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“Is anyone down here?”
It’s a man’s voice.
I absently think that it’s probably my wood-burning neighbor, Pat Grady. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t want Pat inside my house. The man sits on his porch, shirtless, drinking beer all day and hollering at everyone who walks by. But today? Today, I couldn’t be happier to have my nosy, half-nude neighbor here.
I try to answer, but I cough instead. I roll over to the door, keeping low, and kick the door with my foot. I gasp, “I’m in here!” I paw my way up to the handle but stop short of pulling it open again. I touch it. It’s not burning up, but if I open it, will I get sucked out into the abyss? In my imagination, fires have arms, and they’re just waiting to choke the life out of me.
“Stand back, ma’am!”
Okay, so not Pat. Pat calls me “honey” or “sweetheart.” Never “ma’am.”
I scoot back from the door and seconds later, there’s a loud bang on the opposite side. My eyes are watering fiercely now, and I hold my arm up and cough into the crook of my elbow.
The door cracks open, breaking the frame, and there’s a man, dressed in a firefighter’s uniform, wearing a helmet. I can’t see his face behind the mask, but I can see the bright orange glow of the flames behind him.
And all at once, a flicker of one of my favorite novels, Paradise Bound, races through my mind. A woman in distress, a horrible fire, and a rugged man, all set against the backdrop of the island of Bali.
Nothing like this ever happens in Harvest Hollow.
And especially not to me.
I’m feeling light-headed. Is it the smoke? Is it the way he’s reaching out to me?
Under that mask, I bet he looks nothing like my neighbor, Pat.
I hope he looks nothing like my neighbor, Pat.
“You need to come with me,” the firefighter shouts. “Now!”
To the ends of the earth, I think, because I’m convinced that this man is not only my savior, he’s my soulmate. Here to carry me to safety.
I blink away the fume-induced stupor and focus on a horrifying thought.
Everything in this room is going to get destroyed.
I whip my head around and look at my computer. My speakers. My microphone. The external hard drive attached to my computer. I saved forever to buy this equipment.
And that drive has everything on it. Everything.
In a split second, I make the decision to forget everything else. Everything else can be replaced, no matter how expensive, but I can’t leave the equipment or lose the hundreds of hours of recordings on that drive.
I scramble backward on all fours away from the firefighter, turn over, and push myself to my feet. I grab the tote bag I use for library books and start shoving things inside.
“Ma’am, we need to go.”
“I just have to try and save a few things,” I cough, tears stinging my eyes. If I leave, everything will go up in flames.
If I don’t, then I will go up in flames.
“We don’t have time!” he says, his tone clipped. “You have to come, now!”
“I’m coming, just let me—”
“Emmy! I have to get you out!”
Before I can pick up my microphone, the firefighter grabs ahold of me, picks me up in his arms, and makes his way through the door and up the stairs.
Wait.
