Page 49 of On Fire

The windows shatter when a beam goes.

McKinley’s been inside for at least three minutes. He needs to get out of there. He and I work out together a lot and he’s got that cocky attitude of “nothing’s going to happen to me.” This can be dangerous.

“Devon, you and Gomez keep water on ground level. Curran and Matt will cover the second floor with back up on either side.

I step inside the beast.

That’s how I think of fire. It’s a single beast with a million heads, like Medusa. It keeps coming back in places you least expect it. Fire is always there. Even the nice, fun ones. I bite my tongue nearly every time Mateus and Laurel Russo’s son, Cody, build a beach fire. I always have to extricate myself and move to the back porch of The Inn or go inside. Watching that little boy dance around with a lighter while Mateus and Bryce urge him to light the kindling with long matches is too hard for me to watch.

Stepping in through the front door, there is virtually no visibility.

I adjust my mic. “McKinley, do you copy?”

Only static meets my question. Heat flares suddenly from the left and I sidestep to the right, near the staircase. Staircases are a good place for fire to shoot up if it’s starved of oxygen below.

Another window breaks from the ground floor. I take the stairs two at a time.

People think the smoke and flames are the most frightening part of fire, but for me it’s the sound. It’s like a goddamn freight train.

“McKinley, copy!” The sound of my breathing is drowned by the roar of the fire.

Then I see a figure down the hall. It’s McKinley and he has a child in his arms. Maybe six years old. I wave to him as the house shudders. Another beam displaced. Another minute closer to the house collapsing.

We have to get out of here.

McKinley doesn’t have a respirator. Recoup. Adjust. Think.

He doesn’t move, though, and just stays bent over the child. He’s overwhelmed, and the child looks unconscious.

In a second, I’m beside them. McKinley is coughing, gagging on smoke and the little boy is unconscious. McKinley is about to pass out.

“Take her,” he tries to say.

I’m taking both of them. Dipping down, I take the boy from him with one arm and catch McKinley’s stomach with my shoulder. If I can balance him correctly, get him in the right position, I can lift them both out. The fire swirls around the banisters at the base—it’s getting ready to shoot up the stairwell.

The boy is limp, and I carry him football style down the stairs, moving as fast as I can.

A tongue of fire whips at us as I land on that bottom step and turn to shield the kid with my body, then launch myself out of there.

As soon as the black smoke clears and I’m ten feet outside the door, Devon hands off her position and takes the little boy from my grip.

In minutes she has him on a gurney, giving him oxygen and I’ve released McKinley to a semi-standing position, leaning against the back bumper of the ambulance.

McKinley’s coughing up a lung and when Devon turns her attention to him and tries to get him to sit down, he grabs my coat.

“There’s another one.”

I lift my helmet to hear. “What?”

“There’s another one. A girl. I think . . . twins.” Coughing wracks his frame.

I turn in time to see the left side of the house begin to collapse. One turret is tipping.

“Keller!” Devon says. “Don’t you dare go in there. Get the bucket.”

There is no time.

Back inside, the roar is deafening. The staircase is engulfed. The child is probably deceased from smoke inhalation. Go back.