Page 66 of Hearts Storm

We head deeper, kicking aside melted plastic chairs and charred remnants of books. Water is pooling fast now, sloshing under my boots, turning the ash into a thick, black slurry.

Visibility is still shit, but the hose line is punching enough holes in the smoke that it allows me to make out the shape of the bookshelves, the collapsed reading nook in the corner, and a little puppet theater someone built near the far wall.

“Lakeside Fire!” I shout again. “Anyone in here? Call out if you can hear me!”

The only response is the roar of the fire, the hiss of water, and the creak of dying wood above our heads.

I sweep left while Kurtis takes right, methodically checking behind every shelf, under every table as we make our way through the rest of the floor. Office clear. Bathroom clear.

When we reach the door to the second stairwell, I hear a faint, muffled cry.

Hand shooting up, signaling Kurtis, I ask, “You hear that?”

Another muffled cry hits my ears.

He freezes, head cocked. “Fuckin’A, I do.”

Shoving through the door puts us against a wall of smoke curling through the narrow concrete shaft in heavy, choking plumes. Cutting a path through the haze with my flashlight, I sweep it across the landing below us, but find it empty.

Boots hammering against concrete, we take the steps two at a time.

Then, halfway down the stairs, curled in the corner of the landing, is Lakeside’s head librarian for the last twenty years, Mrs. Holloway. A massive oak beam has fallen, pinning her legs to the floor. Blood streaks down her temple, matting her silver hair to the side of her face.

“Oh, thank God,” she rasps, voice shredded from the smoke. “I couldn’t— I tried to move it, but⁠—”

“Don’t move. We’ve got you,” I order, crouching beside her as my gloved hands inspect the beam. It’s thick. Solid.

I glance up. Shit. It looks like part of the second-floor support has started to give way.

Kurtis follows my line of sight. We exchange a knowing look, and I jerk my chin. “Hurry, grab the other end! We gotta get the fuck out of here!”

Never one to miss giving me crap about my language, Mrs. Holloway rasps, “Let’s keep it PG, boys.”

Despite the severity of our current situation, neither of us is able to keep the grin from bleeding into our tone. “Yes, ma’am.”

Maneuvering down a couple of steps, Kurtis shifts and drops his shoulder, positioning himself in place. “On three, Cap.”

“One, two—three.”

We heave. The beam groans, moving maybe an inch before it settles back down with a sickening thud.

It takes us three more tries before we can shift the beam enough to haul her out.

“Okay, Mrs. Holloway, we’re gonna get you out of here.” She nods as I bend at the knees, helping her to her shaky feet before slinging her over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Lighter than I expected, she lets out a small oof but doesn’t complain. “Hang on. I’ve got you.”

I turn to Kurtis. “Let’s move.”

Mrs. Holloway’s slight frame bounces against my back with each hurried step as he leads us down, with me following close behind. The ceiling groans, concrete dust sifting down from above, and I pray to whoever is listening that it holds for at least another thirty seconds.

“Almost there,” Kurtis calls over his shoulder, voice tight.

When the exit finally comes into view, he kicks the door open.

Bright sunlight causes my eyes to water behind my mask, blinding me for a moment after being stuck in smoke-filled darkness for almost thirty minutes.

Two medics sprint toward us rolling a gurney.

“Female, mid-sixties, trapped under debris,” Kurtis shouts over the sound of rushing water. “Smoke inhalation, possible leg fracture.”