I grab the closest person—an EMT whose nametag says Carl—and point toward Lisette. “Make sure she doesn’t get hurt.”
His eyes widen, and he starts to tremble.
Probably shouldn’t have hauled him up onto his tiptoes to yell in his face, but I’m more concerned for Lisette’s safety than his feelings. “She’s your responsibility.”
“Y-yes, Beast.”
I release him, take one last look at my beautiful woman, and sprint toward the chaos.
People are shouting over the roar of the fire as sirens wail and radios squawk. Several firemen aim thick hoses at the house, spraying streams of water to fight the flames.
Something cracks ominously.
Suddenly the turret roof caves in with a deafening roar, sending a shower of sparks in all directions.
Firemen shout, and one comes stumbling out of the house.
What the fuck? Why was anyone in there? I grab the nearest firefighter and demand an answer.
“Had to make sure the house was clear,” he yells back.
“Walton’s in there!” Someone shouts.
The commander calls for him over the radio, getting only static for a reply.
They’re going to lose him. There’s too much smoke, and they don’t know the house. Not like I do.
I grab another firefighter. “Where was Walton?”
“By the turret.”
Fuck. I grab his oxygen canister and mask, ripping it away and slinging it over my shoulder along with my bag.
“Hey, you can’t?—”
Whatever he says is lost as I barrel through the emergency responders. Several shout after me, ordering someone to “Stop the Beast!” Others wisely scramble out of my way, eyes wide with fear.
The house creaks around me as I take the steps three at a time and plunge into the dark interior. I hear a shout for Walton, put on the oxygen mask, and follow the sound.
A fireman is hunched over, coughing in the living room.
“Get out!” I bellow, pointing his body toward the foyer. “Go! I’ll find him.”
“Beast?”
I shove the man toward the door and sprint for the stairs. The heat is immense, and the third floor is engulfed in flames. On the landing to the second floor, I look left and see the scene below. Because the entire side of the house is gone, dropped with the turret below.
I’m glad Florine didn’t live to see this.
Shoving the thought aside, I call for Walton and search the nearby rooms. The bathroom door doesn’t budge. I lean back and kick it open, splintering the wood in the frame. Beyond, a firefighter has collapsed on the ground.
I drop to my knees beside him, noting the burns. His oxygen mask was knocked loose when something hit him. He must have crawled in here for safety. It might have saved his life.
His vitals are thready, but there.
I rip my mask off, giving him a few precious seconds of air, then toss him over my shoulder and run like hell. Beams crash down behind me, and a wall of flames goes up far too fucking close. I reach the stairs just as fire licks them from somewhere below.
Shit. I don’t stop to think twice. We either make it or we don’t.
