Flaming Crimes

by Chrys Fey

  The sound of nature burning, the cracks and creaks and pops, rose up all around her and joined the roar of the fire. As she watched, transfixed, burning branches broke off the trees and fell to the ground. Sparks shot up. More sparks swayed in the air, letting the wind take them wherever it pleased. Those hot embers fell all over their yard and the roof of their house.

  Beth sprang into action. She unwound the hose at the back of the house—Donovan had the side hose for the front yard—turned on the water and ran as far as it would allow her. She wet the brush at the edge of their property until water dripped off their leaves. As she went, she swept the spray back and forth along the grass. Once every square foot was damp, she attached the hose to the sprinkler head to keep the grass wet.

  Racing back to the front yard, she prayed she wouldn’t see fire spreading along the lawn or feasting on the patch of woods across the street. When she reached the driveway, she was relieved to see the fire hadn’t gone that far yet, but it had devoured the lot all the way to the edge of the road.

  “Beth!”

  She looked up. Donovan was hosing down the roof to keep it from catching fire.

  “Drive the cars to the end of the street. Just in case.”

  Just in case. Those words made her panic. Donovan meant to drive the cars to safety in case they had to get out of there fast and their efforts failed, in case the fire continued to spread and their house went up in flames. If they lost everything, they could run to their vehicles and flee from the burning neighborhood.

  Just in case.

  She climbed into Donovan’s truck, put it into gear, and with a squeal of tires, flew out of the driveway. At the stop sign, she shoved the truck into park, yanked out the keys, and locked the doors. She had to run back to get her car. Her lungs were burning with smoke and a lack of oxygen. Her legs shook with each stride. Approaching her house, the fire looked massive. She feared they wouldn’t be able to stop it; that no one and nothing could end its fiery terror.

  While driving her car to the end of the street, with the flames flashing at her in the rearview mirror, she imagined the fire sweeping across the city, following them down the highway. Nowhere they’d go would be safe. It’d be right behind them, frying everything to a crisp wherever they went, until the world was an inferno.

  She got out of her car to hear sirens shaking the air. The urgent horn of fire trucks wailed as they tried to get to them. She turned toward the end of the road and saw a crowd of onlookers staring at the fire knocking at her door, staring at her. Anger flared inside her. How could they gawk and not help? How dare they watch as she loses the home she wanted to build a family in? How dare they?

  “What is the matter with you?” she yelled at them, with her throat tight and raw. She wanted to tell them to help or go home, but right at that moment, the fire trucks came.

  ****

  The heat radiating off the trees reminded Donovan of the heat he felt in the San Francisco condo, alight by a gas leak. At the moment, he couldn’t decide which one scared him more, because he was still in the midst of this blazing disaster.

  His feet slipped on the slick shingles. He quickly caught his footing and continued to hose down the roof from corner to corner. He returned to the side where the fire scorched. Flames reached toward the roof. He shot a stream of water at those flames, but it had no effect on it, as if the water was nothing more than a strand of spit.

  A burning branch broke off the pine tree a mere foot away. It crashed into the ground below, sending embers into the air. The grass caught fire near their house.

  “Shit.” Donovan directed the spray at the fiery branch. He held his breath as he doused it, waiting for the fire to go out, not sure if it would actually go out, but it did. Donovan felt a bit of relief. He watered the charred grass. A burst of flames made him jump as a pile of pine needles caught fire. Dozens of pinecones that had dropped in the past couple of months started to explode with pops and flying sparks. Florida’s wildlife was a natural kindling for hungry fires—palmetto bushes, tall grass, Spanish moss, and pine needles.

  Donovan showered the dry grass at the end of their property. No way in hell did he want to lose the house he built for Beth, where they dreamed of raising their kids and having sleepovers with their grandkids. Before he climbed down, he added another gallon or two of water to that side of the roof to eliminate the threat of it going up in flames. The gutters filled with water. With the roof dripping wet, he descended the ladder. He was spraying the front yard when the fire trucks arrived.

  Dropping the hose, he said a silent thank you. He shut off the water as the firefighters evacuated their trucks. He got out of their way and headed to the end of the driveway, looking for Beth. Smoke was thick, like a heavy fog. Looking toward the end of the road where Beth had driven the cars, he couldn’t see her or anything else, because the wind had moved all the smoke there, creating a curtain.

  He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Beth?”

  He turned in the opposite direction. Fire burned along the street, licking the asphalt with its orange tongues. The flames were as tall as him and seemed to be gyrating against an invisible barrier, trying to break through it. As he watched, the unthinkable happened. A ribbon of fire broke off and leapt into the middle of the street. The flame bounced along the asphalt to the other side where it ignited. He ran to the burning grass, but that flame had a mission. It spread quickly, aiming for the dry brush a foot away. When he reached it, he stomped on the flames with his sneakers. He wasn’t fast enough, though. The brush burst into flames, and those flames were slithering up a tree trunk. He had nothing to put it out with, so he ran back to the firefighters.

  “Hey, it jumped the street!” He pointed. In the short time it took him to get to the firefighters, the fire had doubled in size.

  “We got it,” a firefighter said, but none of them went to extinguish it, because they were all too busy battling the fire threatening his home.

  Two fire trucks were parked between the burning lot and his house. From ladders, firefighters used the fat hoses to send strong currents into the ravenous inferno consuming all the vegetation. Black smoke rose above the trees. An overcast of dirty, brown fog hid the sun. The light from the fire reflected in the brown sky, giving it the illusion that it too was on fire. Ashes continued to fall. They dotted the ground like morbid snowflakes and collected on his shoulders.

  He took a deep breath but coughed it back out again. The air was choked with the stench of burning wood and dirt. He switched to shallow breaths. Each inhale made him inwardly wince at the filth entering his body. Not even breathing with his mouth would help any. The same amount of smoke would still fill his lungs.

  A wind stirred the smoke and blew it into his eyes, making them water. He squeezed his eyes shut against the harassment. All around him were the sounds of dying nature and firefighters attacking it with everything they had. A loud rumble prompted him to open his eyes. A red truck with six large tires and a metal guard wrapped around the front came down the street. Standing in the back, with a hose ready, was a firefighter in a beige and yellow suit.

  Donovan knew exactly what that vehicle was—a brush truck. The job of a brush truck was to go where no other vehicle could. It zoomed up the front yard, shredding the lawn and leaving behind two thick tire tracks. He chased after it into the backyard where it plowed through charred brush into the blazing woods. The firefighter in the back turned on the hose. A puff of whitish-brown smoke expanded from the ground and rose to the sky. Donovan watched the truck until billows of smoke swallowed it. He couldn’t see the yellow stripes on the firefighter’s suit or the red paint on the brush truck.

  He turned around to see the fire rapidly eating its way through the woods. Already, it had devoured half of the lot behind their home. He had a feeling this beast would never get its fill, not even after it burned their house down or when all of Central Florida was a pile of ash. This fiery monster would continue until someone stopped it.

&nb
sp; He prayed the good men and women of the fire department, who had been trying to defeat the fire outbreaks across the state, would be victorious with this blaze and all the others. He also hoped the culprit responsible would be found and locked up forever. Countless people had lost their homes, pets, and loved ones to this arson. No more, he thought. Not in this neighborhood. Not here.

  A horn made him jump. He spun around to see a firetruck squeezing past his house, barreling toward him. He ran out of the way and stood in front of the porch, out of their way and away from the flames. The firetruck parked sideways in front of the burning lot. The hose was turned on, and water shot out of it.

  He paced back and forth as he watched the firefighters do everything they could to control the blaze, to stop it in its tracks, but it pushed forward.

  A flame touched a tangle of vines. In seconds, they ignited. The fire snaked up the vines to the top of the pine tree where the green bristles caught. The whole left side of the tree was burning while the right side was untouched. Slowly, though, the flames crept around the trunk and found their way to the other half, and then the tree was a torch.

  He lifted his T-shirt over his mouth and nose and took a deep breath. He smelled his deodorant, sweat, and smoke. He kept an eye on the fire.

  A ball of fire leapt off a tree and plopped onto the yard. He flinched, ready to run to it, but the flames didn’t spread. After a moment, the ball of fire fizzled out. He smiled; Beth had done a good job soaking the ground.

  Another flaming sphere, and another, and another, flew off the burning trees and scattered in the grass. The ones near the edge died with a puff of smoke, but a few had landed in the middle of the yard, and those weren’t going out. He rushed to them as the flames crawled away from the burning blobs. He reached the closest one and stomped it out. Then he hurried to the others. The last one had spread to about a foot in circumference by the time he got to it. He studied the heart of it where a skeleton of something lay burnt and withered.

  After a moment, he realized what it had been—a pinecone. The pinecones were becoming bombs, and the fire was throwing them like grenades.

  Cursing, Donovan rushed to the backyard hose Beth had used. He yanked it from the sprinkler head and started to defend the yard, now dotted with black orbs. He wasn’t going to let this fire defeat him. If the fire wanted a war, it had one. He stood on guard, soaking the balls of fires as they fell. Briefly, he thought of what their water bill would be next month, but it didn’t matter. Using water was necessary to protect his home. He’d risk a huge water bill if he could save his house for Beth and their future.

  The fire was implementing all its troops, though, and all its weapons. No matter what the firefighters did, they couldn’t beat it. Before Donovan knew it, the whole back lot was compromised and advanced on the woods behind their neighbor.

  Donovan stepped back as the brush truck burst out of the smoky woods to the left and zoomed across the lawn to the neighbor’s backyard. It flattened the bushes and disappeared into the brush. He knew it would try to cut the fire off, to make it surrender. The firetruck sent a continuous flow of water at the fire and kept it from climbing closer.

  The fire was massive, as tall as the trees, and it stretched across their entire backyard like a wall. He didn’t know how the firefighters could ever make it fall to its knees, but he knew that, if they kept it back, it would eventually run out of fuel and die.

  He wanted that to happen sooner rather than later.

  A gust of wind, fire’s best alley, blew into Donovan. Smoke swooped around him. The flames bent and lunged, but before they could leap or rush forward like soldiers in battle, the wind settled and the fire calmed. Donovan thought the fire’s tactic had failed, but then he heard a yell. He whirled around to see a firefighter being thrown to the ground by his friends. Flames were attacking his sleeve. The other firefighters used their gloved hands to beat it off. They kept the firefighter down as one of them spoke into a portable radio.

  Donovan swallowed. A firefighter had been burned.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Beth was walking back home when she heard someone call out to her. “Beth, please, help!” She turned to see her long-time neighbor, Mrs. Caraway, carrying a blue cat carrier down the driveway. She wore a long, flowery nightgown and white slippers.

  Beth jogged up the driveway to her. “Mrs. Caraway, are you okay?”

  “I couldn’t get my Misty. Felix is in the carrier, but I’m afraid if I open it to put Misty in, Felix will get out.”

  Beth put her hand on the carrier. “No, leave it closed. Put Felix in the backseat and sit in your car. I’ll get Misty and put her in the car with you so you can leave.” She hurried past marigolds and lilies, their fragrance overpowered by the smell of smoke. She opened the pale-yellow door and stepped into Mrs. Caraway’s house.

  A haze lingered in the air, tainting the usual lavender potpourri scent. Old stripped wallpaper covered most of the walls. The rest were painted peach. Beth recalled visiting Mrs. Caraway with her mom after Mr. Caraway passed away. Beth would pluck at the keys on the Baby Grand piano, nibble on licorice, and play with Mrs. Caraway’s cats. Back then, it was Emma and Sugar, two long-haired orange tabbies. Not much had changed, except for the cats.

  She made kissing noises with her lips, the universal call for all cats. “Misty, come here.”

  Walking through the house, she checked in corners and behind furniture. In the living room, she got down on all fours to peek under the couch. Misty stared at her with wide, green eyes from where she sat in a frightened huddle.

  “Hi, Misty. It’s okay, sweet girl.” She reached out her hand to let Misty sniff her fingers, but the feline didn’t budge, not even to take a whiff of her scent, which was probably overwhelmed by the smell of smoke anyway.

  “Come on, Misty.” Her voice was soft and high, the sort of tone she’d use to talk to a scared child. Lying flat on her stomach, she scooted farther under the couch. Her fingers brushed Misty’s calico coat. Misty shifted away.

  “Oh, come on, Misty.” She pursed her lips at the skeptical cat. “I’ll be right back.” She got to her feet and went into the kitchen. Mrs. Caraway and Beth’s mom would sit in there at the small, chestnut table, sipping jasmine tea and nibbling on cookies while they talked.

  On the beige linoleum tile, in the corner of the kitchen, was a yellow plastic dish of cat kibble. She picked it up and gave it a shake. When she was little, Emma and Sugar used to come running after she shook their food dish. Misty, however, wasn’t taking the bait. She carried the bowl into the living room and got down on her belly again.

  “Look, Misty.” She put the bowl under the couch. “I’ve got your food.”

  Misty didn’t care, though.

  Beth sighed. “I wouldn’t want to come out either.” Except, she couldn’t leave Misty in there. If the house burned down with Misty inside, Mrs. Caraway would be heartbroken, and Beth would feel at fault. “Maybe your mom has something more tempting.”

  Back in the kitchen, she quickly hunted through the white cabinets and the food pantry for cat treats. She found a bag of hairball control treats in the cheese compartment in the refrigerator. Smiling, she snatched it and hurried back to the couch. She gave the bag a shake and saw Misty’s ears perk up.

  “Look what I’ve got, Misty.” She peeled open the bag, shook out a handful, and laid one in front of Misty’s nose. The feline couldn’t resist the crunchy treat with a soft center. She gobbled it down. Feeling a bit triumphant, Beth set out more in a straight line all the way to the coffee table. She didn’t have to wait long before Misty emerged and ate all the treats.

  “There you go.” She stroked Misty’s back. Purrs touched her ears. “Okay, time to go.” She picked up Misty and held her close. “This next part will scare you, but we just have to get to the car, okay?” She scratched Misty’s neck before reaching for the door handle.

  Trying to walk quickly, but not too fast to frighten the cat, was tricky. She made
shooshing noises, as if she were comforting a baby, and fluffed the fur on Misty’s chest with her fingers, hoping the contact would soothe her. At Mrs. Caraway’s car, she slowly lowered her right hand to open the back door. Her plan was to gently toss the cat inside and shut the door before she could escape. She pulled on the door handle and had the door cracked open when Misty panicked. The cat fought her. Claws pierced through her T-shirt and sliced the skin on her stomach. Beth attempted to keep her hold on the lashing cat, but Misty let out a yowl and ran her nails up Beth’s arm. She let out a startled cry and instinctively released Misty, who darted across the lawn and into the woods. In her fear, Misty ran right to the thing she should’ve been running from—the fire.

  “Misty!” Mrs. Caraway climbed out of her car.

  Ignoring the sting of the two scratches leaking blood down her arm, she grabbed Mrs. Caraway’s hand. “Misty will be fine,” she said, praying she was speaking the truth. “It’s not safe for you here, though. You should take Felix somewhere until the fire is out.”

  “What about Misty?” she said, her eyes filling with tears.

  “I’ll keep an eye out for her. I can even leave out some food.”

  “There’s a spare key under the lady bug by the front door. If she comes back, please let her in.”

  Beth hugged her. “I will. I promise.” She stayed on the driveway, cradling her arm, while Mrs. Caraway drove away. Forcing down her sorrow, she extracted the spare key from under the ladybug garden stone and locked the door.

  Wincing, she blotted the scratches on her arm with the underside of her T-shirt. Dark lines were left behind on the cotton fibers.

  On her way home, a black racer snake hastily slithered across the road. She paused to watch it make its journey. A tear slipped down her cheek when she realized it was fleeing from the fire. All the wildlife that lived in the woods around them were losing their habitats and possibly their lives.