With the glass in the windows gone, the fire quickly expanded in size as it ate up the extra oxygen. Soon the wooden structure was fully engaged and pumping smoke from every crevice and open window. Flames and smoke surged high into the blue sky. There wouldn’t be any saving the structure.
Trey caught up with the other volunteers as they spread out around the house to control stray sparks while Kent and Sydney kept up the water barrage. Firefighters were beating back the fire, despite the orange and yellow flames spitting and licking and clawing to take back what they gave up. Every fire had its own personality. This one reminded Trey of an angry cat.
At the moment, he wasn’t essential to fighting the fire, so he took a bigger view. He checked the wind. They had a slight breeze from the south that was pushing flames northward. As bad luck would have it, Slim’s farmhouse was to the north and on an elevation in the land. Fire rose because heat rose, so if the fire got loose, it’d make a beeline for Slim’s home. Containment was vital.
Trey wondered if anybody had notified Bertram Holloway. Not that it’d matter. Bert wouldn’t be around. He never was when one of his decrepit, insured buildings went up in flames. They’d find him fishing or some such thing up in Southeast Oklahoma, innocent as the day is long but richer by the end of it. Bert insisted somebody had a vendetta against him. That was possible, since it was rumored he’d made enemies by the way he did business. Still, nobody’d been caught setting fires or leaving incriminating evidence, so there was no way to prove either theory.
Bert’s building fires didn’t explain the sudden rash of grass and tree fires. High temperatures and prolonged drought seemed the logical explanation, but that idea didn’t sit well with Trey. Maybe it was too easy an answer or maybe he had a gut feeling there was something more sinister at work.
He glanced around to see where he’d be most useful. He caught his breath in surprise. Misty stood beside Morning Glory’s pickup. She held a firefighter helmet and jacket limply in her hands, but she’d made no use of them. Instead, she watched the blazing house with horror etched on her face.
What was she doing here? If she had a panic attack, he’d get her out of here as fast as possible. At least his pickup was last in line so he could get out. He probably ought to take her away anyway. But why was she with Morning Glory? He’d thought she was safely tucked away at Twin Oaks and enjoying her vacation.
Misty suddenly threw down the firefighter gear and ran toward the fire. Shocked, he rushed after her, caught up with her, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her tight against his chest.
“What in tarnation are you doing?” He fought to hold her against him. She suddenly had the strength of somebody three times her size.
“Look!” She pointed toward a clump of bushes set away from the house. “We’ve got to save those babies.”
“What babies?”
And then he saw a mother cat with her teeth clamped in a kitten’s fur on the back of the neck. She struggled to drag her baby to safety in the bushes, even though the fur on her back had been singed away.
“Let me go!” Misty kicked back at him, trying to get free.
“Not on your life. It’s too dangerous.” He tightened his grip around her as he glanced back at the house. Nobody else had noticed the cats because their attention was focused on the fire.
Mama Cat deposited her kitten in the bushes, and then she ran back to the burning house. She slipped into the open crawl space underneath the floorboards of the house and disappeared into the darkness.
“I’m going after her.” Misty panted, gasping for breath, even as she struggled to get free.
“No!” Trey turned her around so he could look into her face. “Stay here. I’ll do my best to get the cats.”
“Please don’t endanger yourself.”
“I’m a first responder. That’s what we do.” He gave her a quick kiss on her soft lips, more comfort than anything.
As he ran to the house, he zipped up his firefighter parka, pulled up the hood to protect his head, and tugged on his gloves. He dropped to his stomach and looked under the house. He couldn’t see anything in the dark, but he could feel the heat and steam, smell the acrid smoke. He had seconds to rescue the cats. If Mama Cat had her kittens near the entry, he could snatch them.
When he heard the sharp demand of Mama Cat’s yowl and the plaintive mewling of kittens, he knew they were close. He dug his elbows into the mud and slithered into the crawl space underneath the burning house. He took short, shallow breaths to avoid the heat that could sear his lungs. He saw the gleam of cat eyes and counted three or four kittens nestled in an old towel. Mama Cat hissed at him. He tossed the towel over the kittens. He backed out, dragging the litter of babies with him while Mama Cat raced out ahead of him.
He took a deep breath of clean air as he got to his feet. He glanced down at the squirming bundle. And smiled. He’d saved lives. He couldn’t ask for a better outcome.
“Are they okay?” Misty hurried over to him.