Page 71 of The Spare

Alexis leans forward, grabbing my arm. Her eyes are wide with shock. “Sam? What’s wrong?”

“The fire department is on the way, and I’ve turned the sprinklers on in that area,” Hank barks over the crackling on his end.

“Where?” I shout, frantically searching for my keys and trying to fasten my pants one-handed while balancing the phone against my shoulder.

“It’s in the back quadrant near the tree line.”

My blood turns to ice. “The same area where we lost grapes from the fungus?”

“Yes, exactly,” Hank shouts. “Shep and I will try to get it contained, but get down here. We need as many hands on deck as we have available.” The line goes dead.

“I’m sorry, Lex. I’ve got to go. The vineyard is on fire.”

“What? How?”

“I have no idea, but for now we need to make sure it’s contained.” I shirk my jacket and unbutton my shirt as Alexis reaches for a sweatshirt. “No. Please stay here.” I jam my phone into my pocket, my hands trembling with a mix of blinding panic and rage. I don’t want to leave Lexi. Not after it took so much to get to this point. But what choice do I have with a damn fire breaking out on the property? I refuse to drag her out into this. Not in the middle of all this dangerous commotion. There’s not much she’d be able to do to help anyway, and I’d only be worried if she was down there. “I know you want to help, but I’d only be distracted worrying about you.”

I quickly dial Walter’s number, leaving the speaker on while yanking a sweatshirt over my head.

“Sam?” Walter answers on the second ring, his voice groggy with sleep. “Everything all right?”

“Walter, there’s a fire in the back quadrant of the vineyard,” I blurt, stomping my feet into my boots. “I need to get down there right now. Can you come help? And could you call Rosario and ask if she’d mind coming to the house to stay with Lexi? I know she’ll be worried, and I don’t want to leave her here alone.”

Lexi grips my arm tighter.

“Of course, son, we’re on our way,” Walter responds without a second of hesitation.

I hang up and turn to Lexi, who’s standing by the side of the bed, her face pale as she watches me. I reach out, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her into a tight hug. “I might be tied up down there for a while.”

“Please be careful.” I don’t miss the genuine anguish in her plea.

“I will, baby. Please don’t worry. Rosario should be on her way,” I reassure her, kissing the top of her head. “I’m locking up the house and setting the security alarm before I step out the door. Rosario will know the code. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The fact that the mold appeared in the back quadrant of the vineyard, and now this… I can’t help but consider this isn’t just some spontaneous wildfire. And if someone is looking to hurt me or the vineyard, I can’t take any chances they wouldn’t do the same to her.

Lexi looks up at me, placing her hands over mine and giving me a firm, resolute nod despite the questions lingering in her eyes. I can’t share my concerns with her yet. I don’t want to add to her fears.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, gently pushing against my chest and ushering me toward the door. “Go. Go.”

Once I set the alarm, I throw open the back door of the main house and hit the gravel in a full sprint. The crisp air usually carries the sweet, damp scent of rich soil and vine leaves, but today all that hits my lungs is the sharp sting of smoke.

I round the edge of the processing barn, and my chest brutally constricts at the nightmare unfolding in front of me. A thick, dark plume of black smoke is billowing into the night sky over the far ridge. “Dammit!” I scream into the abyss. Pushing my legs to go faster, I finally clear the top of the hill. My boots slide on the loose gravel of the path as the back quadrant comes into full view. It’s a literal inferno.

Orange flames are licking up the dry wooden trellises, devouring the brittle vines in the section we’d already lost to the fungus. The fire is spreading fast, fueled by a slight wind and the dry underbrush along the property’s tree line.

Down in the thick of it, the irrigation heads are sputtering, spraying arches of water. Yet it’s not enough. Shep is flailing wildly with a wet burlap sack, beating down a line of flames near the row post. Old Man Morris is hauling a heavy yellow industrial hose from the secondary pump house. His face is slick with sweat and soot.

“Shep! Hank!” I yell, skidding to a halt beside the pump station.

Shep wipes a dirty forearm across his forehead, coughing violently as he looks over at me. “The main line’s at half pressure, Sam. The fire hit the plastic casing on the feeder line over by the woods.”

“Grab the handheld extinguishers from the utility rig,” I bark, diving for the auxiliary pump lever and throwing my full body weight against it. The metal groans, then clicks into place with a heavy clunk. Water pressure surges through the main line, and the sprinklers erupt with double the volume, drenching the perimeter.

Hank drags the hose line up. His hands shake as he aims the nozzle at the base of the blaze along the tree line. “We’ve got to keep it from hitting the timber, Sam. If the woods go up, the whole south portion is gone.”

“It won’t,” I growl, snatching a second heavy-duty fire extinguisher from the back of the utility ATV. “Where the hell is the fire department?” I pull the pin, charge into the wall of heat and smoke, and squeeze the handle just as the sounds of sirens screech in the distance.

A thick cloud of white chemical foam smothers the roaring flames at the base of the trellis. The heat is agonizing. I attempt to cover my face to avoid the blistering of my skin as I fight line by line, row by row, driving the fire back toward the wet soil.