily for Alex to join them. As he pushed his mask up, he saw Alex snap on a new pair of gloves as she raced over, and before he could draw a breath of the smoky air, her hands were already in place, checking the woman for a pulse and breathing arrhythmia.
With the fire behind him and the woman he loved in front of him, Landon felt stuck between two worlds, unable to make a decision as to where he belonged. He watched Alex for a split second longer than he could afford.
Then he turned to go back to the fire.
"My daughter," a voice croaked. A hand reached for him and grasped the sleeve of his jacket. It was the newly retrieved woman, fighting for consciousness, her hands fluttering to grasp at the first patch of reflective yellow they could find. “My daughter . . . upstairs!"
Landon's stomach clenched. He was already wheeling, already reaching for his mask, but before he could bring the shield down, his eyes locked with Alex's.
He stopped. For a moment, he was tethered to her, unable to run, unable to fly to where he was needed most . . . because her eyes said it all. He had battled with fear all his life, but never had he seen it so plainly written in a human expression. He wondered if he had ever known another's fear, really known it, before he’d stared into Alex's face at this moment.
“I have to go," he whispered.
“I know you do," she said. “I know." But now her hand had replaced the woman’s on his sleeve, gripping convulsively, and Landon didn’t think he could pull himself away if he tried. If she didn’t release him, he might stay by her side forever . . . and the woman’s daughter—
They both looked toward the building in the same instant as a high-pitched scream slashed through the air.
In an upper window, a little girl stood silhouetted against a column of smoke. Even from a distance, Landon could see the hysterical tears tracking down her face. Her screaming coalesced into a single word: "Mommy!"
His radio was already in his hand. “I need backup!" he shouted. The hand holding his radio dropped as he turned to find any available fireman in the panicked crowd. “I need backup!" he screamed again.
“Landon!" Alex‘s hands clenched on his sleeve. Her icy blue eyes narrowed in focused determination. “I know what we need. I know how to get her down. Get a space blanket."
Landon stared at her. It took only a split second more, but it felt like an eternity as he calibrated what she was saying. Then he yanked her to him in an embrace, pulled her in tight against his chest, his hand locked in the tangle of her hair. When he sucked in a breath, they breathed together as one.
“Go." Alex released him. And he went.
Chapter 16
Alex
Watching the little figure standing in the window of the burning building was like looking through the gates of Hell. Alex had never thought she would be confronted with a sight so horrific—and she would definitely never have thought she would be fighting herself with every breath not to run inside.
The plan had to work. It had to.
Come on, Landon. She was standing so close to the blaze that she could feel beads of sweat on her brow. But he was closer to the building, the fragile protection of the space blanket reflecting the worst of the heat for a few precious seconds as he shouted encouragement and urgent command to the girl above him. Come on!
"Miss, I'm going to need you to take a step back." Alex hadn't realized until one of the other firefighters approached her that she had shouted her urgings out loud, that she actually had taken a step toward the fire. A gauntleted hand settled on her shoulder, and beneath its weight, for a moment, she could almost imagine it was Landon's hand trying to coax her to safety. But how could she stand to put any more distance between them when he might call out to her at any moment?
Landon might shout her name. The building might begin to collapse on top of the little girl as the insatiable appetite of the fire consumed it alive—
The girl jumped. She hurtled through the air toward the earth, and Alex felt as if her heart stopped beating, completely arrested by the moment. It was as if the world had stopped turning, as if every living thing held its breath in unison to watch the girl plummet.
Then, suddenly, Landon's arms were full, filled with the small body, the force of impact knocking him halfway to the ground, and the world snapped into focus. Her heart resumed pounding with a breathtaking, almost painful throb, and Alex shouldered free of the hand restraining her. She ran to Landon's side as he pushed himself upright and was simultaneously wheeling to run to her. They met halfway across the lawn, when his legs seemed to collapse beneath him. Alex threw herself down to help cradle the girl's limp body.
"Medics!" Alex shouted over her shoulder as she checked for a pulse. Nothing.
Landon threw off the shining thermal blanket, a
nd Alex shoved the girl's shirt up and began to administer CPR.
"She went limp when I caught her. Smoke inhalation," Landon said as he yanked his mask up. He was stroking the girl's sweat-soaked hair out of her face.
The little girl's lips were parted, her eyes rolled back in her head. Alex redoubled her efforts, thrusting down on the child's chest harder until another pair of hands entered her field of vision. She moved aside and let one paramedic take over her rhythm while another slapped a mask over the young face and began to administer oxygen.
The seconds crawled by agonizingly as she watched. She tried to silence the clock in her head that counted down steadily, cruelly, toward an outcome that . . .
The girl gasped suddenly, and her eyes flew open.
Relief flooded Alex, and she nearly pulled the poor little girl into a bear hug. A squeeze around her midsection was the last thing this particular patient needed.
"Mommy? Where's my mommy?" The little girl's eyes rolled around in rising panic as she reached up to try to push the mask away. The paramedics glanced at each other, clearly unprepared with an answer that would put the girl's mind at ease.
"Mommy's safe at the hospital, waiting for you, sweetheart." Alex moved back in as the nurse in her took over. "Let’s keep the mask on, honey. It’ll help you breathe better. Would you like to take a ride in an ambulance to see your Mommy?"
The girl nodded and allowed the mask to settle over her mouth and nose once more. Alex turned her head and saw the paramedics already had a gurney ready. She smiled at the girl and said in her professionally cheerful voice, "These people are going to take you to see your mommy. And they're going to make you feel better, all right?"
"Can you come, too?"
Alex smiled and squeezed the little girl's hand. "Of course. I’ll be there to meet you. Okay?"
Blazing Hot: Californian Wildfire Fighters Book Two Page 8
