Where I Should’ve Been (Red Bridge #3)

Prologue

I come over the hill, expecting to see home; instead, the devil bares his teeth in a heated smile, his wicked, dancing jubilation a most unholy welcome to hell.

My memories, my things, my home, picked for its perfect, quaint setting and idyllic white fence—up in flames.

The sight is a punch to the gut in every sense it can be, a glowing mix of orange and thick black and ash curling into the otherwise blue sky.

Before I can even think, my body moves. The truck isn’t fully stopped when I’m out, my boots hitting half-melted snow, and my knees jarring on the loose, sloppy ground.

But I don’t slow. I can’t.

The glow of fire through the shattered windows is all I see. All I feel. A living thing devouring everything I know.

I hit the front door with a shoulder, snapping the wood frame with ease and barreling into the house in what feels like a fraction of a moment.

My foyer is dismally dark, the normal laughter of jokes and banter created with love replaced by a smoke so thick I can’t even see my hand six inches in front of my face.

My lungs feel heavy but not with soot—with the real, raw reality that my limitations as a human are on the precipice of being challenged. I overpower the feeling with urgency.

I can and will do whatever I have to do, no matter the cost.

Fear coats my movements, forcing me to rely on my training and muscle memory fully. I can hear my own breath in my ears, feel the thud of my heart in my chest, and see the film reel of a life in this house as it’s eaten by the lick of unbearably hot flames.

Palming the wall, I walk along it blindly with nothing to guide me but the experience of walking it a thousand times before and the determination to see if she’s okay—to see if they’re okay. To get them to safety as quickly as possible.

“Where are you?” I yell, my voice muffled unbearably. “Are you in here? Can you hear me?”

Ash and water mix with still-hot embers as they rain down on me, the crew outside fighting to knock down the flames enough to keep the structure standing.

Beams above me burn near clean through, and the walls feel hollow to the touch.

I use my elbows and fists to knock through barriers, but it gets harder and harder with every step I take forward.

This should be a hall—open and free from debris—to the back of the house, but it’s nothing more than an obstacle course now, burned and beaten by a fire that’s been unattended for just a little too long.

Words don’t seem clear or crisp right now, so I revert to anguish, screaming loudly instead.

I listen intently, and for a heartbeat, there’s nothing but my heavy breathing and the crackle and groan of failing wood in response.

Then, a sound. A cry. It’s faint, but it’s desperate enough to chill me to the fucking bone despite the temperatures being well over a thousand degrees.

The call wasn’t wrong. They’re inside.

Some part of me believed they weren’t; some part of me ignored the description of the dispatcher when she said people may be trapped. The most na?ve part of me believed this couldn’t and wouldn’t happen to me.

Fuck!

I move more quickly, ignoring the creak and crackle of succumbing wood and pushing myself to my knees to go farther when structural collapse denies me at my full height. I have to get to them. I have to.

My brother Randy’s muffled yell rings out behind me, but I ignore it, pushing forward anyway.

I can save them, and I will.

Tad Hanson can do anything when he has to. There’s no other option.