by William Bebb
*****
The cruiser slid to a stop near the smoking remains of Remlap’s garage and Wyatt flipped off the siren but left the cars emergency flashing lights on. The fire was near the front of the structure and was beginning to spread into the large pile of debris behind it. In addition to shingles and a few tons of splintered boards there were quite a few oddities sticking out of the wreckage. A dress makers dummy stood perfectly intact near the top of the pile. It was wearing a shiny blue satin piece of lacy lingerie. Partially under a pile of burning boards, a late 1800's era bicycle- the kind with the enormous front wheel and the little one in back- was on its side. Its big wheel slowly turned in the smoky air.
Burning with a disturbing smile its face was a three foot tall teddy bear with bright blue glass eyes. A giant plastic Santa Claus Christmas decoration peeked out of a pile of shingles with a jolly expression on his face that seemed oddly out of place as the flames steadily crept toward him.
Somewhere buried deep in the wreckage a clock chimed twelve times. And thousands of pieces of paper and photographs fluttered down from the sky, landing over most of the ruined garage.
Deputy Holmes jumped out of the car and ran to the trunk for the fire extinguisher as Wyatt began calling into the debris. “Hello! Can anyone hear me?! This is Captain Wyatt of the sheriff's department! Mrs. Remlap, are you in there?! Call out if you can hear me?!” He listened intently and looked over the confusing jumble of rafters, roofing shingles, and various odd items.
Maria could hear him and also heard something else nearby in the dark crawling through the debris grunting. She yelled, “Get me out of here! Please hurry! There’s something in here trying to kill me!”
Deputy Thomas Holmes heard a woman's terrified voice coming from a gap in the boards. He abandoned the extinguisher, which he realized was never going to stop the fire growing quickly out of control anyway. The fire was too big. It was like trying to put a bandage on someone who had been decapitated.
He shined his flashlight down through a gap in the wreckage and spotted a smoke smudged young lady maybe six feet below. The deputy called down to her, “Hang on!” and began moving broken boards and debris from around the hole. “I found a survivor, over here!” he yelled to the captain.
Wyatt looked over his shoulder toward the trailer park's entrance when he heard the distant sound of gunfire. It sounded like all Hell had broken loose. The gunfire scared more of the birds into flight and the sky was suddenly full of flying black spots. His hand moved automatically to the pistol in its holster at his side as the gunshots continued accompanied by distant screams.
“Shit and double shit!” he swore while running over to help the deputy move boards out of the way. He spoke into his shoulder radio microphone worn on his uniform as he worked. “This is Captain Wyatt! HQ, come in! We got trouble. Can you read?”
