Into the Fire (Heroes of Station #1)
Prologue
The first visible flame would be the sweetest. The one that the grayed, splintered wood and those raised shingles could no longer contain.
His pulse hammered, his palms slick as he pictured it, the same rickety, snow-covered structure across the field from him now, only with sparks shooting through the holes in its roof like the best illegal fireworks on the Fourth of July.
Plastic inside melting and curling. A satisfying shattering of glass.
He couldn’t wait.
Closing his eyes, he breathed in the intoxicating scent of smoke and let the bitter taste of ashes settle on his tongue.
His fingers closed around the object in his pocket, firm against his palm, its energy stored and nearly vibrating in readiness.
Every muscle in his body twitched and hummed, spinning wheels instead of rolling forward.
He hated these delays. The guilty needed to be punished, the truth laid bare.
But he couldn’t afford to be reckless now when the stakes were so high.
When spotlights had sprouted near many of the best new locations and even among the old.
When even the least nosy neighbors were worried enough to watch and report.
No. He shook his head until his neck ached. After all the time he’d spent planning this blaze, weighing his methods and considering every possible outcome, there was no way he would let his anxiousness to hit Liftoff be responsible for a failed mission. Mistakes wouldn’t be tolerated.
With a sigh, he withdrew his hand from his pocket, allowing the cigarette lighter to drop to the bottom, its spark wheel never striking the stone. Like him, it would continue to bide its time.
As the unsettling sensation of being watched tripped along his spine, he flipped up the collar of his duck coat and glanced over his shoulder.
Just scraggly pines that tipped their hats to the wind and their barren neighbors that sat waiting for the unfurling of spring.
Though it appeared that no one had followed him, his gut told him it was time to move on.
He scanned the whole scene once more to store the image and then grabbed his bag and started on the quarter-mile jog down the country road to his car.
Snow crunched under his boots as he first stomped and then smoothed the traces of his footsteps.
Even if local officials were on constant watch now, they couldn’t keep up that level of vigilance forever.
When they let their guards down again, he would be there, ready to make them sorry, ready to strike both the location and the match.
“Burn, baby, burn.”
At the music of his own laughter, he shot one more look around to ensure that only he and the deserted road shared his secret for now. Soon everyone would know. And if the too curious got in the way, he would welcome them inside the building and then watch the flames devour them.