A Dark Path #9
“Let’s find a window.” It was darker up here, away from the flames.
Wishing for a flashlight, Aaron felt his way down a narrow hall.
The first room was on his right. He darted in, made his way to the rectangle of light that was the window.
Using his elbow, he broke the glass and looked out.
Even in the dark and flying snow he saw that there was no tree or rooftop or trellis upon which to climb down.
Just a fifteen-foot drop without so much as a bush to break the fall.
Kevin choked back tears. “Let’s try the next room.”
In unison, the boys charged the door. Aaron was in the hall, feeling his way through the darkness, when a crash sounded somewhere in the house.
Simultaneously, a hot puff of smoke hit his face.
The roar he’d been hearing became deafening.
Suddenly, he could see. Smoke hovered at the ceiling.
He glanced over his shoulder. Panic punched him in the gut when he saw flames creeping up the stairs.
“Come on!” Taking Kevin’s arm, he sprinted down the hall toward the farthest door, hitting it with both hands. It flew open, banged against the wall. The boys stumbled inside.
A blast of heat followed, a hot hand slapping their backs.
“Close the door!” Kevin shouted.
Aaron heaved it shut. He spun, started toward the window to see that Kevin was already there, trying to open it.
“It’s stuck!” Kevin cried.
“Step back!” Turning, Aaron broke the glass with his elbow.
Cold air and snow rushed in as he chipped away shards.
Kevin leaned out, coughing.
Aaron followed suit. When he looked down, his heart dropped into his stomach and he wondered if God had a job for him up in heaven because, by the looks of things below, they weren’t getting out of the house anytime soon.
Tomasetti and I move through the woods at a brisk pace. We’re on a narrow path bordered on both sides by a solid wall of new-growth trees. He’s a few feet ahead of me, the yellow cone of his flashlight in plain view, so I shove my mini Maglite onto my equipment belt and hit my radio.
“Yeah, Chief?” comes Mona’s voice.
“I need the location of the old Leyendecker place,” I tell her. “Long and lat.”
“Stand by.” Keys tap on the other end of the line. “I just sent you a text.”
My cell pings. “Thanks, Mona,” I say, and end the call. Still moving, I glance down at the screen, tap the link, watch as a map of the area appears.
“Kate, do you smell that?”
I nearly run into Tomasetti, who has stopped. Though the wind is gusting, I discern the unpleasant stench of something burning. “Not woodsmoke,” I murmur. Unease moves through me. “The wind is out of the north.” I glance down at my cell. “The Leyendecker place is due north. Half a mile.”
His gaze meets mine, his eyes reflecting the same worry I feel burgeoning in my chest.
Turning, he starts off at a jog. I follow, hitting my lapel mike. “Glock, I’ve got smoke. I want you to head south toward the old Leyendecker place.” I recite the coordinates. “Expedite.”
“Roger that.”
I call Dispatch. “Mona, ten-seventy-three the old Leyendecker place. Get the fire department out there. Expedite. I’m ten-seventy-six.”
“Ten-four.”
Tomasetti picks up the pace. He’s a good runner. Long strides that cover a lot of ground. Ten feet ahead. We’ve traveled maybe half a mile when I see the orange glow of the fire.
Tomasetti curses. As a single unit, we pour on the speed. Too fast for the trees and deadfall, but I don’t care. I’m no longer aware of the snow and sleet stinging my face. The only thing I’m aware of is the stink of smoke in my nostrils and the fist of dread unfurling in my gut.
We burst into a clearing. I see the outline of a two-story house ahead. The yellow glow of flames in a downstairs window. A rope of black smoke coming from an upstairs window.
“Aaron!” I yank out my Maglite. “Kevin! Police department!”
Without slowing, Tomasetti veers left toward the front door. I sprint right, scanning the darkness, looking for any sign of the boys. Overgrown yard. The billow of smoke overhead. No sign of the youngsters.
I’m nearly to the rear of the house and hear Tomasetti call out. “Kevin! Aaron! Police!”
He’s a seasoned LEO, and knows well the myriad dangers of a house fire. He’s too close to the structure, moving too fast, worried for those boys. A rise of fear sends me toward him.
He rushes to the porch. Standing aside, he yanks at the plank of wood covering the door. Glass shatters. A tremendous whoosh! sound. The fire sucking in oxygen, feeding, gaining momentum. Tomasetti raises his hand and staggers back, stumbling from the porch.
“We can’t get in,” he growls. “Fully engulfed.”
“Let’s try the back.”
We’re midway there when I hear a voice over the roar of flames.
“Help! Fire! Help us!”
The beams of our flashlights shift to the second-story window above us. Against a backdrop of black smoke, two boys hang out the window, waving their arms.
“Here!” one of them shouts. “Help us! Please! Fire!” The words are punctuated by coughing.
“We’ll get you out!” I tell them. “Stay calm.”
“It’s smoky!” one of the boys screams. Panic and terror resonate in his voice.
“Close the door to the hall,” Tomasetti instructs. “You’re going to have to come out the window!”
“It’s too far down!” comes a high-pitched voice.
“We’ll catch you,” Tomasetti calls back.
I recall from their physical descriptions that the boys don’t weigh much. Even so, eighty pounds of frightened boy falling from a height of fifteen feet is going to deliver a wallop to the person below. But there’s no time to wait for the fire department.
Tomasetti and I position ourselves beneath the window. The fire roars like a beast. Smoke pours from the window. The wood siding next to me is hot to the touch.
“One at a time,” Tomasetti calls out. “Jump!”
“Come on!” I say. “You can do it!”
Glass breaks somewhere nearby. I hear the sound of wood splintering. The roar intensifies.
“We don’t have much time,” Tomasetti mutters beneath his breath.
If the door to the bedroom becomes engulfed, or if the floor beneath the boys collapses, this will go from a rescue to a recovery operation.
“Chief!”
I glance over my shoulder to see the cone of Glock’s flashlight as he emerges from the woods. Relief shudders through me as he charges toward us. A former Marine and war veteran, he’s physically fit, courageous, and strong.
“They going to jump?” Glock asks as he approaches.
“Only way out,” I tell him. “First floor is engulfed.”
The three of us reposition ourselves directly beneath the window. Facing each other, Tomasetti and Glock join hands.
“Come on!” Tomasetti shouts.
I look up at the boys. The drop is only about fifteen feet, but with the fire raging and darkness all around, it must feel as if they’re about to jump into a bottomless pit.
Remembering one of the boys is Amish, I try to appeal to his faith. “Gott zayl net fiahra du vo Sei gnawdi zayl halda! ” God won’t lead you where His grace can’t keep you!
A crash shakes the house. The wall to my right shudders.
I hear a yelp. A small figure plummets. Tomasetti and Glock lunge left and catch the boy. I rush forward, grasp his arm, pull him to a safe distance. He’s shaking, coughing, and sobbing.
“Hi there.” I put my arm around him, hold him tight against me. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
“Aaron!” he cries, looking over his shoulder. “Help him!”
“We’ll get him down.” I maintain a soft grip on his shoulders, and we turn to watch. In the glow of the flames I see the second boy step over the sill and plunge. Again, Glock and Tomasetti catch him.
Taking Kevin’s hand, I start toward them. Midway there, the boy breaks from my grip. I let him go. Glock, Tomasetti, and I watch as the two friends fling themselves into each other’s arms. Both boys are coughing, tears streaming, doing their best to pretend they’re not overcome.
In the distance, sirens wail. The burning house is an ethereal scene with the glow of flames against the night sky, the billowing black smoke, and the sleet slanting down.
I’ve just pulled out my cell to contact the families when Tomasetti comes up beside me. “I’m usually not a sucker for a happy ending,” he says.
“I think all of us are going to make an exception this time,” I whisper.
I glance at the boys, who are seated side by side on a railroad tie. Glock has given them a bottle of water to share. He kneels in front of them, checking the Amish boy’s ankle.
“What do you say we get these little guys back to the road so they can be checked out and go home?” Tomasetti says after a moment.
“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”
I’m in my office at the police station, paging through the latest round of employment applications, when my first-shift dispatcher, Lois, peeks her head in. “Chief? You’ve got some visitors in reception.”
“Dare I ask?” I say.
She grins. “It’s the Kuhns and Dennison families.”
I smile back at her. “By all means, send them in.”
Two days have passed since Glock, Tomasetti, and I rescued Kevin and Aaron from that burning farmhouse.
The boys were transported via ambulance to Pomerene Hospital, where the emergency room physician treated them for minor frostbite, and Aaron for a sprained ankle.
Considering the weather conditions and the fire, both boys are very lucky.
I’m in the process of shutting down my computer when Kevin Dennison shuffles in.
He’s wearing a blue puffy coat, a green stocking hat.
Aaron Kuhns, dressed in clothes he might wear to worship—black coat, black felt hat, blue shirt, and suspenders—hobbles in on crutches.
An abrasion the size of a quarter mars the left side of his face.
Both sets of parents follow the boys in. Susie and Levi Kuhns are also wearing their good clothes. Jeff and Monica Dennison look as if they just left work.
“Chief Burkholder.”
I rise as Levi Kuhns crosses to my desk. “We would like to thank you for bringing home the two boys.”