9. Fire and Fear
Fire and Fear
Bo
Monday mornings at Ethel's had begun to feel increasingly normal with each passing Monday. When we go home, they tell us that it may seem manly and strong to handle it alone, but there is a breaking point, and boy, was I happy Sam found me.
It wasn't the coffee, though Ethel's coffee was worth the drive on its own.
It wasn't only the company, but more so the kind of people.
It was, in general, a room full of men who had lived through what other people never had to imagine.
You came in, drank your coffee, and let the conversation happen as it did.
Sometimes there was a story about a deer in a garage, or an elk hunt that ended up a duck hunt.
Other times, you've got to help someone go through what you went through and might have a different take on it.
Or they stated their piece, and we moved on. It was what every veteran needed.
Sam was already in the back booth when I walked in, Molly under the table, newspaper folded to the crossword section he’d no doubt never finish.
Jake was beside him, in the middle of a story about his neighbor's dog and a missing bag of beef jerky. By the way he was telling it, you’d think he was in the middle of a true crime drama.
Levi was across from them, shaking his head.
Mason was at the counter getting a refill from Ethel, and Austin had pulled a chair to the end of the booth; it was a habit.
Which was partially right. The rest of us thought it was because he couldn’t stop watching the door.
He never argued the point, so we let it go.
I slid in beside Levi. Lila appeared with coffee and an apple Danish. Although technically, coffee and Danishes were free to veterans on Mondays, we all left a big enough tip that it probably paid for itself three times over. But it was the thought that counts.
"Jake," Sam said without looking up from his crossword. "The dog didn't steal it. Your wife hid it from you."
"That is a serious accusation." Jake looked taken aback, as if his wife would ever do that.
She did, and we all knew it.
"Seven letters. Obvious." Sam filled in a word. "Also, she told me at bingo."
The table erupted. Jake pointed his fork at Sam. "That woman has no loyalty."
"She has plenty of loyalty," Ethel said from behind the counter without turning around. "Just not to beef jerky."
More laughter. Outside, Everwood was going about its Monday morning. A few trucks on Main were unloading flour for the bakery and sodas for the Old Fashioned Soda Shop we had on Main. Carl was opening the hardware store, and the mail carrier was making his first loop through the businesses.
It was a normal, typical Monday.
In the diner, we had the usual crowd. The fire chief and the police chief usually had breakfast on Mondays as they swapped their week's drama and caught up on the games they missed.
The hospital staff made their way through in waves: the arrivals and the dismissed as they swapped shifts, then the morning knitting club and the book club, both clubs as batty as Halloween but funny to listen to, and full of amazing gossip.
Jake was quiet for about thirty seconds as he took a few bites of his Danish, and the diner was in a mid-wave lull until the next wave came in, when the police chief’s and the fire chief’s radios both squawked at the same time.
Their radio dispatchers were both talking about Falon, fires, and before either of us thought about it, we were all out of our seats and moving toward the door.
The fire chief was three tables over and trying to take the last bite of toast as he stood.
He was on his feet before the transmission finished.
The police chief was in the middle of a bite of eggs and stood, his fork clattering to the plate.
He tried to grab it, but Ethel yelled to the whole diner.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll settle later, just go. I got it.” She looked worried and bit her lip.
Levi and Mason were already out of the booth. Austin was holding the door open for the fire chief. In two minutes, it went from semi-busy to an almost empty diner. On the upside, the gossip clubs were quiet as they listened in on the new gossip thread happening right in front of them.
The ARFF training tells you to act and assess.
Military training teaches us that safety is key.
And since half the table were volunteer firefighters and all had some background in emergency training, we all acted first. It was in our military DNA.
And after enough repetitions, it’s like muscle memory.
The radio goes, and you move. It's what the training beats into you.
We were all out of the door. Mason was right behind me. Then Levi. Then Austin.
Sam just nodded once when Levi looked back at him. A silent ask and permission between military brothers.
The drive out to County Road felt like forever.
I could see the smoke before I turned off the main road.
I saw a thick, dark column rising from near Falon’s place, and my heart sank.
She was home when I left. If I jumped out now, the truck would get there first. I silently pleaded with the truck gods to make the truck go faster.
I know Mason was hitting the pedal to the metal, but it didn’t seem fast enough.
Then, as we got closer, I saw the separation, and it was the Jenkins place.
I sighed in relief. I had heard Falon and went into action, not hearing the rest of the message, which I doubt I could have heard over the chaos that followed the first two words. Falon and fire.
I was reading the whole situation before Mason stopped the truck.
A slight wind was coming from the northwest. For the moment, the fire was isolated in the back, as far as I could tell, but that was from the outside.
The inside was an entirely different story.
Fire was funny that way. It only showed you what it wanted you to see.
The main barn walls were still standing. There was time, but not much of it.
Mason got to the gate, and while Levi unlocked it, I jumped out and ran toward the building, ahead of the truck.
Chief, Ranger, and Scout, were in the pasture standing along the fence line, blowing hard, tails up, and running back and forth with nervous energy. Three horses out. I counted them automatically. One, two, three... I paused. Three horses out? John had five.
I looked at the field, looking for Falon.
Rick Williams was coming across the yard at a hobbling run that should not have been possible on a broken leg, Melodie three steps ahead of him, both of them looking at the barn door with terrified, worried expressions painting their faces.
Then I understood.
Falon was in there. She’d gone in for the other horses.
“Falon,” I cursed under my breath, knowing exactly what had happened. She just couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t wait.
She'd been in there already.
Three horses in the pasture. Two were still missing.
And then, as I watched the barn doors, Falon appeared.
She had Ace in her hand. She released the horse, then stood at the doorway for a second.
She was in a tank top, holding a wet flannel.
She looked back at her parents for a second, then hesitated.
I prayed that she’d wait. I called out her name again, but over the increasing roar of the fire, I doubted she could hear me.
I tried to run faster, hearing the truck finally pass the gate.
I knew her eyes were streaming from the smoke.
It was like I was living it with her, knowing exactly what she was doing. I’d been there many times.
She’d taken four trips. Alone.
Then my heart sank, I knew it the moment she decided. She squared her shoulders and looked at the barn, then ran back in.
“No,” I yelled.
“Falon,” Rick yelled. Melodie was only twenty feet away.
I don't remember much after that. I remember the heat at the door. I’d learned to read the fire, its tells, and its secrets.
This fire was still waiting. For how long, I couldn’t be certain, but judging by the wall of hot air that greeted me, it wasn’t long.
Just then, I heard a crash from inside. A beam had fallen, or the horse kicked; neither one was good news. I pushed through it.
The inside of the barn was worse than the outside, as I suspected. The back wall was engulfed completely, the fire eating through the old timber with fierce appetite. Smoke rolled low along the rafters.
Falon was at the last stall.
I could see her silhouette. She and Duke, the Shire, were on their way out. She’d managed to get her wet shirt over his head and was leading him blindly. He threw his head and picked her up off the ground, but settled back down, sort of.
"Duke, baby, I've got you." I heard her coo when I got closer.
The horse was enormous. Duke was a draft, weighing close to two thousand pounds of pure, terrified muscle.
“Bo,” I heard her say when I got to his other side.
She had one side. I had the other. Both of us were talking to him in low voices, urging him to trust us.
Duke's feet pounded deep and heavy as he walked.
We moved him toward the door together. Another crash from behind us was the back wall giving up a section of itself. Duke lurched, and Falon shushed him until we made it to the doors.
We got him through, and she grabbed her shirt, and we both let go of the halter, and Duke bolted.
He ran for the fence line and didn't stop until he hit the other horses, and even then, he kept moving, circling and blowing, tail flagged in fear.
Falon had her hands on her knees.
I stayed close but gave her a beat as the adrenaline ran and the body caught up to the fact that it was over.
Then I squeezed her shoulder once. "You okay?"
"Yeah." She’d been breathing smoke for a bit. Her voice was rough. "Yeah."