Chapter 1
Jess
Bianca is the first to notice the smoke. That’s not surprising, since birds have highly sensitive lungs, much more so than humans.
She starts acting strangely, screaming and bouncing around in her cage. Nobody pays much attention, though, because Bianca throws fits several times a day, whenever she thinks she’s being ignored. And for an attention-whore cockatoo like her, that’s pretty much all the time. Everyone at the Wrenwood Animal Shelter loves her because she keeps us in stitches with her antics.
So, Bianca’s squawking and dancing isn’t abnormal enough to cause alarm. I’m at the reception desk, and since her cage is a mere twenty feet away, it gets old quickly. I approach her to try and settle her down.
“Bianca, what’s the matter? Are you being ignored today?”
Usually, anyone walking up and talking to her will do the trick. Not this morning, though. She keeps right on squawking, louder than she normally does. That’s when Rhonda comes running in, shouting.
“Jessica, do you smell that?”
Her alarmed look startles me as much as her dramatic entrance.
I shake my head. “I don’t smell—”
Then I do smell it.
That’s smoke. Definitely smoke.
We have no fire alarm at the shelter, and the sprinkler system hasn’t gone off yet.
Dylan runs in, scaring everyone.
“Fire! There’s a fire behind the warehouse!”
For an animal shelter, that’s possibly the worst scenario possible. There are five people on staff this morning, two of them volunteers. Dylan is just 17 and a senior at Lennox High.
Rhonda and I run through the short hallway to the warehouse, grabbing the fire extinguisher off the wall as we do. Once we look through the door into the big room, we realize it’ll be of no use. A good thirty feet of the back wall is already burning at the bottom. Rhonda screams in my ear, which doesn’t help matters.
We run back to the lobby area. I’m the senior staff member today and remember the Three Fire Emergency Actions I’ve had drummed into my head one day every year for the last decade.
1. Call 9-1-1 and report the fire.
2. Make sure all employees and guests are safely out of the building.
3. Rescue animals ONLY if possible without putting human lives at stake.
“Rhonda, call 9-1-1!” I shout as I run toward the dog wing. “Dylan, get Anika and that woman she’s with, and wait in the parking lot!”
Anika is in the cat wing and Nicholas is in the dog wing. Or at least I hope that’s where they are.
“Nicholas!” I scream. He looks out from the training room as if I’m crazy. “Fire! Leash any dogs you have with you and get to the parking lot.”
Dylan and Anika arrive in the lobby when I do, and the woman who was looking at cats to adopt is already running out the front door. Rhonda’s there, cell phone to her ear as she gives details to the emergency operator. I herd everyone outside and into the parking lot, and Nicholas comes out a moment later, with two pit mixes and a scared-shitless poodle.
“That’s everyone, right?” I ask. The others agree as smoke rises from the back of the building.
Rhonda’s off the phone now, and actions one and two have been completed. Now we have to see if we can save all these animals.
I run to the door. There’s barely any visible smoke inside the front part of the building at this point, so I figure we’ll give it a shot. If we wait for the firefighters, it might be too late.
Three cars have pulled into the parking lot and a man and two women walk up, worry all over their faces.
“Nicholas and Dylan, roll Bianca’s cage out here, then get started on the dogs. Rhonda and Anika, you’ll help me with the cats.” I look at everyone and say, “Listen, if the smoke gets thick or you see flames, get the fuck out. Human safety first—that’s the rule. Got it?”
Everybody nods. The man insists on helping with the dogs, and I don’t have the time to argue. I tell the two women to wait in the parking lot because we’ll need someone to watch all these critters when we bring them out.
“Humans first! Don’t risk your lives,” I say, then we all run inside.
The next ten minutes are insane. I don’t remember exactly, but I know we have roughly thirty dogs and fifty cats in the shelter. The smoke is thicker now, but not thick enough to impair our breathing, and there’s still no fire in the front area, though I can see a yellow glow at the end of the hallway leading to the warehouse.
The girls and I run into the cat wing and start throwing cats into carriers and smaller kennels. Grabbing cats is a difficult enough proposition at any time, but these are spooked by all the excitement and the smell of smoke and present a unique challenge. Back and forth we run, dropping them off just outside the front door, where people have appeared out of nowhere to help.
We all regroup for a moment to catch our breath. I hear sirens in the distance and estimate we’ve gotten roughly half the cats out. The three women are scratched and bitten beyond belief. The dogs seem to have cooperated better, and Dylan says there are only about a dozen left. Back inside we run.
This time, it’s scarier. The smoke is burning our eyes and making us cough, and the cats are freaking out. Right in the middle of everything, the sprinklers finally kick in and we’re suddenly drenched. Of course, that just makes the cats go berserk. We’re able to get about ten more out before the Linville City Fire Department arrives and forces us to stop.
As two of the three trucks go about unraveling hoses and hooking them up, some guys from the third truck tell me they’re going to continue rescuing animals while it’s safe to do so. One asks where they can find things to transport the others, and I tell them where we store carriers and leashes.
“The dogs all have collars and can be leashed,” I say frantically. “Don’t bother trying to leash the cats. Just grab them by the fur of their neck or back, and push them down into the carriers. If you try to drop them, they won’t go in.”
They put on their masks and go inside, and for the first time I notice a plume of smoke flowing from the top of the front door and floating upwards. Above the building is a huge cloud of dark gray smoke, billowing into the blue Iowa sky. The parking lot is an absolute madhouse, with dogs barking, people running all over the place, and Bianca still screaming like a banshee.
The staff and I start trying to count animals, which is difficult because firefighters keep bringing more. The rest of the staff and I are all coughing our heads off as we run around. Another fifteen frantic minutes pass, and as best as we can tell, we have all the dogs and more than forty-five cats.
A firefighter emerges from the thickening smoke with two carriers and signals the others not to enter the building.
“Is that all of them?” I demand breathlessly.
“I think so. There’s no way to tell because the smoke is too thick. I couldn’t see any movement.”
I look at the door.
“Regardless,” he continues, “it’s not safe to go back inside.”
By this point, the hoses are trained full blast on the building. I turn to the staff, all of us drenched to the bone. Good thing it’s a sunny day in early June.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening,” Rhonda says as she bursts into tears. We’re all exhausted and emotionally wrought, but at least we somehow managed to save the animals.
“I think we got them all,” Dylan says. “I’m almost positive we got all the dogs.”
The commotion around us is so loud that I don’t quite catch the words coming from Anika’s mouth. Or maybe I just don’t want to hear them.
“What?” I demand.
“The kittens,” she says. “In the quarantine room. There’s a litter of the
m in there that was brought in this morning.”
Oh, shit. I saw the man bring those kittens in. Like all animals brought into the shelter, they’re kept in our quarantine room until we’ve had time to check them for medical issues.
We have to get them. I look at the door and can now see flames on the far side of the lobby. I furiously search for a firefighter and spot one walking toward his truck. Grabbing the arm of his thick fireproof jacket, I tug until he turns around.
“There are more animals!” I tell him. “A litter of kittens we forgot.”
He looks at the door, and I follow his gaze. The smoke is really pouring out now and the interior is orange from the fire.
The firefighter turns back to me. Before he can say anything, I plead, “You’ve got to get them. We can’t leave them in there.” Then the tears come.
He talks to another firefighter, who appears to be trying to talk him out of this rescue mission. They both look at me, standing there, begging with my crying eyes. The first guy runs back over.
“Tell me where they are. Exactly.”
I tell him how to get to the quarantine room. Luckily, it’s in the dog wing, away from the warehouse. Without a word, he turns, makes an adjustment to his mask, tightens his helmet, and disappears into the inferno.
Returning to the staff, we wait tensely for any sign from within as the other firefighters continue their attempts to contain the blaze. Seconds tick away, and I can now see flames just inside the door. I have a sudden feeling of panic that this brave man could lose his life because of my request. I don’t know if I could live with myself if that were to happen.
The anxiety continues to build as my staff and I wait nervously for the man to reappear. Suddenly, there’s a loud crash as the roof collapses at the back side of the building, over the warehouse. Everyone screams and smoke and fire spew from the front door. The other firefighters look concerned as well, and the captain is beside himself, cursing that one of his men entered the building at such a dangerous point. Time seems to stand still as everyone’s eyes are trained on the door. Tongues of fire begin to extend through the door, licking the surrounding air menacingly.
Then I see a dark blur in the doorway and the firefighter runs out, a cardboard box cradled in his arms. An audible sigh of relief goes up in the parking lot as he walks towards me, covered from head to toe in firefighting gear that has little wisps of smoke curling off it. Stopping immediately in front of me, he extends his hands, offering me the box. Even over the commotion, I can already hear the mewling of kittens.
I take the box and set it down, kneeling to look inside as Anika runs up. I take a quick count, then turn to her.
“Seven?”
She nods, crying her eyes out. Of course, with the emotional turmoil I’m feeling, that starts me crying all over again. The kittens seem fine, although their little eyes are squinting from the smoke. Hopefully they didn’t inhale too much, but none of them seems to be struggling to breathe. They’re all just pissed off.
I notice the black boots with broad yellow stripes in front of me, and I stand to thank this brave man. At the same time, he’s removing his helmet and face mask.
Whoa.
No pun intended, but this guy is seriously hot. Tanned, weathered skin covers his unshaved face. He’s a sweaty mess, his wet brown hair stuck to his forehead.
“Thank you so much,” I say, sobbing.
He takes off his right glove and runs his fingers through his hair.
“Are they okay?”
I look down at the box and see seven lively gray and black kittens climbing all over one another.
“I think so. They seem to be.”
This man is suddenly looking at me funny, like he’s trying to read my mind. Jesus, those eyes are amazing—dark and full of mystery. I’m suddenly aware of the heat of the fire coming off the building, roasting my cheeks.
The awkward pause only lasts a couple of seconds before another loud crash snags our attention. The cat wing has started to collapse now, and the fire still rages. The firefighter runs off to help his colleagues.
I reassess the situation. Dylan and Nicholas have been running around, moving carriers and kennel cages further and further from the building as the fire worsened. At this point, the dogs are all completely out of harm’s way, though it’s still a madhouse because those who aren’t cowering are barking and snarling at each other. The cats, too, have been moved away to the far side of the lot, and over all the noise I can hear Bianca still screaming her feathered head off.
But they’re safe. We may never know for certain, but it appears we’ve saved every animal in the entire shelter. It’s nothing short of a miracle. Rhonda and I decide to start calling other shelters and vets in the area, as well as people we know will be willing to foster some animals until we can find new homes for them. This is going to be a total mess for a long, long time.
Speaking of mess, when I look at how disastrous Rhonda looks, I realize it’s not just her. Anika, too, looks horrendous. I’m sure I look at least as bad. We’re all soaking wet from the sprinklers, our hair and makeup in terrible shape, and our arms scratched and bleeding.
As I watch, the building continues to crumble into itself, and it dawns on me that while the animals survived, the shelter isn’t going to. There won’t be anything left. All the records, equipment, and the entire facility… gone in minutes. The only thing in there that’s truly irreplaceable is the computer’s backup data. It’s stored on a hard drive in a fireproof box in the office, so hopefully it will survive.
But nobody died. We look like shit, but we’re all alive. This could have been so much worse.
***
An hour later, volunteers have started to arrive from other facilities to help us deal with these animals. I’ve just wrapped up a conversation with some guy named Rob from a shelter in Weller, the next town over from Linville. One of the fire trucks apparently turns on a hose, because the next thing I know, a deluge falls from the sky on Rob and me, drenching us both. Normally, I’d be livid, but I already look like shit, and the momentary downpour is refreshing and restores my energy. It also gives me a chance to wipe some of the grime off my face, though in all likelihood, I’m probably just smearing it around.
Rob starts laughing, his clothing soaked, and I join him. It’s the first light-hearted moment since Bianca started her squawking. Rob looks past me, then lifts his finger and points over my shoulder. I turn and am startled to see the firefighter who saved the kittens standing right behind me. He’s still a sweaty mess, but looks so, so good.
With a big grin, he says, “Sorry about that. Bad aim.”
Wow, this guy’s tall. I’m five-six, and I’m guessing he’s over six feet. And so damn handsome.
“You did this?” I laugh, water still running down my arms and falling from the tips of my fingers. “I should thank you. It feels so good.”
“You should take a break,” he says, his voice absurdly masculine. “You’re gonna collapse from exhaustion soon. Trust me, I’ve been there.”
“I will, as soon as the animals are all situated. Thank you again for what you did. That was incredibly brave.”
“You’re quite welcome. I’m just glad I was able to get to them in time.”
He’s doing it again, staring into my eyes. Just as I begin to think that something about him seems oddly familiar, he says, “Well, see you around.” Then he walks off.
Out of what seems like sheer reflex, I shout, “Wait!” Much louder than I intended, in fact.
The firefighter stops and turns back to me.
“I didn’t get your name,” I tell him, quieter this time.
“No, but you know where to find me.”
He grins and winks, then runs off to join his colleagues in stowing their equipment.
I resume my efforts to make sure the animals are all cared for. Little by little, the staff and I get it done. Rhonda and I are going to end up taking four cats home each, and Anika claims three. My bull
dog mix, Mindy, is going to hate me for this. Dylan’s family has an ill-tempered dog of their own, but Nicholas agrees to take the only two dogs that we can’t place. That leaves only Bianca, but she’s coming with me, and Dylan agrees to transport her cage in his pickup truck.
I spend some time thanking all the volunteers, my eyes always roaming back to that one gorgeous firefighter.
After trading a few remaining notes with the rest of the staff, I finally run out of things to take care of. Inhaling deeply, I feel my shoulders relax and realize I am indeed exhausted and my body is on the verge of giving out. Just like that firefighter said. I need to get home, shower, and take a long nap.
I look across the parking lot for him, just in time to see the last of the firetrucks pulling away.
Chapter 2
Ty
What began as a typical day for me turned comically strange by lunchtime. Answering a routine call regarding a structure fire on the outskirts of Linville, I soon found myself becoming a walking cliché—a firefighter who rescues a kitten. Or in my case, an entire litter of the furry little things. I’ve passed by the Wrenwood Animal Shelter at least ten times a week for the last four years, ever since I returned to Linville to take a job with the fire department. I’d never given the shelter much thought, though, until I saw it in flames this morning.
Back at the station house, Zane and John and I go through our routine, cleaning and putting away gear and washing down our truck. Most of all, we just come down off the adrenaline buzz of the call. Some calls don’t cause the heart rate to go up much. You’d be amazed at how many times we’re called on false alarms, or just to help transport someone. The fires, though, always get the heart pounding, because you never know quite what you’re going to be up against until you get there and have a chance to eyeball it. And John and I knew when we first saw the animal shelter that this was a bad one.
Fortunately, all the animals had been evacuated to safety, thanks to quick action by the shelter’s staff. Well, nearly all of them. Pulling up to find a parking lot filled with cats and dogs was bizarre enough, but being called upon to enter a burning building to save some kittens was over-the-top. I might have laughed if that chick hadn’t been so distraught in the moment.
Slow Burn Page 1
