“Is it safe to drive?” someone yelled.
“Stay away from overpasses, ramps, anything that might have been damaged,” he called back. “Keep to surface streets and take it slow and careful. But yes, go ahead and drive home. Traffic lights are out, so stop at every intersection.”
No one questioned his instructions. He’d noticed before that in emergency situations, people seemed to naturally respond if someone stepped up and provided guidance. As he drove, he dialed the number for the station. No one answered. Even though there was nothing on the radio about fires so far, earthquakes always triggered them. The crew could be at a fire, or helping evacuate damaged buildings, or extracting victims from crushed cars. He’d be right there with them—head wound be damned—as soon as he made sure that Rachel was okay.
He contacted the USAR team next and told them he was headed to the north side of town. “I’ve got an unfolding situation there, but once that’s dealt with, I’m all yours.”
“What’s the situation?” In the background, Fred could hear the tactical channel, people shouting instructions, the controlled madness of an emergency situation. He knew where they were; all hunkered into the bunker behind the station house, with the emergency backup generators going and communications lines being set up. The entire infrastructure of San Gabriel’s emergency response was swinging into action. If it weren’t for Rachel, he’d be doing the same.
But right now, all he could think about was Rachel alone with a lunatic trying to set fire to the Refuge.
“I have a possible arson and assault out at the San Gabriel Refuge for Injured Wildlife on Mountain Way. I may need backup.”
“That could be tough, Breen. I have two collapsed overpasses and a fire at a shoe factory. And that’s two minutes into this thing.”
“Got it.” He was on his own. “Where do you want me after this?”
“Hey. I didn’t say no. You check it out and see how bad it is. You got your gear?”
“Enough.” He had work gloves and steel-toed boots, and that would have to do.
“Good luck.” And the man clicked off.
He drove on. Every block brought a new vista of destruction. Downed power lines, a few automobile collisions, a tree that had fallen onto a house. While he wanted to stop and help, his growing panic wouldn’t let him. One-handed, he tried texting Rachel again, but again got nothing.
His eye lingered on her last message. I love you. Even though it was just a text, he could picture her saying the words. Her eyes would be wide and serious, her heart shining through. Rachel didn’t let many people get close. But once someone won her trust and made their way past her shields, the most tender, passionate, softhearted, fierce-willed person awaited. I’m coming, Rachel. Hang on.
He also knew she must have been very, very frightened, or she wouldn’t have put “I love you” in a text. That’s what scared him the most.
Incendiary fury made every muscle clench. He was going to take that man apart. Just please, God, let him have the chance.
As he approached the Refuge, he saw the orange flicker of fire between the cypress trees. Sweet Jesus, the man had already started a fire. The Refuge verged on wilderness, and if this blaze really got going, it could build into a brushfire threatening scores of homes in the area. As horrified as he was, Fred forced himself to stay calm and remember his training. One thing at a time. First step: GYST. Get yourself together. Think, plan, then act. Size up the situation, make an action plan based on strategy and tactics, keep your fucking head.
The gate was open, and animals were pouring out in a melee of milling, bleating beasts. He spotted a few goats and an alpaca. Their panicky cries mingled with the determined crackle of flames eating through dry vegetation. Had Rachel left the gate open when she came in? Or managed to open it later? Or maybe the kidnapper had opened it to make his own escape after fucking over everyone else.
As he rattled up the drive, he saw that the usual security lights were off, and the only illumination came from the flames licking along the fence that surrounded the corral. At this point it could still be contained, but he needed to get some retardant on it, fast. Scanning the rest of the compound, it looked as if two of the compound’s older buildings had collapsed, Rachel’s office and the guard shack. If Rachel was in one of those . . .
He didn’t see any people at all. The absence of human activity was not only eerie, but terrifying.
He stopped next to the corral fence. If Rachel’s attacker was still here, wouldn’t he have appeared at the sight of Fred’s truck? Or would he shoot at Fred from the bushes?
Whatever the risks, he had to find Rachel.
“Rachel,” he shouted out the window.
No answer.
He jumped out of his truck, then grabbed the fire extinguisher from the backseat. After pulling on some work gloves, he stuck a flashlight in his back pocket. He wished he had a gun, but this would have to do. He glanced around again, scanning for signs of life . . . or ambush.
He tried again. “Rachel! If you can hear me, make some kind of sound.”
Nothing.
Sick dread filled him. He checked his phone, realized he had no service out here. The nearest tower must be out. Damn damn damn. With no idea where Rachel was, he didn’t know where to start. Put out the fire or check her office? Her last text hadn’t said, but his gut told him she’d been in her office. But what if he was wrong, and she’d holed herself up in the guard’s building, with the flames beginning to feed on themselves, dance and roar and . . .
Shoving that thought aside, he ran to the fence line and activated the fire extinguisher. He sprayed the foam until the canister was empty, then kicked dirt on the remaining flames. The stench of gasoline prickled his nose. The asshole had poured accelerant around the property, the sick bastard. Why had he stopped? Where had he gone? Had the earthquake interrupted him?
When he reached the bungalow, he stopped cursing the man, because what was left of him lay splayed next to the building’s shattered wall. His neck was bent at a repulsive angle, his face set in lines of horror, one side smashed to a pulp, the other intact. A chunk of roof tile lay next to him, and crumbled bits of plaster covered him like gruesome confetti. A spark had caught the lower part of his pants leg, which smoldered and released a gagging, burnt-flesh stench.
Fred kicked a big rooster tail of dirt over him to put out the fire. He knelt next to the man and felt his pulse. Definitely dead, though his skin was still warm, either from the fire he’d started, or from the dying embers of his life’s breath.
“You had it coming,” Fred muttered. “I’m just sorry I didn’t get a chance to kick your ass first. I will take your jacket, though.” He rolled the man onto his stomach and removed his jacket, then used it to smother the rest of the flames eating at the fence. He peered inside the darkness of the partially collapsed structure.
“Rachel?” he shouted into the void. Maybe she’d been with the kidnapper as he poured the gasoline. Maybe he’d shut her inside the bungalow, knowing how much she hated small spaces. The man was insane, Fred wouldn’t put anything past him. He took a cautious step forward, eyeing the damaged wall. It didn’t look too precarious, but without any way to shore up the concrete, he shouldn’t go inside. On the other hand, if Rachel was in there, he didn’t have a choice. He turned on his flashlight and took another step forward.
And then, amid the increasingly distant bleating of the goats, he caught a sharp yip. He stilled and listened again. Sirens in the distance, the rumbling of an aftershock racing across the terrain . . . and there it was. Greta’s bark.
He swung the beam of his flashlight in the direction of the barking. It caught a slight gleam from something metallic . . . he squinted through the darkness. Rachel’s rear bumper! Was Greta somewhere over there? Was she with Rachel? He ran across the yard to the Saab. The border collie was inside, scrabbling at the window. When he opened the back door, the dog launched herself at him, jumping up and clawing at his chest. “Hey,
girl. Where’s Rachel? How’d you get stuck in the car?”
Greta whined loudly, then took off like a shot toward Rachel’s office.
As he started to go after her, an aftershock hit. He dropped to his hands and knees to ride it out. As soon as the shaking stopped, he raced across the yard, running faster than he ever had in his life. Greta was barking like crazy, but when he got close to her, his stomach dropped with a sickening plunge. The front of the guesthouse had sustained the worst damage. The roof had caved in, crushing the walls. Plaster dust floated in the air; he wished he had a face mask or even a bandanna. Greta was sniffing at a pile of splintered wood and plaster that looked as if a giant had stomped on his toys in a tantrum. How could anyone survive under all that?
But Rachel must be alive, because Greta was trembling and letting out sharp, excited barks, just like a real rescue dog. Fred knelt next to her and gripped a roof tile that perched atop the rubble like a jaunty beret. He gently rolled it down the slope of the debris pile, keeping control of its movement so it didn’t trigger an avalanche.
The removal of that block opened up an air hole through which sound would travel better. “Rachel,” he called. “Are you in there? It’s Fred. And Greta.”
He shushed Greta and waited for any sound from under the wreckage. It would help to know where she was. If he made a wrong move, the entire pile could collapse in an unwanted direction.
“Rachel,” he called again, urgently. “Sweetheart, it’s Fred. Wake up. I need your help. I can get you out of here, but I need your help. Come on, my sweet love. I need you. Please, Rachel. Say something. Anything.”
He aimed his flashlight directly into the gap between jagged pieces of plaster. Maybe the light would wake her up if his voice didn’t. Greta gave a few more eardrum-shattering barks right next to his cheek.
“Ow,” he told her. “No need to deafen me.”
But then the softest breath of sound caught his attention. “Shhh,” he told Greta, wishing he had her toy with him, the one that rewarded her for finding a victim. When her barking subsided, he bent his ear to the hole.
“Fred?” A hoarse voice floated from deep inside the pile.
“Rachel! Are you okay?”
A pause. “Uh . . . sort of? Been worse?” The upward, almost comical lilt at the end of each sentence made him want to cry from relief. But he kept a tight grip on his emotions. He had to keep his cool. She’d be following his guidance, and he needed her to keep calm.
“That’s what I like to hear. Listen, Rachel, don’t make any sudden movements, but can you move at all, or are you completely pinned?”
“I . . . I can move a little. My arms. I crawled under the desk.”
“You’re brilliant.” He remembered exactly where the desk was situated. Now to get the rest of her office off her back. He wondered if she was getting claustrophobic, but decided it was better not to ask. Best to keep her focused on each moment and what needed to be done.
“Fred,” she called urgently. “There’s a man, Officer Lee, and he’s the one who—”
“He’s dead,” Fred said bluntly. “Very very dead.”
“I—I didn’t shoot him, did I? I was going to, but I’m not a good shot, and I wasn’t even ready to shoot, but then the earthquake hit and I didn’t know what was happening and the gun went off and—”
“Shhh, sweetie, it wasn’t you. I saw his body and there was no bullet wound. No blood at all. His neck was broken by a flying chunk of stucco. And if that hadn’t killed him, he probably would have burned to death. Earthquakes are not the best time to commit arson. Things have a way of getting out of control.”
“What about the fire? The animals?”
“Fire’s out. And there’s a whole gang of goats heading for the highway.” He propped his flashlight on the pile so he could work faster, plucking more chunks of plaster from the pile.
“They got out? Was the gate open?”
“Yes. I’m guessing that Lee guy opened it so he could make a quick getaway after he torched the fence.”
“What a jerk,” she said, with a touch of bemusement. “Then the earthquake hit. I can’t believe it. Why now? In the middle of all this?”
“Earthquakes happen when they happen. We get them all the time, but this is a big one.”
Greta bumped his arm, scrabbling at a hunk of metal—a light fixture? “Greta, your job is done. I got this.” But the dog refused to stay still. Instead she danced around him, digging at the debris until her paws bled, leaving streaks on the broken sheetrock. “You sure have heart, girl,” Fred murmured as he helped her with a stubborn piece of two-by-four. “You’d make an awesome search and rescue dog.”
“What?” Rachel asked, her voice sounding just a little clearer, as if he was unearthing it with each piece of rubble he discarded.
“I was telling Greta she has heart.”
“You know what I was thinking about, down here?”
“What’s that?” Keep her talking. The more she spoke, the easier it would be for him to follow her voice.
“I was thinking that all this time, there’s something I overlooked about dogs. I’ve been working with them, training them, helping them, interpreting their body language and their behavior. And I did a good job. I really can connect with dogs. But that whole time, I should have been acting more like a dog.”
“How? Have a bigger appetite? Get more excited about walks?”
She gave a wheezy laugh, which made him nervous. Why was she wheezing? Was something resting on her chest? Was she starting to lose her cool? Talk about a confined space. It didn’t get much worse than being under a desk piled high with rubble. Even though his shoulders and chest were burning from the effort of shifting the heavy joists and sheets of ripped plaster, he picked up the pace.
“No, no,” she continued. “The thing about dogs is, they always bring their whole selves to whatever they’re doing. Have you noticed that? They try their best, every time. They love completely, even if it’s just a silly little chew toy. They’re a hundred percent alive, every moment, until they die. And you know, Fred—”
Through his shock at that word, “die,” Fred heard the telltale rumble of another oncoming aftershock. “Hold on tight, honey. Here comes another one.” He reached for the trembling Greta, huddling his body around her, and braced himself.
The earth shook again. Fist-size pieces of debris tumbled toward him. Dust rose in a choking blur. When it cleared, and he called again for Rachel, he got no answer.
Chapter 31
Rachel was in the middle of saying something very important when everything started shaking again and she passed out. When she came to, her mouth was full of plaster dust. At least she hoped that’s what it was. To keep a lid on her simmering panic, she refused to think about other possibilities. After the horrible jolting stopped, she spent a few minutes unclogging her throat and spitting out the nasty stuff.
She heard lots of noise from overhead. Greta’s barking, the sound of a helicopter’s blades, strange voices shouting. She heard Fred saying, “Rachel! Rachel!” over and over again, and though she tried with all her might to make sounds come out of her mouth, it was too dry and she was too out of breath to manage more than a dull groan. It felt like one of those nightmares in which she was trying to run and scream, but no matter how hard she worked, she was stuck in the same place, unable to make a peep.
Carefully, keeping her mouth tightly sealed, she turned her head to look up at the spot of light—not so much light as a slightly paler gray. Fred must be doing something else with the flashlight. When he’d first aimed it down the hole he’d made, it had shone like a ray of heavenly light, a shaft of hope lifting her heart. Now she couldn’t see much at all. Maybe the aftershock had shifted the debris and blocked her air hole.
And just like that, she was back in that place where all her nightmares began. Back in the cage inside that windowless warehouse, where the only light came from a door propped open during the day. At night, her priso
n went completely black. Her hearing would get super sharp at night, when everything was quiet. The only sounds were made by Inga, the stray dog who skulked around the warehouse. She knew when he was curling up to sleep, when he was gnawing at the fleas on his rump, when he was slurping water from a tin can.
At night, in the blackness, she would dream. She’d dream of her mother, who had just died the year before. Of the way she smelled, like the rosemary she grew in big planters on the terrace. The way she smiled, wide, so her mouth stretched all the way across her face. Of the way she scolded when Rachel was too wild, which was often. Of the fairy houses she used to build in the stand of redwoods at Cranesbill. Of the crumbling cliff that looked over the Pacific, and the gazebo where she blew bubbles. Of how she’d watch to see how far out to sea they’d float before popping. Of her favorite blue Schwinn, and the freedom she felt racing down the road to the beach.
Inga the dog had helped her escape. But before then, her dreams had saved her. No one could take those away. Not the mean man with the mask, not the stupid guards, not even her own fear. Because at night, the dreams would come and she’d feel strong and free and invincible.
Now, buried under rubble, a different dream shimmered across her vision. There was a man out there who loved her. A man so true and kind and strong that nothing in this world was going to keep her from him.
Ignoring the pain, she maneuvered her hand to her face and clawed the rest of the gunk out of her mouth. “Fred,” she croaked. The sound barely penetrated the dense silence under the desk. Desperately she worked up more saliva and spit out more dust. “Fred,” she said, louder.
“Rachel?” From the wild hope in his voice, she knew he’d heard her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She spat again, feeling as if she were spewing out years of blockage. This time, her voice came out more strongly. “I was about to tell you that I love you so much and I don’t think we should let anything get between us. It doesn’t matter whose daughter I am or how much money he has. I don’t care about any of that stuff. And I’m sorry I didn’t leave it up to you to rescue yourself from Kale. I should have known you’d think of something . . .”
The Night Belongs to Fireman Page 30
