Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 24049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
“Sorry, Bubba!” I shout as I jump into my pants and boots.
Doug is beside me, yanking his pants up too.
Dispatch crackles over the speakers.
“Engine 38, respond to a reported barn fire on Old Mill Road. Flames visible.”
Doug’s face changes as we yank on our jackets. The sulking is gone. He’s focused now. We both are.
We yank on our helmets and leap into the truck. I jump into the driver’s seat and hit the lights.
We tear out of the bay and into the night, sirens screaming. The town flashes by in streaks of red and white as our emergency lights reflect off the buildings. A couple of girls outside the bar turn and wave as we pass.
Doug sticks his head out the window. “Mr. May, check it out!”
I don’t even glance in their direction. My eyes are already scanning the road ahead.
I take the shortcut past the quarry, the one Graham doesn’t like because it’s narrow and dark. It shaves a minute off the drive, and tonight that minute matters. There are usually no fire hydrants where we’re going so we’re going to have to move fast.
“I know books aren’t exciting like this,” Doug says with a grin as I take a sharp turn, my body pushing into the door.
I grin as I look at him. “No, they’re not.”
The truck rolls over a hill and my pulse starts racing when I see the glowing orange up ahead.
“It’s a hot one,” Doug whispers as we race toward it.
“A stream,” I say when I spot a small snaking stream running beside the property. We got some luck after all.
It’s a large barn and the flames are only restricted to one side. I would have thought the whole thing would have gone up by now. That old wood is usually like kindling.
I slam on the brakes, throw the truck into park, and hop out.
“Check for a hydrant,” I call out to Doug as I head for the burning barn. I’m the senior firefighter and I’m in charge.
Doug may be a pain in the ass to hang out with and he may be a dope when it comes to the ladies, but he’s a hell of a fireman.
“No hydrant!” he shouts.
“Set up a draft line from the stream,” I tell him. “Now.”
“On it,” he shouts as he runs to the truck.
I grab my flashlight and sprint toward the blazing barn. Heat hits me before I reach the open door. Smoke pours out in heavy waves.
“Fire department!” I shout. “Anyone inside?”
I step in and collide with a woman coming out. She stumbles out, coughing while clutching an empty fire extinguisher.
Her hair is wild and her bloodshot eyes are all wide and glassy. She has little symbols painted on her arms and she’s wearing an apron smeared with clay.
“Please,” she says, voice breaking. “Everything I have is in there.”
She turns and squeezes the handle of the fire extinguisher, but nothing happens. Now I know why this building isn’t engulfed in flames. She was in there bravely keeping the blaze at bay.
I grab her arm and pull her back. I don’t want this girl anywhere near these flames or near this thick smoke.
“It’s my kiln,” she says, coughing. “It’s spitting out fire.”
“Is anyone else in there?” I ask, not wanting to let her go.
“No,” she says. “Just my whole life.”
“Stay out here or you might not have a life,” I warn her. “We’ll take care of the flames.”
“Doug!” I shout as I run back to the truck. “Status!”
“Working on it!” Doug shouts. “There’s a raccoon down here who’s mad as hell. Ow!”
I let out a frustrated growl, grab two large fire extinguishers from the truck, and sprint back inside.
If the flames are contained to one side of the building, maybe I can save the structure.
I duck under the heavy black smoke and survey the scene. Flames are travelling along the scorched wooden floor near the kiln, crawling up the wall, and snaking toward the ceiling. Shelves are overturned and broken pottery is everywhere—cups, bowls, and vases shattered to pieces.
I grip the first extinguisher and unleash it. White powder explodes into the air, thick and blinding. The fire along the floor and ceiling dies, but the kiln is spitting out flames like it’s alive.
“Doug!” I holler, hoping he can hear me. “Turn the power off!”
The woman rushes back in, scrambles past me, rips a painting off the wall, and slams the breaker hidden behind it.
The kiln powers down. The flames falter.
She grabs the second extinguisher and we work together, side by side, finishing it off. We douse that fucker with white powder until it’s a scorched, smoking, flameless mess.
“Ready, Ethan!” Doug shouts from outside.
“Fire’s out,” I call back.
He appears in the doorway a moment later, bleeding from a scratch on his face.
“What happened to you?” I ask.
“Fucking raccoon,” he says, breathing hard. “He was such a dick.”