Scar by Kelly Favor

stared, transfixed.
    They were yelling, calling out, telling one another that the family must have been trapped inside.
    Elijah walked closer to the front yard, staring at the blazing house as he went, and Caelyn grabbed his arm again. “We have to go,” she told him.
    “Didn’t you hear what they said? The family’s inside,” he replied.
    “We can’t help them. The fire’s already huge,” she said. “And the police and fire department will be here soon. If we stay—“
    “I don’t care,” he replied, looking her in the eye. “I’m not going to stand here and let them burn.”
    “Elijah, no!” she called out.
    Elijah pushed the scanner into her hands. “If I’m not out and you hear the police getting close, take off. Okay?”
    “Don’t go in there!” she screamed, but he was like a possessed person.
    He started up the front lawn and a big, burly guy got in his way, shaking his head. “Don’t be a hero,” the guy told him. “This house is already toast, and if you go in there, you will be too.”
    “So you’re going to let that family die?”
    “They’re already dead,” the guy told him.
    “How do you know?”
    The big man’s gaze faltered. “Well, look at it,” he said. “It’s like a nuclear bomb went off.” But the man no longer seemed as sure of himself as Elijah glared at him.
    “You don’t know,” Elijah told him. “Someone might still be alive in there. Now you don’t have to help me, but if you don’t get out of my way, I’ll need to make you step aside.” Elijah balled his fists.
    The burly man took a step or two back, holding his hands up. “Hey, it’s your funeral pal.”
    And then Elijah was running, and he was throwing the front door open. He backed away from the door momentarily as smoke poured out of it.
    Caelyn shrieked for him not to go inside, but he didn’t acknowledge her. Maybe he couldn’t hear her over the noise from the fire.
    The crowd gasped collectively as Elijah bolted inside the burning home.
    Caelyn closed her eyes tightly, wishing herself away from the scene. If only it could have been a dream, she thought. A bad dream, one that she would wake up from in Elijah’s arms.
    The neighbors were talking and shouting as the house continued to burn.
    Many of them were on phones and 911 had been called repeatedly. There were still no cops or fire engines in sight, and nothing approaching. Some people were discussing the fact that there was a very small skeleton crew on this time of night, and that they would possibly need to call in authorities from neighboring towns.
    Caelyn backed away from the house and the neighbors and put the scanner up to her ear to listen. There were bursts of communication, lots of jargon, and she thought she caught a mention of the fire. But as the seconds dragged into minutes, all she could do was wait and pray.
    The fire was burning so hot and so bright that it hurt to look at it, and the smoke was making it hard to breathe, even from yards away.
    He can’t survive in there .
    The thought left her cold.
    She even heard the other onlookers saying that the “crazy kid” who ran inside, trying to play the hero, was likely a lost cause.
    An old woman shook her head sadly. “Some people,” she said rather loudly, “have more bravery than good common sense.”
    Caelyn wanted to scream at her, tell all of them that Elijah was ten times the person they would ever be. But she couldn’t bring herself to do anything more than stand there, no better than the rest of them.
    And then, just as she was truly starting to give up hope, Elijah emerged out of the front door carrying something. He was covered in soot, like something out of a bad movie, and he was coughing and stumbling a little.
    The neighbors surged to him, taking the toddler from his arms.
    Caelyn ran to him as the onlookers began trying to attend to the child.
    “Elijah,” she said, grabbing his hand. “Are you okay?”
    He coughed some more and nodded. “Where are