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Glowing chunks of roof rained down all around her, searing her bare arms with burning pain as they pelted her. She was no stranger to discomfort, physical or emotional. But this was on another level. Fear ramped up every sensation but also motivated her like the mothers who lifted cars to save their children.
These dogs were her children.
Keep moving.
Though it felt like she was moving through peanut butter, she inched from cage to cage as fast as possible, pausing only when forced to by her lungs, purging the poison in a painful series of violent spasms. She worked down the left side of the kennel, then crossed to the right when she reached the back. All she had to do was head toward the door, opening a few more cages before the building collapsed or completely succumbed to the flames.
Move faster.
By the time she’d opened five of the six cages, her head spun, and her lungs screamed for relief. If she didn’t get out of there very soon, the roof was either going to crush her or she’d pass out, then the roof would crush her.
Still on hands and knees, she scrambled to the final cage. There was no way of knowing whether the dogs had gotten out into the fresh air or not, but she’d given them the best chance for escape.
Breathing became near impossible as every breath only filled her lungs with sludge. Her vision—limited as it was—tunneled, making panic rise to the surface.
As she fought to remain conscious and control the amplifying anxiety, a tremendous pain crashed into her back. Brooke cried out as she fell flat out on the ground. With a groan, she twisted, shoving whatever had hit her, probably a burning piece of lumber, to the ground.
Once she was free of the debris, she felt for the cage again. Her heart sank. Where the hell was the kennel? Oh, God, she’d gotten turned around trying to remove the wood. Terror nipped at her heels as she waved her hands in wild arcs only to encounter smoky air and ash.
“No!” she cried, then crumpled into a fit of coughing. Her back throbbed, and her palms burned, but she ignored the intense discomfort. She had to save the final dog, or she’d never survive herself.
A loud bang next to her had her jolting in desperate fear. Time was out. The roof would cave in seconds. She needed to find the final latch and get the hell out, or they’d both die.
Suddenly, a strong arm, banded around her waist, hauled her off the ground and through the air. “No!” she screamed, but it came out as strangled rasps between the forceful coughs. Seconds later, she hit the grass. Someone ripped the sweatshirt off her mouth, and fresh air flooded her lungs making her hack even harder as her body fought to expel the toxic smoke.
Curly lay spooned around her, also coughing, but not nearly as hard as she was.
“The cage,” she tried to say, but her voice box ceased to make any sound more than a strangled croak.
As she went to push herself up, the entire roof buckled, sending flames shooting yards into the sky.
Brooke screamed a soundless howl and tried to clamber toward the building, but Curly’s arms kept her immobile.
Sirens wailed so close they drowned out the dogs barking.
Brooke fought like hell against Curly’s hold. How could he possibly hold her back when she hadn’t rescued all the dogs? “Please,” she whispered as a crushing sense of defeat pressed down on her.
“Baby,” Curly whispered against her ear.
Or maybe he yelled it. Her head was a muddled mess, pain radiated from her entire body, and noise came from every direction, making it impossible to process. All she knew is she wouldn’t stop struggling until she had a chance to save the final dog.
“Settle.” His embrace tightened, keeping her flailing limbs from catching his face. “I released the last one. Carried him out with you. They’re all out. Six dogs plus Ray. All safe, baby. They’re all safe.”
As soon as she heard the words, Brooke burst into tears. Choked sobs made her jerk and tremble. She turned into Curly’s heat, burying her face against his chest the fear, pain, and trauma came to a head.
He wrapped her in a gentle hold and rocked her as he kissed the top of her head over and over. Ray ran over and flopped down next to them. He’d always been able to sense Brooke’s distress. Once again, he’d saved the day. Actually, the title of hero went to Curly tonight.
All around them, the sounds of firefighters taming the blaze rang out. Brooke couldn’t look. She couldn’t bear to see the devastation and destruction of the one thing in her life she’d been so damn proud of. The thing that had saved her from spiraling down a dark, lonely pit after her divorce.
