Chapter Sixteen #2
Collins shouted something too, but the words were lost in the roar of blood in my ears and the crackling of the fire. In the distance, sirens wailed, growing closer by the second. Maybe that's why Collins didn't shoot me too—time was running out for his plan to work.
I sprinted toward the barn, my boots kicking up gravel, then dirt, then scorched earth as I neared the inferno.
The heat hit me like a physical barrier, pushing against my skin with increasing force with each step.
Sweat broke out across my body immediately, trickling down my bare back and chest. I'd forgotten I wasn't wearing a shirt anymore—it was currently pressed against Dan's wound, soaking up his blood.
The main doors were fully engulfed, orange flames dancing wickedly across the weathered wood we'd painted red just last summer.
I veered left toward the smaller side door that led to the tack room, the one we used most often in daily chores.
It wasn't yet consumed by fire, though smoke billowed from around its edges.
I pulled my t-shirt up over my nose and mouth, a pitiful filter but better than nothing.
The metal handle of the door burned my palm when I grabbed it, but I barely registered the pain.
I yanked it open and was immediately assaulted by a wall of heat and smoke that stung my eyes and scorched my lungs with the first breath.
Ducking low where the air might be clearer, I pushed forward into what had once been the familiar tack room.
Now it was an alien landscape of flame and shadow.
The saddles that had hung on the wall were burning, the leather curling and blackening.
The bridles were gone, either fallen or already turned to ash.
"PA!" I called, my voice barely audible over the roaring flames. "PA, WHERE ARE YOU?"
The smoke was so thick I could barely see three feet in front of me. I dropped lower, crawling on hands and knees toward the door that would lead to the main part of the barn. The floor was hot enough to blister, but I kept moving, driven by the image of Ma's face as she screamed Pa's name.
I'd never been afraid of fire before. As a boy, I'd been fascinated by it, drawn to the dancing flames in our fireplace or the bonfires we had for summer celebrations. But this was different. This fire was alive in a malevolent way, consuming everything it touched with indifferent hunger.
The main part of the barn was worse, much worse.
The hayloft had partially collapsed, sending burning debris across the center aisle.
The stalls on either side were filled with flames, but I could hear the frantic movements of at least some horses still trapped inside.
They screamed in terror, a sound that cut through me like a knife.
"PA!" I bellowed, louder this time, fighting to be heard above the inferno. "PA, ANSWER ME!"
The smoke seared my lungs with each breath, making me cough violently. My eyes streamed tears that evaporated almost instantly in the heat. I couldn't see. Couldn't breathe. But I had to find Pa.
I staggered forward, disoriented by the shifting shadows and dancing flames. Something crashed behind me—another piece of the hayloft falling, or maybe part of the roof. The barn was coming down around me, just as Collins had promised.
Then, through a momentary parting of the smoke, I saw him. Pa was slumped against the far wall, near the stall where we kept old Blue, his favorite gelding.
He wasn't moving.
"PA!" I shouted, relief and fresh fear tangling in my chest as I lurched toward him. The distance seemed impossible, the air getting thicker with each step, but I pushed forward.
When I reached him, my heart nearly stopped. Pa's face was streaked with soot, his eyes closed, and a gash on his forehead leaked blood down his temple. He looked smaller somehow, this man who'd always seemed larger than life to me.
"Pa," I said, dropping to my knees beside him, my voice breaking on the single syllable. I pressed my fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse, praying harder than I ever had before. There—faint but steady, a rhythmic throb beneath my fingertips.
He was alive.
"I'm getting you out of here," I told him, though I knew he couldn't hear me. Smoke billowed around us, the heat intensifying as more of the barn caught fire. We didn't have much time.
With careful movements that belied my size, I positioned Pa across my shoulders in a fireman's carry, the way Knox had shown all of us after coming home from the Marines.
Pa's weight settled across my shoulders—substantial, but manageable for me.
His unconscious form hung limp, head lolling against my arm as I secured him in place.
"Hang on, Pa," I murmured, rising to my feet with my precious cargo. "We're going home."
The barn groaned ominously above us, a sound like the earth itself was in pain. I turned back the way I'd come, only to see that the path was now blocked by fallen, burning beams. We were trapped, surrounded by fire with our escape cut off.
But McKenzies don't give up. Not ever. Not when family is on the line.
Adjusting Pa's weight on my shoulders, I turned toward the back of the barn, where there might still be a way out. If we couldn't go back, we'd just have to go forward.
I couldn't leave the horses. Even with Pa's weight on my shoulders and the roof threatening to come down any minute, I couldn't just abandon them to burn. Pa would never forgive me if I saved him but left his beloved animals to die.
I staggered toward the nearest stall where a chestnut mare kicked frantically against the half-burned door. With my free hand, I wrestled the bolt open and swung the door wide.
"Go!" I shouted, slapping her flank as she hesitated, wild-eyed with terror. "GO!"
The mare bolted past me, her shoulder bumping mine hard enough that I had to brace myself to keep from dropping Pa.
The heat was becoming unbearable, the air so thick with smoke I could barely make out the next stall.
But I could hear the frantic movement inside, the terrified whinnies of trapped animals.
One by one, I forced my way down the row of stalls, throwing open doors and freeing the panicking horses.
Some bolted immediately toward the light and fresh air they could sense at the far end of the barn.
Others needed coaxing, frozen in terror until I managed to slap their flanks or shout them into movement.
Old Blue was the last, Pa's favorite gelding who'd been with us since I was a teenager. The old horse was pressed against the back of his stall, sides heaving with panic, but he didn't bolt when I opened the door. His eyes, rolling with fear, fixed on Pa's unconscious form across my shoulders.
"It's okay, boy," I rasped, my voice nearly gone from the smoke and shouting. "He's okay. But we gotta go now."
I reached out my hand, palm flat the way Pa had taught me, and the old horse hesitated only a moment before pressing his muzzle against it.
Then he was moving, not in the panicked rush of the others but with deliberate steps, as if he understood the gravity of the situation.
He followed close behind me as I turned toward the back of the barn.
A thunderous crack from above sent a shower of burning debris raining down just feet away. The horses still in the center aisle scattered, bolting toward either end of the barn in blind panic. Old Blue startled but stayed with me, his breath hot against my neck.
"This way," I urged, more for my own benefit than the horse's. The smoke was so thick now I was moving purely on memory and instinct, placing each foot with careful deliberation. Pa's weight seemed to grow heavier with each step, my muscles burning from the strain and the heat.
I knew we wouldn't make it back the way I'd come in.
The side door would be fully engulfed by now, and the main entrance had been impassable from the start.
Our only hope was the hay door at the back of the barn—the large opening in the upper section where we loaded hay into the loft, which opened onto the sloping field behind the barn.
The flames were less intense toward the back, but the smoke was thicker, filling the space from floor to ceiling with a choking gray cloud.
Each breath was torture, a struggle to extract what little oxygen remained from the superheated air.
My eyes streamed tears that did nothing to clear my vision, and each blink felt like sandpaper against my corneas.
Old Blue snorted beside me, staying close as if he understood we were in this together. The loyalty of the old horse, following me through this hell despite his instinct to flee, brought a lump to my throat that had nothing to do with the smoke.
The barn's structure groaned above us, the sound like a living thing in pain. We were running out of time. The heat pressed against my exposed skin like a physical weight, sweat pouring off me only to evaporate instantly in the inferno.
"Almost there," I gasped, though I wasn't sure if I was talking to Pa, to Old Blue, or to myself. My legs felt like lead, each step a monumental effort. Pa's dead weight across my shoulders sent shooting pains down my spine, but I'd have sooner died than put him down.
Through the smoke, I finally made out the outline of the hay door—a rectangle of lesser darkness against the black. It was closed, as it always was except during haying season, but it represented our only chance at survival.
I staggered the last few yards, every muscle screaming in protest. When my hand finally touched the wooden surface of the door, I nearly sobbed with relief. Old Blue pressed against my side, whether seeking comfort or offering it, I couldn't tell.
The latch was simple—a wooden bar that lifted to allow the door to swing outward. But with Pa across my shoulders, I had limited use of my arms. I braced one hand against the wall, using the other to awkwardly lift the bar. It stuck, swollen from the heat or warped from age.
"Come on," I growled, desperation giving me a final surge of strength. The bar groaned, then lifted, the door swinging partially open with the force of my effort.
Behind us, a massive crash announced the collapse of another section of roof. The sound was followed by a rush of superheated air that surged toward us like a living thing, hungry and searching.
I didn't think, just reacted. Dropping to my knees, I curled my body over Pa's, shielding him as best I could from the wave of heat and debris.
Something hot struck my bare back—an ember or burning splinter—searing my skin.
I gritted my teeth against the pain, keeping Pa covered until the initial wave passed.
Old Blue shrieked, the sound piercing even through the roar of the fire. When I looked up, the horse was dancing in place, eyes wild, but he hadn't fled. A patch of his coat smoldered where an ember had landed, but he stayed with us, loyal to the end.
With a final surge of strength born of pure desperation, I kicked at the half-open door. It swung wide, revealing the blessed darkness of the night beyond. Cool air rushed in, creating a momentary tunnel through the smoke.
"Go, Blue!" I shouted, and this time the old horse didn't hesitate. He bolted through the opening, out into the safety of the night.
I followed, half-stumbling through the door with Pa still secure across my shoulders.
The sudden absence of heat was shocking, the cool night air burning my smoke-damaged lungs in a different but equally painful way.
I gulped it down anyway, each breath a blessing after the choking inferno behind us.
The hay door opened several feet above the ground, with a short drop to the field below. In normal circumstances, I'd have hesitated, worried about jarring Pa with the landing. But with the barn literally collapsing behind us, there was no time for caution.
I jumped, absorbing the impact with my knees as best I could, staggering but managing to keep my feet and my hold on Pa. The momentum carried me several steps down the gentle slope that led away from the barn, each step putting blessed distance between us and the death trap behind us.
In the distance, sirens wailed, drawing closer by the second. I kept moving down the slope toward the house, my legs on the verge of giving out but my will refusing to allow it. Not until Pa was safe. Not until I got him back to Ma.
Headlights cut through the darkness at the edge of our property, a truck skidding to a halt on the gravel drive.
Even through my smoke-blurred vision, I recognized Knox's truck.
The doors flew open before the vehicle had fully stopped, and Knox and Ransom leapt out, sprinting toward us with matching expressions of horror and relief.
"Harlow!" Knox reached me first, his hands immediately moving to take some of Pa's weight. "Jesus Christ, is he—"
"Alive," I managed, my voice a painful rasp. "Got a head wound. Not sure how bad."
Ransom appeared on my other side, supporting Pa's legs as we carefully lowered him to the ground. Behind them, I glimpsed movement by the house—deputies in uniform, wrestling someone to the ground beside a police cruiser. Collins, his face contorted with rage as they cuffed him.
"The bastard tried to run when we pulled up," Ransom explained, following my gaze. "Sheriff's department got here right after we called them. Seems Dan's reports about poaching had them already suspicious of Collins."
I nodded, too exhausted and smoke-choked to form words. My legs finally gave out, sending me to my knees beside Pa's still form. Behind us, a section of the barn roof collapsed with a crash, sending a plume of sparks spiraling into the night sky.
We'd made it out just in time. Pa was alive. Collins was in custody. But Dan had been shot, and our barn—generations of McKenzie history—was burning to the ground.
As Knox knelt beside Pa to check his vitals, I turned back toward the house, my heart clenching with fear for the man I'd left bleeding in the driveway. Through the swirling smoke and the chaos of emergency vehicles now arriving, I strained to see any sign of Dan.