Explosive Forces

by D. D. Ayres

  Sweat streamed into her eyes. Something unseen but suffocating snaked further down her throat with every breath. Every impulse told her to abandon her burden and run. Save herself. But her hands wouldn’t let go of the body. Only her thoughts were free to run on.

  I’m not a Good Samaritan. I’m so not! Please get me out of this, Sweet Baby Jesus, and I promise I’ll never do a bad deed again. Ever!

  Where were the police? The EMTs? The help she’d called for what seemed like an hour ago hadn’t materialized. Why had no one come in answer to her call?

  And then the dog was there beside her. He grabbed a mouthful of his owner’s pants leg and began tugging, too. The shepherd was strong, stronger than she was. His owner’s body began to slide a bit more easily across the floor.

  Carly was too scared to be grateful. Too winded to even utter a word of encouragement. It was the door or die.

  Fumes stung her throat and eyes but she didn’t pause to wipe away the tears blurring her vision. It was as if the flames were chasing them as she and the dog pulled the man along behind them in a mad dash for the door. It was only six feet now. Five feet. Four …

  Carly tripped as she back-stepped over the threshold. It was metal, to keep refuse and water from the alley from easily entering the store. But it was enough of a speed bump to stop their progress.

  Abandoning his legs, she reached forward with both hands to grab fistfuls of his jacket to try to haul him into a sitting position.

  No good. He might as well have been a sack of wet cement.

  She knelt down and straddled him at the chest. “Damn you! Wake up!” She struck him in the face, desperate to get a rise out of him.

  She screamed as heavy hands fell on her shoulders. For a second she thought someone had come up behind her. Then she realized the man had reached up for her.

  “Get off! Get off me!” Frightened, she struggled against his grip. But his fingers were like vises, making it impossible for her to get away.

  The shepherd, realizing his owner was coming round, barked brightly and stuck his head in under Carly’s arm to lick the man’s face.

  He was cursing under his breath and gripping her so hard she moaned. Then he lifted his head and spoke. “I don’t want to die.”

  His rough husk of a voice went over her like lightning striking much too close.

  The plea was a bare whisper but the look in his eyes—he’d opened his eyes!—said all that she’d been thinking. They were in absolute mortal danger.

  She didn’t want to die either. Every instinct said that trying to save this stranger would only get them both killed.

  As if he’d heard her thoughts, he released her with a hard push. “Go. Now!” He was giving her permission to abandon him.

  Move, Carly. Move or die!

  She stumbled back against his dog, who was pushed in protectively behind her knees. Even as she did, the man collapsed onto his back, his eyes falling shut.

  Hopeless. You’re hopeless.

  A dozen other responses zoomed through her thoughts but she didn’t have breath for any of them. Instead, she grabbed two handfuls of his jacket and pulled him upright again. “Wake up! Now!”

  He moaned, his lids fluttering. Finally he seemed to realize that she was still trying to help him out of the doorway. He gripped her forearms, this time using her to leverage himself in an effort to move. His legs weren’t cooperating much, making scuffling sounds against the floor, but it made all the difference. They were moving over the barrier of the door sill.

  Once in the alley, their movements activated the security lights, spotlighting them like a soundstage. For the first time she saw him clearly. He still held her shoulders, his face revealed by the alley light. He had light hair and blue eyes. A strong clean-shaven jaw, and a nice mouth even though it was twisted in pain. He was no derelict. Even in agony, he was gorgeous.

  For one second all she could think was that she had probably saved the life of this very good-looking man. Even as she thought it, Carly scolded herself. The fact that he was good-looking was about as useful as noticing the color of a balloon attached to an eighteen-wheeler that had just run her down.

  The heat from the doorway suddenly pushed against them like the belched breath of a dragon.

  Carly was up on her feet in an instant.

  Close the door. It was the only thought in her head. As if by doing so she could contain every bit of the superheated inferno inside.

  He grabbed her ankle and sent her sprawling into the concrete walkway. Even as she fell, the man who minutes before had been unconscious flopped over her, covering her body with his. A second after that, something exploded inside the store, spewing heat and flame through the exit.

  Too stunned to cry out, it took her three tries to draw a breath. Even then, all she could do was lie there and sob.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay.” Still lying over her, he was whispering into her ear and awkwardly patting her cheek. “You did—good.”

  Carly closed her eyes and just tried to breathe.

  * * *

  “We’ve got all we need tonight. I’ll let the EMTs finish checking you out.”

  Carly didn’t even smile at the man who identified himself as an arson investigator. Before him, a police officer had interviewed her. Both had asked questions until she no longer had breath or answers for them.

  Breathing in oxygen through the mask the EMT had given her, she sat on the bumper of an ambulance parked well away from the fire. Other than hugging the dog who had miraculously ducked in under her arms while the EMTs looked her over, she had no energy left for anything. The dog, poor baby, looked as miserable as she felt. Probably that was because his owner had been scooped up and carted away.

  She had watched the ambulance containing the man pull away from the curb, sirens blaring, and felt nothing but relief.

  He wasn’t her problem anymore. That man was not part of her world. Not her responsibility. Even so, she glanced up at the EMT hovering over her.

  “Is he going to be okay?”

  The EMT shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “I heard them say he was breathing. You a friend?”

  Carly shook her head. “Never saw him before in my life.”

  The EMT’s gaze shifted to her face. “They said you pulled him out of the fire. That took a lot of courage.”

  Carly’s turn to shrug. “I was just trying to save a dog.” Instantly, she was ashamed. Yet accepting the burden of admitting she was trying to save another human being seemed like boasting on her part. But to say less would be a lie. “That’s how I found him. I couldn’t not help.”

  “You have professional training as a first responder?”

  Carly shook her head.

  “Most civilians would have waited for first responders.” The EMT grinned at her. “Still, I respect what you did. Can I do anything more for you before we load you up for the ride to the hospital?”

  Carly shook her head. “No hospital.” She just needed to lie down somewhere quiet for a very long time. But no! She had a ton of things left to do before the opening of Flawless.

  It wasn’t until that moment that she thought to turn her head back down the street toward her shop.

  The front door was open and a huge fire hose penetrated it. Which meant …

  “Oh no!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  He was in class. Again. First day. Subject: primary search.

  The thing about primary searches is this. You’ll be going in for live victims, often before the first hose is full. It’s not like in the movies. Flames don’t dance around behind and in front of you, backlighting your fellow firefighters like goblins in a Halloween cartoon. The flames don’t show you stairs or furnishings, or holes in the flooring. There’s only smoke. You can’t see shit.

  But you can feel things. Like heat. Lots of it pressing in everywhere.

  And you’ll hear things. Some sounds can help you. Some you won’t ever want to hear again. And some will make you wish you’d n
ever heard them in the first place.

  The whole time the smart part of you will be telling you to get the hell out of there. My job is to teach you to manage, not ignore, that very good advice.

  Safety is not part of the job. It’s how we do the job.

  * * *

  Coughs erupting from his throat woke Noah Glover. The short-breath hacking shot pain through his lungs and abdomen, cutting off the air supply coming through the mask attached to his face. Without bothering to open his eyes, he snatched it off. He felt like shit. Dizzy, nauseated. Throat burning from smoke inhalation. Throbbing in his head. The hiss of oxygen and the slow annoying beep of machines told him where he was. Hospital. He must have messed up. Whenever he’d made a mistake as a firefighter, he went back to school, if only in his dreams.

  He was trained in how to extricate himself from dangerous situations. Yet his breath tasted like ash on his tongue. He must have lost his head gear.

  You never get used to the smothering blindness of the smoke. And he’d gotten two lungs full.

  Was that why he felt like he was dying? His thoughts kept sliding away from him. Couldn’t remember a thing about the fire. Wait. He had bigger problems. Just staying alive for instance. Instinct was telling him that if he didn’t concentrate on his breathing it would stop.

  Old panic spiked adrenaline through his system. Been there. Done that. Every firefighter had had a moment, sometimes several, when he knew everything was on the line, his life versus his will to live.

  He tried to lever himself into a sitting position. All that got him was a quick ride on a drunken Tilt-A-Whirl. His stomach heaved as he grabbed for the bed rail.

  “Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

  Noah blinked the room into focus. Across the narrow length of the curtained private room, Merle Durvan, the informal head of the arson investigation unit had made himself at home in a straight-back chair. His legs were crossed at the ankle, showing the well-used soles of his steel-toed boots. His fingers were laced across his abdomen, admirably flat for a man of forty-nine. Behind his thick but well-groomed mustache, his face wore no expression. Only his squint revealed the intensity of his gaze.

  “How are you doing, Glover?”

  Noah grunted, trying to catch a thought. Durvan was the most experienced arson investigator and bomb technician in Fort Worth. He also headed the training program for arson investigators. If anyone in the unit had a problem, question, dilemma, Durvan was the man they looked to. His presence meant Noah had messed up big time.

  Noah tried to clear his throat only to choke. He reached for the cup of water on the bedside tray and drank. Tap water felt like gasoline going down.

  When he could draw breath again, he locked eyes with his boss. “I feel like I died.”

  “Funny you should mention that.” Durvan reached for a computer tablet he’d stashed under his arm. “Dying a particular wish of yours these days?”

  “Not funny.”

  “I don’t think so either.” Durvan uncrossed his legs to lean his hairy forearms against his knees, the tablet held in both hands. “Tell me about last night.”

  Noah opened his mouth and snapped it shut. Last night. What had happened last night? He didn’t have a clue. Couldn’t remember the call. The fire. Why he’d been called in. Who he’d gone out with to investigate a possible arson. Nada.

  A chill ran over Noah’s skin. The sensation of trouble he couldn’t quite place told him to choose his words carefully. It wasn’t smart to be answering questions about events he couldn’t recall.

  His gaze ran quickly over Durvan. He was in the uniform of an on-duty firefighter, gray polo shirt with insignia over the heart, navy pants, and radio. He also carried his duty weapon. An arson investigator—part police officer part detective—got involved often during a suspicious fire, to determine the cause of the blaze and if criminal activity was involved. By the time the fire was out, valuable evidence could be lost to the firefighters’ efforts to put out the blaze. The title Arson Investigator was a prestigious position. One Noah earned two years ago. But right now he had a more pressing concern. Durvan was watching him with the calm evaluating gaze of a professional. This was not a friendly visit.

  Noah sipped more water, his larynx seeming to scrape against his throat as he swallowed. “What the hell is going on, Durvan?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” Durvan sat up, as if he’d completed some sort of assessment. “Just wanted to hear your take on last night while it’s fresh. If you’re up to answering some questions.”

  “Sure.” To hesitate would only make Merle suspicious. He was just going to have to play along until he could tease out a clue about what Durvan wanted.

  The head investigator looked at his computer tablet. “Why did you start the fire?”

  “Start the—? You think I started a fire?”

  Durvan looked up with a bland expression. “You already admitted as much.”

  “The fuck I did!” The spike in his voice made Noah’s throat burn.

  “We have your admission.” Durvan’s tone remained flat.

  Noah glowered at his friend. “No way.”

  Durvan tapped a few things on his tablet then stood up and walked to the bed so Noah could read the text message that he’d pulled up.

  The screen was blurry due to his burning eyes, but Noah saw enough to read it.

  I’m tired. Failure no longer an option. Fuck it. The end.

  Noah winced. Fuck it. The end.

  That was an expression his best friend and firefighter buddy Bailey Jefferson often used when he was tired of arguing about a topic, usually the chances of how his ball team would do that season. It was also the last thing he had said just before he died after a wall collapsed on him in a fire last year.

  Noah could feel his temper rising. “Where’d you get that?”

  “It was sent at eleven last night. The entire fire investigation unit received the same message. From your cell phone.”

  “Not from me.”

  Durvan shrugged and resumed his seat. “I know it’s been hell of a year for you, Glover.”

  Noah held his gaze. “I’ve handled it.”

  “Maybe handling it became too much.”

  Noah stared at a man he thought of as a friend. Durvan couldn’t really think he—what? “You think I tried to off myself?”

  “You tell me.”

  Noah let surprise wash over him. Something had happened. Something bad. It was there at the back of this man’s flint-gray stare. The last time he’d encountered it, Durvan had come to tell him Bailey was dead.

  That thought cleared Noah’s head. He fought the urge to curl his hands into fists. He was in serious jeopardy. From now on, every word he spoke would be to step up out of it, or toss another shovelful on his professional grave.

  “I was in a fire. I don’t remember why—or where.” He swallowed against the dry mouth grating his voice. “Obviously, something went wrong. I’m in a hospital. That’s all I got.”

  Durvan put his tablet down. “How did you end up in that store? Did you choose it beforehand? Does it have a special meaning for you?”

  Noah glanced at the wall clock. It was 7:19 in the morning. Durvan hadn’t wasted any time in starting this investigation. “Maybe you should stop trying to humor me like I’m a goddamn head case. The truth is, I don’t remember a thing about last night. Nothing. But I do know I didn’t try to off myself.”

  Durvan leaned back in his seat and crossed an ankle over a knee. “I’m here to get your side of things. What do you remember?”

  “There was a woman.” His own answer surprised Noah. Woman? He didn’t know he remembered a woman until the words were out.

  Durvan smirked. “I met her. Where did you pick her up?”

  Noah frowned, as if he could squeeze another memory out of his smoke-blurred brain. Something emerged. “She just appeared in the fire. Is she okay?”

  He nodded. “She says she saved your ass. What do you remembe
r about her?”

  “Tall, slim, pretty. Lots of curls. Quite a looker.” Noah had no idea where the description came from. But he was trained to remember details. Unfortunately, the major facts of the night before still refused to take shape. “That’s her, right?”

  “From your description it sounds like she had your full attention. Did she go to the building with you?”

  “Never saw her before.” That felt like the truth.

  “Sure you didn’t hook up earlier? In a bar maybe?”

  Noah just stared at him.

  “Okay. Anything else you remember about last night?”

  “He doesn’t have to answer that.”

  Both men turned to see a woman standing in the doorway. She was tall, dressed in skin-tight slim jeans, hand-tooled boots, and a white embroidered Mexican blouse covered by enough turquoise jewelry to pull down a lesser woman.

  Durvan was on his feet in quick Texas gentleman fashion. “Good morning, Sandra.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Sandra Glover stalked over to her brother’s bedside. “You can’t talk to a man who’s being unduly influenced by medication.” She pointed to the bag on an IV pole to which Noah was attached.

  “It’s only saline, Sandra.” Noah eyed his sister suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking after your best interests. I got a call before dawn. So I hopped in the truck and drove over from Abilene.” She eyed Durvan accusingly. “Seems some people don’t remember they’re friends.”

  Durvan jumped as though stung. “I would’ve called when I had the facts.”

  “Merle, you don’t want to tangle with me this morning.”

  Noah hid his smile. Even after two years in the unit he’d never called this man anything but Durvan. Of course, he wasn’t a curvaceous blonde with as much brass as Merle had balls. Though neither would admit it, he suspected they shared a past, however brief.

  He reached out and touched his sister’s arm. “I have nothing to hide.”

  She looked down at him, her wide gap-tooth smile as engaging as a toddler’s. But the squint around her hazel eyes said “tough west Texas wildcat.” She had two ex-husbands to prove it. “That’s what I’m worried about, Noah. You look like three miles of bad road, by the way. Let Merle take a statement now and he’ll twist your words into so many pretzel shapes even you won’t recognize them.”