windpipe. The hose line inched inward like a python.
I couldn’t leave Timothy. I pulled on my gloves.
Fire erupted at the ceiling, bulbous and rolling up the building side. I hit the floor and clambered in. Timothy’s coat took shape in front of me.
He yanked on the line. “There’s a glow back there.”
I nodded and grabbed a coupling. We pushed deeper in. Fire rippled above like an inverted river.
Cormac’s voice echoed in my head. “Its sole desire is to consume.”
Timothy took a kneeling position at the doorway to a raging back room. The hallway temperature neared unbearable heights. I held the hose behind him and leaned my shoulder into his back. His torso shifted as he opened the bale and the water stream shot out. He swept it across the ceiling and circled it around the room.
The fire danced. It mocked. It shot from the room with wicked lit fingers, clawing and scratching, curling around my air bottle. It tugged at me, pulling me to it. Flame edges whipped down the walls, forming a sickle in the air, swinging in a slow arc down toward my sternum.
I had to get out.
I turned and bolted, colliding with Butcher, knocking him to his rear. The smoke spazzed and scurried. I glanced back to see the fire darken in the room. The atmosphere cooled, lightening from black to gray. Someone outside broke a window. A fan started on the porch, pushing the haze past us.
Butcher made his feet and stared at me through his mask. He held a radio mic by his facepiece. “Battalion One, Attack Group. We have knockdown.” He broke his gaze and walked past me.
Timothy worked the hose line into the room, hitting hot spots with short bursts of water. I stood as the truck guys scooted by, tools in hand. Lead-colored smoky wisps vacillated and wove in front of my mask. I leaned against the wall and took off my helmet.
Nothing made sense anymore.
CHAPTER
13
T he wrinkles beside Benjamin Sower’s eyes looked like rays of the sun in a child’s drawing.
I dropped my turnout boots from the back of the rig to the app-bay floor. “That is definitely a Captain Sower joke.”
He grinned, his broad shoulders shaking as he chuckled. “Well now, what else would a cow without any lips say?”
I shook my head and smiled at the floor. “I guess ‘Ooo’ is it.”
He laughed again, the fluorescent lights casting a dull sheen over his bald head.
I climbed down and hung my suspenders over the chrome bar beside the door. My turnout pants were dank and thick with the smell of smoke. “So what did you learn on the second floor?”
He hooked his thumbs under his suspenders. “That I’m glad I work on the third.”
I laughed. It sounded like a pressure relief valve off-gassing. “Come on now, Ben. We go way back. What’s the inside story?”
“We do go way back. As far back as you go. I was there the day you were born, remember?”
“Strangely enough I don’t recall a whole lot about that day.”
“Your father’s wry sense of humor lives on, I see.”
I didn’t want to talk about my father. “So tell me.”
“All I know is that the pressure from city hall to find this firebug is building.”
I nodded. “And today’s fire—”
“Probably.”
I swallowed. As far as I was concerned, any arsonist could be the arsonist, the one who set my father’s fatal fire.
Ben shifted his stance. “So, have you seen the garden out back?”
“Um, yeah, actually. That corn looks pretty high. Kind of weird, right there in the middle of the city.”
“I’m really happy with that. Last tour someone took off with a couple ears. And that’s fine. If they need it that bad, they can have it. I’ll grow more. Or God will. He provides.” His face turned solemn. His voice quieted. “Aidan, on a different note, I have been a bit concerned for you.”
Alarms of suspicion rang in my head. He had just come from talking with the chiefs. “ You’ve been concerned? Or did somebody come to you who was concerned about me?”
“No. No
I couldn’t leave Timothy. I pulled on my gloves.
Fire erupted at the ceiling, bulbous and rolling up the building side. I hit the floor and clambered in. Timothy’s coat took shape in front of me.
He yanked on the line. “There’s a glow back there.”
I nodded and grabbed a coupling. We pushed deeper in. Fire rippled above like an inverted river.
Cormac’s voice echoed in my head. “Its sole desire is to consume.”
Timothy took a kneeling position at the doorway to a raging back room. The hallway temperature neared unbearable heights. I held the hose behind him and leaned my shoulder into his back. His torso shifted as he opened the bale and the water stream shot out. He swept it across the ceiling and circled it around the room.
The fire danced. It mocked. It shot from the room with wicked lit fingers, clawing and scratching, curling around my air bottle. It tugged at me, pulling me to it. Flame edges whipped down the walls, forming a sickle in the air, swinging in a slow arc down toward my sternum.
I had to get out.
I turned and bolted, colliding with Butcher, knocking him to his rear. The smoke spazzed and scurried. I glanced back to see the fire darken in the room. The atmosphere cooled, lightening from black to gray. Someone outside broke a window. A fan started on the porch, pushing the haze past us.
Butcher made his feet and stared at me through his mask. He held a radio mic by his facepiece. “Battalion One, Attack Group. We have knockdown.” He broke his gaze and walked past me.
Timothy worked the hose line into the room, hitting hot spots with short bursts of water. I stood as the truck guys scooted by, tools in hand. Lead-colored smoky wisps vacillated and wove in front of my mask. I leaned against the wall and took off my helmet.
Nothing made sense anymore.
CHAPTER
13
T he wrinkles beside Benjamin Sower’s eyes looked like rays of the sun in a child’s drawing.
I dropped my turnout boots from the back of the rig to the app-bay floor. “That is definitely a Captain Sower joke.”
He grinned, his broad shoulders shaking as he chuckled. “Well now, what else would a cow without any lips say?”
I shook my head and smiled at the floor. “I guess ‘Ooo’ is it.”
He laughed again, the fluorescent lights casting a dull sheen over his bald head.
I climbed down and hung my suspenders over the chrome bar beside the door. My turnout pants were dank and thick with the smell of smoke. “So what did you learn on the second floor?”
He hooked his thumbs under his suspenders. “That I’m glad I work on the third.”
I laughed. It sounded like a pressure relief valve off-gassing. “Come on now, Ben. We go way back. What’s the inside story?”
“We do go way back. As far back as you go. I was there the day you were born, remember?”
“Strangely enough I don’t recall a whole lot about that day.”
“Your father’s wry sense of humor lives on, I see.”
I didn’t want to talk about my father. “So tell me.”
“All I know is that the pressure from city hall to find this firebug is building.”
I nodded. “And today’s fire—”
“Probably.”
I swallowed. As far as I was concerned, any arsonist could be the arsonist, the one who set my father’s fatal fire.
Ben shifted his stance. “So, have you seen the garden out back?”
“Um, yeah, actually. That corn looks pretty high. Kind of weird, right there in the middle of the city.”
“I’m really happy with that. Last tour someone took off with a couple ears. And that’s fine. If they need it that bad, they can have it. I’ll grow more. Or God will. He provides.” His face turned solemn. His voice quieted. “Aidan, on a different note, I have been a bit concerned for you.”
Alarms of suspicion rang in my head. He had just come from talking with the chiefs. “ You’ve been concerned? Or did somebody come to you who was concerned about me?”
“No. No
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