Page 112 of Fatal Strike
“Don’t worry. God will save us.”
“I’m not sure that’s going to be possible,” he whispered. “If I don’t make it, know that I love you.”
Warren and the Rioses came back into the room before Silvia could untie Leah. Warren’s phone rang. He listened and swore, then texted someone. “We have to get out of here. Cops are headed this way.”
“We’re way ahead of them.” Dr. Rios reached for a gun in his waistband.
“Hold off,” Warren said. “I have a better idea.”
72
AS JON DROVE WEST ON THE ISLAND,a billowing cloud of gray rose in the distance. Fire? He wove in and out of traffic to where Rios’s vehicle had been seen. Sirens blared. Red and blue lights flashed.
He swerved left around a motorcycle.
An ambulance passed him at breakneck speed on the opposite side of the road, a white cargo van close behind. Everyone was in a hurry to save a life.
Jon swung onto a dirt-and-sand road leading straight toward the burning beach house. Flames leaped through the structure mounted on twelve-foot-high beams. He sprinted from the car with his gun drawn. Screams of help rose above the crackling fire.
The old fear jolted his senses.
If he waited for firefighters to arrive, it could be too late. Heat from the mounting inferno caused a window to explode.
He heard Leah’s voice scream for help above the others.
“Leah!”
Coward. You’d rather watch them die in the fickle beast.
Jon stared at the blue sky being colored by choking gray smoke. The pungent smell of burning timber brought back a surge of vivid memories—his demons, ones he desperately wanted to overcome. The cries inside the house contrasted with watching Hanson and Chip suffer. He refused to let history repeat itself.
He raced to the stairway that led inside and up to the central area of the house. “Leah, I’m on my way.”
Was he telling her or himself?
He doused himself with a nearby hose and ripped off his shirt, using it to cover his mouth while moving toward the cries for help. Each step increased the heat. Dread seared his gut.
The door leading into the kitchen was flung wide. Not good. Oxygen was feeding the blazing monster, helping it grow faster. Thick smoke met him. He dropped to his knees and crawled toward the voices he heard. Rachel Mendez and Elena James were tied on the floor nearest the doorway. They coughed as the beast stole their oxygen. He untied Rachel, nearest him. “Free Elena and get out of here.”
He hurried to Leah in the fog of smoke, untying her, then Silvia, and handed them his wet shirt. “Go, now. Use this to cover your mouth.”
“Not without Dylan,” Silvia said.
If Dylan were alive, he wouldn’t survive much longer in the smoke and flames, but neither would the women. “I’ll carry him out. You won’t do him any good if you collapse.”
“He’s hurt.” Silvia gasped for breath.
Elena and Rachel coughed their pleas for Jon to help Dylan. He swung to Leah. “Get these women out of here. I have Dylan.”
Leah shouted above the fire’s roar for the women to hurry, but Silvia refused to leave until Jon lifted Dylan into his arms. The three women shadowed Leah through mounting flames and a blinding fog of smoke. Jon believed the kid had passed out or was dead.
Jon’s eyes stung, blinding him. He stumbled toward the flame-ringed doorway, the impressive heat sending him staggering backward. Was this how his life was going to end? Like Hanson and Chip in the mouth of the fire?
Sparks rained from above them, and a creak sounded. The roof was collapsing. He searched for another way out, but the smoke blinded him. He hoped the women had made it down the stairs and clear of the burning structure.
The ceiling crashed on and around him.
Jon stumbled, regained his balance, and held his breath. He steadied Dylan in his arms before plowing through the flames to the stairway. His body ached. Fire scorched his bare back and shoulders. Smoke filled his lungs. His mind focused on one thing—getting Dylan and himself to safety.
