Fireproof (19 page)

“Aaarrrggh.”

He snatched his legs from the glowing heat and pressed onward, keeping the grate in view. That was his goal. Nothing would stop him.

His muscles protested with each elbow-shredding advance through the dirt. The smoke was thickening. All around, flames flared as they gnawed through the subflooring and rode charred timber to the ground. The structure was caving in.

LIEUTENANT SIMMONS HAD seen few houses conquered so quickly. He wanted to rush into that inferno himself, but the place was about to go. If the captain was in there, passed out, or trapped beneath a fallen beam, or—

In a great whoosh of sparks and eye-watering smoke, the roof crumbled inward and fed the mouth of the volcano. The blaze roared with new intensity, seeming to sense victory.

“Here.” Simmons passed off the hose to a fellow firefighter.

“I got it, Lieutenant.”

Simmons started a perimeter search of the property.
Don't
trust your feelings or your fear
, he reminded himself
. Lead your
heart. Lead!

“Caleb!” he yelled. “Caleb, can you hear me?”

CALEB PULLED HIMSELF another foot closer to the metal grate, glimpsing tiny squares of daylight and grass, of life and hope. Ash and dirt swirled in his eyes and clung to his sweat. He was losing his grip on Lacey, and he tossed the bulky coat aside. Moments ago there had been an enormous crash, and he assumed the roof was coming down. If he didn't get her out of here in the next few seconds, they'd both be crushed by a pancake collapse of the floor.

Another half-foot. Another layer of skin peeled from his elbow.

Caleb pushed on.

And on.

Why was he so willing to put it all on the line for a stranger? Yes, he'd been trained for this. Yes, he'd put some experience under his belt. Where, though, had that determination gone in regard to his marriage? Why had he stopped fighting for his wife's heart?

As he threaded between embers and blackened boards, he told himself that if he got out of this alive, he would start loving Catherine with this same gritty, no-backing-down resolve. If there was anything to be gained here, that was it.

Please, God—just get us outta here.

A burning girder tumbled onto his forearm.

“Agghhh.”

His flesh sizzled, and Caleb hefted the encumbrance aside with a scream. He crawled faster, calling out: “Jesus,
help
me. Jesus,
please
!”

As the house began collapsing around him, he reached the ventilation grate.

He leaned back, spun his legs around, and kicked out with all his might. His boots clanged against the metal, and he detected little give. Was the thing nailed into place, a guard against rodents and small animals?

He pulled his feet toward his chest. Drove them into the metal a second time.

Nothing.

Caleb screamed in desperate anger. He drove his boots repeatedly against the grate, dislodging dust and pebbles with each attempt. It was starting to move. But so was the floor above. Fire and debris came crashing down around them, and fragments of wood rolled off of his arms and chest. He could feel the blaze inches behind them, and more of the house began to fall.

I don't want to die!

The heat was intense. His mind became a blur of fear and energy. He kicked again at the grate.

This time the force sent the framed impediment cartwheeling across the baked lawn.

His heart pounded in his chest as he pushed the unconscious girl ahead through the opening, expending the last of his reserves. He could hardly breathe, but she would be safe. He had done his job.

Beyond her slumped form, he saw life-giving, beautiful sun, but he was depleted. Done. His lungs felt like lumps of soot, and it was all he could do to draw oxygen across his charcoal-parched tongue one last time, before collapsing on his face in the dirt beneath the blazing residence.

SIMMONS ROUNDED THE back corner of the house, calling the captain's name. He saw movement.

From ground level, a ventilation grate came flying across the lawn.

Caleb?

Simmons bent down and saw a limp form rising from the darkness beneath the house. It was the girl, and that meant Caleb must be down there. Alive.

“There, there!”

Simmons pointed, calling for others to come help. He charged to the opening and cupped his hands beneath little Lacey's armpits. He spotted another body prostrate in the crawl space. From Simmons's right, a fireman from Station Two hurried forward to offer assistance.

“I got the girl. I got the girl,” Simmons said. “Grab the captain there.”

Fireman Ribolla waited for an opening, then took hold of Capt. Caleb Holt and dragged him from the narrow hole to a tree about thirty feet away.

“Medic. Medic!”

EMS and other personnel gathered around to resuscitate Lacey. A female rescue worker knelt beside Caleb with portable oxygen. He was panting, incoherent, his eyes ringed with soot and white with fear.

“You made it out,” Simmons told Caleb. “You're safe.”

“The girl . . . Is the girl okay, is the girl okay?”

“We got her, Captain. They're working on her.”

“Okay.” Caleb gritted his teeth in pain.

“Calm down now,” Simmons said. “Calm down.”

“My arm . . .” Caleb lifted it.“My arm is burned.”

“Yeah, we see it, Captain. We see it.”

Caleb coughed. Through his pain, he growled: “Did you get the girl? Did you get the girl outta the house?”

“Yes, we got her.”

“Is she . . . okay? Is Lacey okay?”

“She's out, Captain. You saved her. She's okay.”

“My arm.”

Simmons noticed Caleb's pale expression, and realized his senior officer was experiencing shock. Caleb's mind was a transmission slipping out of gear and grinding, grinding, at the same questions.

Beside them, the EMS lady unwrapped the oxygen mask.

Caleb tried to lift his arm again. “I . . . need something. My arm, my arm is burned.” His feet pawed at the ground. “You sure the girl's okay?”

The mask came on, and still the captain demanded answers.

“What about . . .Where's Catherine? Is Catherine okay?”

“Catherine?”

“Tell me she's okay.”

“Captain, listen to me. Yes, your wife is okay. You did great. You got everyone outta that house.”

“The girl? Is she safe?”

“She's fine. Caleb, the girl's gonna be okay.”

“Catherine?”

“She's okay, and you're gonna be okay. I just need you to calm down. Breathe with me. Just take a sec, and breathe with me.”

Caleb's expression began to relax as he drew in fresh oxygen.

“Breathe, breathe. I repeat: Everyone is okay, Captain.”

Caleb closed his eyes.

“I'm here with you,” Simmons said. “I'm right here.”

CHAPTER 27

C
atherine Holt punched the automatic door opener and marched down the hospital corridor. Her husband, they told her, was being treated after a touch-and-go encounter at a residential fire.

Though she felt some relief that he was safe, her emotions were on a seesaw. She'd seen a marked change in Caleb the past few days, but she needed more than that to wipe out the effects of the past few years.

Was the transformation real? Could he keep up the facade?

She had serious doubts.

On clicking heels, she passed a young patient in a wheelchair and found the alcove where a sooty, sweaty, shoeless man sat slouched on an adjustable bed. It was Caleb, sporting a stained white T-shirt. He smelled like a campfire. At his side, a nurse in a blue tunic and latex gloves was wrapping gauze around his severe arm burns.

Catherine folded one hand across her stomach and gripped her necklace with the other. Why was she so rankled by his presence here? It was unfair to him, yet there was no denying the annoyance she felt.

“You look terrible,” she said.

Caleb's chin lifted toward her. “I . . . I feel terrible.”

He had gorgeous eyes. She had to admit that much. Smudges on both his cheeks, and his brow served to intensify those deep green irises.

“You gonna be okay?”

The nurse turned toward her. “Well, he's sustained some first-degree burns, but he should be fine.”

Catherine noticed his wedding ring was off, lying next to him on the table. His hand was coated with medicated burn cream.

The nurse addressed a doctor seated in the corner. “Looks like he's left with a partial thickness burn to the left arm.”

The doctor made a note of it on his clipboard.

“So, this is your husband?” the nurse asked.

Catherine folded both her arms, knowing what was coming next and why his being here irritated her so. She cast a sideways glance at the doctor.

Dr. Gavin Keller's eyes widened in apparent betrayal.

“Uh.” She looked down. “Yes.”

“Well,” the nurse said, “it looks like you've got a hero on your hands.”

There it was. That was the problem. By playing courageous fireman, Caleb had immunized himself against ridicule or gossip. How could Catherine turn her back on him now? It would be so much easier if he were an obvious greaseball, a real scum.

Gavin swiveled in his chair toward her, then shifted his attention to Caleb—the competition. Could Catherine blame Gavin for feeling somewhat betrayed? For weeks now she had gone without her ring, and the doctor had assumed she was fair game. She'd certainly given no indication otherwise.

Quite the opposite, actually.

You've got yourself in a mess now, Cat. Way to go.

Caleb sat there on the bed, oblivious. He was listening to the nurse's instructions to keep the arm elevated for the next twenty-four hours to help the swelling go down. In forty-eight, he was supposed to return for reevaluation.

Gavin and Caleb in the same space?

This was more than Catherine had bargained for, and she knew it could only lead to trouble. Tension hammered at her temples. She was almost shaking.

“Well,” she told the nurse. “Let me get outta your way.”

“Oh, you're not in our way. You can stay.”

“No,” Catherine said. “It's all right. I'll, uh . . . I'll let you do your job.”

CALEB WATCHED HIS wife go. Though he'd hoped for some sympathy—one soft touch, or even a supportive smile—he had expected nothing of the sort. Still, there was something not quite right about her reaction.

The nurse, too, seemed puzzled by Catherine's uneasiness. She flashed a weak grin. “Sir, I'm gonna go get you some more gauze to take home with you.”

“Sure.”

“And we'll fill that prescription for your pain, okay?”

Caleb nodded, and the nurse departed. Alone now with the doctor, he took a moment to examine the reddened skin of his shoulder. He could deal with these burns. It was the other pain that cut deep.

He thought back to those intense moments beneath the burning house. He had decided to fight for his wife, hadn't he? To put his very life on the line?

On the table, his wedding band gleamed. Caleb picked it up, started working it down over the sensitive skin of his finger. He flashed to those desperate moments beneath the house, when he'd sensed that someone was trying to cut short his escape. Had it been his imagination? The effects of the carbon monoxide? All he knew was that life was tenuous, and there would always be obstacles out there.

Caleb no longer cared how many days were left in
The Love
Dare
, or if there was anything in there about slipping rings over serious burns. He was putting this thing on, regardless. It was no longer an option.

The doctor glanced up. “I, uh, wouldn't put that ring back on till your hand has had a chance to heal.”

Caleb eyed the man. Who did this bozo think he was? Sure, the doctor was tall and educated, handsome in that straitlaced, Ivy League, boring sort of way—but that gave him no right to interfere with a patient's personal decision.

“Sorry.” Caleb wiggled the band all the way down. “But my hand's gonna have to heal with this ring on my finger.”

The doctor gave no further objection.

At that moment, a large black woman rounded the corner. She stared at Caleb, eyes filling with tears. He recalled her face from the scene of the fire—Lacey's mother.

“Captain Holt?”

“Yes?”

“I'm Mrs. Turner. You saved my little . . .” Her voice faltered.

“Is she okay?” Caleb made eye contact. “Is Lacey doing all right?”

Mrs. Turner closed the gap between them, her chest beginning to heave. She reached up, wiping drops from her cheeks, then placed both hands on Caleb's face. He could smell the residual smoke, feel the moisture of her tears. He sensed, from the corner, the doctor observing this exchange.

“Thank you, Captain,” she whispered. “Thank you for . . .”

Caleb swallowed.

“For . . .”

Mrs. Turner's wide forehead furrowed and her chin trembled. Through those glistening oval eyes she managed to express all the thanks he would ever need. Then, shaking her head, she bit her lip and backed away.

Caleb blinked as she disappeared. He looked down at his ring. He'd put his life on the line for little Lacey, willing to do whatever it took. Catherine, too, had been a girl once. She'd dreamed of a husband who would put it all on the line for her.

Was that really too much for any woman to ask?

CATHERINE CAUGHT THE evening news from a corner table in the cafeteria. The drama of her husband's day played out on the TV screen. She was getting the opportunity to see him on the job, while he had no clue as to the cozying up she'd been doing at work.

A blonde reporter,WALB's Stephanie Ward, said, “It was a day of sadness and joy for Mr. and Mrs. James Turner of Eleventh Avenue, as they watched their home nearly burn to the ground . . .”