Chapter 30 #2
The crackling is louder now, like the fire is getting closer. Like it’s hungry. Angry. Is my entire house engulfed in flames? How did this happen?
My eyes sting so badly I’m squinting, and thick snot is running down my face. Or maybe it’s tears. I stand up and slam my shoulder into the door while holding the knob, but I just bounce. It’s not going to budge.
I turn to the big triangular window, my mind frantic, but what I see makes me scream.
Bright red flames dance just out of sight, and black smoke billows from below.
I’m surrounded.
How long until the fire eats through my bedroom walls?
I have to break the window and jump, before the fire gets any closer. Before the smoke kills me.
Where is the fire department?
Linden.
I choke out a sob.
I’m sorry you were alone with this for so long.
My sobs turn frantic. Linden, I need you !
He has to be coming. How could he not be coming to help me? My house is ten minutes from town. How long has the fire been burning? He should be here by now!
Panicking, I search my room for something heavy enough to break the window.
The smoke layer is only a few feet above the floor, like a flood in reverse.
I can’t breathe. Or see. On my way to the other side of the bed, I trip over the rug, cracking my shoulder on the dresser.
I manage to get to my knees, keeping the t-shirt on my face, my sweaty fingers slipping on the wood.
I try to breathe shallow but my breaths are so ragged and I’m sobbing as I grope for something in here that’s heavy enough to break the window.
There’s so much snot and tears on my cheeks and I’m sobbing into the t-shirt.
The high-pitched whine of a siren cuts through the roar of the flames and the desperate gulping of my breaths.
He’s here.
The relief only makes me cry harder. He’s so close, but I’m trapped. How do I tell him where to find me?
If only I had my phone!
A memory flickers to life—Linden carrying my bedside table. I lunge for it, wrap my hands around the top edge, and lift it. Before I lose my nerve, I swing it back, then hurl it with all my strength at the window.
Glass explodes, and a gust of cold air rushes past me. It must do something to the dynamic of the fire because there’s a roar behind me, like the fire is eating toward this new source of oxygen. I can breathe for one precious second, and then the smoke is back, filling my room.
The sirens get louder, but so does the roar of the flames behind me.
I wrap my hand in the t-shirt and pound off the jagged remnants of the window so I can climb over it without eviscerating myself.
Giant orange flames lick up the exterior from below.
It’s so hot my face feels blistered. I need to jump, but it’s a twenty foot drop to the gravel. It’s going to break both my legs.
But there’s fire dancing all around me. I’ll die if I don’t jump.
A siren wails. Through the smoke, red lights flash.
He’s close.
I peer out my window. My hair sizzles. I’m on fire! Screaming, I swat at my hair. The flames go out but a searing pain tears at my skin.
I glance over my shoulder, then wish I hadn’t. My door is engulfed in flames. It’s like something out of a horror movie.
The big, red fire engine stops below me, facing my house. Firefighters jump out.
“Up here!” I yell.
A firefighter looks up. He’s dressed in a thick tan coat and a black helmet, a giant pack on his back.
It’s Linden.
I fall to my knees and grip the windowsill. Can he see that we’re out of time?
“Get down!” one of the others shouts, yanking hose from the side of the engine. “We’re going to knock down the flames below you!”
Linden is already unloading a ladder from the truck. “I’m going up!”
“Rumsey, no!” his coworker calls.
But Linden has the ladder extended to the base of my window.
The firefighter with the hose opens the nozzle, aiming water at the bottom of my house. I’m enveloped in a cloud of steam and hot gasses that singe my cheeks. I duck down, below the window. It’s so hot and I can’t breathe. Flames dance across my ceiling, the roar filling my ears.
“Meg!” Linden calls out.
I try to reach for him, but just breathing is taking all my energy .
“I’ve got you!” Linden barks out.
In one motion, I’m lifted from the floor.
Hot, thick steam engulfs me as I’m rolled across strong arms. I’m moving, my body bouncing, the ladder crackling and flexing while the hiss of steam and the roar of the fire chase us.
More sirens. The bark of orders and the clacking of equipment.
Linden’s heavy breaths pulse like a metronome.
At the bottom of the ladder, the shouts get louder. There’s movement all around us—a sea of flashing colors.
“Russel,” I croak.
Linden frowns at me, then glances at the house. “He’s inside?”
I choke back a sob. “I think so.”
“Okay,” Linden says, and barks a series of commands. Then he hurries past the engine and the crews attacking the fire. I should look but I can’t bear it. I’m carried to the back of an ambulance. I start to cry because I don’t want to end up here again. I don’t want another ride in this box.
“It’s going to be okay, shortcake,” Linden says in a gentle voice.
My chest clogs with all the things I want to tell him. But my raw throat can’t form the words. It hurts too much. So I just cling to him until he lays me down on the gurney, his eyes glassy. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can. But you’re safe now.”
I want to beg him to stay, but Hutch is already sliding into my field of vision, his face tense with concern. The ambulance doors shut and the siren wails. Hutch braces against the side of the gurney as we start to move.
“Couldn’t get enough of me the first time, huh?” He cocks an eyebrow.
I try to laugh at this unexpected beat of humor, but only a raspy whisper comes out.
He shines his flashlight around my mouth, then slides an oxygen mask over my face, the clean air bathing my tongue.
“You may have some airway damage from smoke inhalation,” he says while gathering supplies for an IV. “Little poke,” he says next, followed by the pinch of the needle going in. The ambulance rocks as it accelerates.
Once the IV bag is hanging above me, I grab his arm.
He must see the distraught look on my face because he cocks his head. “I don’t want you to talk right now, okay?”
I search the space frantically for something to write with. As if reading my mind, he whips out a pen from his shirt pocket and clicks it open, then offers me a sticky note pad.
I scratch out my message. Hutch’s eyes darken when he reads it, but he gives me a solemn nod. “Okay. Let us handle this. Your job right now is to rest. And heal. Got that?”
Relief softens over me like a weighted quilt. I close my eyes.