Flaming Crimes

by Chrys Fey

  A siren cut through the ruckus of the firetrucks, burning brush, and Beth’s thoughts. She sprang out of the way to let an ambulance pass and was surprised to see it come to a halt in front of her house. “Donovan.” Worry had her sprinting home. She got there after the paramedics had wheeled a gurney onto the road and carried a backboard to the backyard.

  At the end of the driveway, she lifted her head and eyed the rooftop, searching for Donovan, but he wasn’t there. She stood anxiously near the ambulance, afraid Donovan had slipped and fallen off the roof, or had gotten burned.

  While she waited for the paramedics to return, she stared at the scene unfolding around her. So much smoke rose from behind her house that she didn’t have to look to know the fire had dominated the woods surrounding their property. Firefighters ran back and forth. Hoses were on full blast. Everywhere was a frantic rush to save their house and the other houses in the neighborhood. Would they be successful? Would they beat this outbreak of fires?

  Another firetruck came and parked beside the truck tackling the flames next to their house. The new truck aimed its efforts at the fire on the other side of the street. Beth hadn’t even known the fire had spread that far. Seeing it now instilled more fear in her. Fire was almost on all sides of their house, bearing down on it, closing in one burnt branch and blade of grass at a time.

  The paramedics appeared out of the smoky cloud carrying the backboard with the assistance of two firefighters. Beth stopped breathing. If Donovan was strapped to the backboard, she would spring into the ambulance after him. She loved their home, but she loved Donovan more. She wouldn’t let him get taken to the hospital alone. Even if he was unconscious, she would want to be with him, to hold his hand, to kiss him, and to pray. When she saw a firefighter on that backboard, she felt a mixture of relief and horror. The fire was winning.

  The medics and firefighters set the backboard on the gurney. From where she stood, Beth caught a glimpse of charred rubber and red flesh. She covered her mouth. The gurney was loaded into the back of the ambulance; the doors slammed shut and off it went, sirens blaring. She watched it go, becoming distorted by the thick smoke the farther it went, until it turned the corner out of sight.

  She stood in the same spot, rooted, unable to move. She didn’t know what to do now. Fire was everywhere. Whatever the firefighters did, it didn’t seem to make a difference.

  The red and white lights atop the firetrucks danced in circles, bathing her and her house in colors. Smoke cocooned everything in its foggy grasp, even her lungs. She coughed as she looked for Donovan among the people rushing back and forth from her backyard to the front yard—firefighters and police officers. She wondered if he was back there, helping in whatever way he could. It was definitely something he’d do, even if they told him to back off. Donovan wasn’t the type to sit back. If he loved someone, or something, he’d fight.

  She took a step but froze when she heard a shout come out of a radio near her.

  “The brush truck broke down. We need assistance!”

  From a few paces away, the fire chief pointed and roared orders into his radio.

  Strong hands grabbed Beth’s shoulders and nearly lifted her off the ground as they ushered her to the side. She stumbled into the ditch and spun around to see a truck burst out of the woods directly behind where she had been standing. A branch was caught in the guard in the front of the truck, and it was on fire.

  The truck sped onto the street and paused next to the chief. While the driver shared a quick word with the chief, a firefighter yanked the burning branch out of the guard and tossed it to the ground. After a handful of seconds, the truck lurched forward and floored it across their once-groomed lawn to the backyard. From where she stood, she could see clear to the back and was able to keep an eye on the brush truck as it slipped into the woods.

  Her heart clenched in her chest. She grasped her hands and bounced on the balls of her feet. Don’t let the fire take them. Please, let them get out safely. Let them all get out.

  Flames rolled over the clearing, closing off the pathway.

  A stream of water fell onto the flames. White smoke erupted from the ground.

  Beth chewed on her bottom lip. She chanted the word “hurry” in her head to the firefighter with the hose and the ones in the brush trucks. Hurry.

  More fire spread through the clearing, blocking their way out.

  She took a step forward, as her fear pushed her to move. Although she knew she could do nothing, she had to do something other than stand there uselessly. The booming voice of the fire chief filled her ear canals. He was demanding to know their status, but a reply wasn’t coming. The concern he felt for his men wrapped around Beth and made her realize, more than ever, the danger of the situation. A firefighter had already been burned. More could parish within the flaming woods. They were putting their lives on the line to save people’s houses, belongings, and ways of living. They were truly heroes, and the fire chief was scared for them. Beth was scared for them.

  Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

  She was praying with all her might when a brush truck leapt out of the burning woods and swerved before coming to a complete stop. Where is the other one? She glanced toward the fire chief who hadn’t stopped shouting into his radio. Static broke from the speaker when he waited for an answer. The emission broke, and a voice said, “We’re here!” And the second brush truck erupted from the flames.

  ****

  Donovan lifted the hose to his head to let the water flow over his head and wash away the sweat on his face. Then he brought it to his mouth for a quick drink. Sitting with his back against the concrete, he stared at the battle taking place between firefighters and the brush fire. The flames had taken possession of the entire woods behind their house, the woods Beth had said she used to explore when she was a kid.

  He recalled the memories she had shared with him when they first moved in and the tour she had taken him on. She had led him through a winding path in the woods lined by palmetto bushes with inch-long teeth on their branches.

  He could hear her voice as if she stood beside him. “One time, when I got lost in here, I pushed through all of the palmetto bushes to get to our backyard. By the time I made it, my arm was cut up, and I was bawling. My mom had to bandage my arm with pieces of fresh aloe, gauze, and elastic wrap.”

  Deep in the woods, in a beam of sunlight, was an igloo-shaped structure made of pine needles—Beth’s childhood fort. She had said she would go to her fort and play house for hours. “Now I don’t have to pretend,” she had said and kissed him.

  Now the fort that held such sweet memories of her childhood was nothing but a pile of ash. Donovan let out a sigh. First, Beth had lost the home she grew up in because of Hurricane Sabrina. Now the woods she had played in were up in smoke. He didn’t want to see anymore, but he did want to see Beth’s face. Pulling himself to a stand, he dropped the hose and left behind a scorched lawn to see the same situation in the front as in the back.

  He followed the tire marks in the grass to the mailbox that had been run over by a firetruck. The black, metal box had burst open, envelopes spewed from the opening. He collected the mail and stuck it in his back pocket.

  The fire that had started in the lot next to theirs was burning down. Bare, blackened trees could be seen through the last flickering flames. It was the fire in the back and the one on the other side of the street that were blazing in full force. At the edge of the road, he turned at the sound of a deep rumble and saw a bulldozer. Curious, he stood back while it plowed through the woods, lifting out everything in its way and replacing it with nothing but dirt.

  Dirt wasn’t good fuel for fire. It couldn’t ignite; so with all the brush gone, the fire should be stopped in its tracks. The firefighters should be able to conquer it.

  Should. With this fire, there was no way to know for sure.

  The bulldozer deposited the ripped-out brush in the middle of the next street over, hopefully out of the reach of the dancing flames.
When it was done, it lumbered off, maybe to take down more sections of woods in danger of burning.

  Donovan scanned the smoky surroundings. Beth should’ve been back by now. He hadn’t caught a glimpse of her anywhere and was worried about how she was handling seeing her home threatened. Again. He moved along the road, dodging firefighters and their tools.

  “Beth?” Squinting, he tried to peer through the smoky haze for a figure he recognized. “Beth?” He raised his voice as he called for her. “Beth!”

  “I’m here.”

  Beth came from the other end of the firetruck and ran into his arms. He embraced her, folding her into his body. Though his face was in the crook of her neck, he couldn’t smell the sweetness of her shampoo or the soap on her skin. All he could smell was burnt wood and hot dirt. But she felt good in his arms, like home. Even if their house became a pile of charred rubble, he’d still be able to find a home in Beth, wherever they went. By the way she clutched him, he knew she felt the same way about him.

  She inched back and looked at him. Black smears were under her nose from breathing in so much smoke. He swiped at the streaks with his thumbs. Then he noticed the blood. He took her arm as he examined the long scratches. “What happened?”

  “I was trying to get Mrs. Caraway’s cat, Misty to the car when she freaked and ran toward the fire.” Tears formed in her eyes.

  “It’s okay. You tried. Misty will be okay.”

  “I said the same thing to Mrs. Caraway, but we don’t know that. Misty is a house cat. She’s probably terrified and doesn’t know where to go.”

  She looked over her shoulder at their house. “What do we do now?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t accept that.”

  Hell, he didn’t want to accept it either. The two of them were fighters for the people and things they loved, especially each other, which meant sitting back wasn’t their forte. They preferred action.

  “How far do you think this fire has gone? Or where it started?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I have no idea, but we can check.” He nudged his chin at the firefighters. “They don’t need us. Let’s go.” Taking her hand, he started toward the end of the road where their vehicles were parked. So far, the fire hadn’t reached that part of their street, on either side. He was grateful for that. The people who lived in those houses were good people; they had children and pets. Beth had known them for years.

  After they had moved in to the rebuilt house as a newly-wed couple, they held a barbeque with the neighbors. Seeing Beth with the people she grew up with, and getting to know them himself, had been fun. They barbequed chicken and burgers, which they served with corn-on-the-cob, potato salad, fruit salad, iced-tea, lemonade, and beer. From a branch on a tree in the backyard, they had hung a piñata for the kids to attack to get to the candy and little toys inside it. The night had ended with sparklers and s’mores from a clay fire pit. Having smiling faces around them and listening to laughter had helped them after their Oahu ordeal.

  Donovan wanted to have more barbeques like that, but if the fire stole their neighbors’ houses, they would be homeless and would have to rent somewhere until they could rebuild. Some people, he knew, had to move out of state after natural disasters took their homes, because they had to live where their support system was located. Occasionally, they wanted to get away from the state where the disaster happened, not wanting to go through another one. He knew how they felt.

  At the end of the road, he saw a crowd of people he had never lain eyes on watching the spectacle. He imagined it was like passing a car crash, you can’t help but look. Since fires had been threatening so much of their state all month, seeing one of the beasts up close was a magnificent thing to behold—as long as it wasn’t at your front door.

  “Those people were there when I drove the cars down,” Beth said. “Looks like there’s more. Gosh, they make me so mad. They’re just sitting back and watching people’s lives change, and they don’t give a damn.”

  Donovan could understand her anger. After Hurricane Sabrina, the state came together to heal from the storm. The same occurred in California after the quake. In Oahu, the survivors of the tsunami had banded together to help the island. But with fires, it was different. Neighbors came to the aid of neighbors, but if someone wasn’t directly impacted by a fire, they didn’t feel obligated to lend a hand. They wanted to see it but not be in the shoes of the people scrambling to save their homes.

  “They’re just doing what people do.” He climbed into the driver’s seat of his truck while Beth hurried to the passenger’s side. He created a path in the crowd of onlookers and made a left turn to the street behind theirs.

  “Keep a lookout for Misty,” Beth said.

  He scanned the road and the woods for a shuddering feline but couldn’t spot one. The lots between the few houses on this street were untouched, except for the one directly behind their house. That lot had flames taller than him. Another firetruck was posted there, draining water from its tank. He maneuvered around it to the other side and slowly drove along the edge of the road, with his eyes on the fire. Beth was silent behind him, also staring.

  Near the end of the street, black stumps became visible. Everything was smoking—piles of ashes, trees, and the ground itself. Although it looked dead, he knew there was still life beneath the smoking heaps and charred bark. The trees would grow new bark, branches, and leaves. Grass would poke through the ashes, and bushes would fill it again. Not immediately, but over a few years, it would flourish into the woods it had been yesterday.

  The black bareness went on for another lot and then turned back to green. Donovan eased the truck to a stop and put it into park. He got out and stood a few feet from the stark difference between burnt and lush greenery. Beyond the green lot was a house that had just missed the terror.

  Beth joined him. He pointed at the line that divided where the fire had been and hadn’t been. The wind pushed against his side, ruffling his hair. “It started somewhere over here and the wind pushed it.”

  “It started so close to our home.” She turned to him. “They’ve been saying these fires have been started by arsonists.” She shook her head. “They’ve also been saying they appear to be random, but someone could’ve tossed a match right here to bring this fire to life, a couple of lots from our house.”

  He knew what she was saying. Her line of thinking was his own. What if this wasn’t an accident? What if they were being targeted, and this fire was their enemy’s weapon?

  He took Beth’s hand. “Well, if someone did this, they made a big mistake, because we have the whole city on our side.”

  Looking back toward the firetruck and raging fire, he had the sudden desire to get back to the action, not to fight it but to be near it. “Let’s get back.”

  He drove around the corner, back to their street, and passed the areas left untouched. When they came to one of their neighbor’s houses on the opposite side of the street, they saw their neighbor tackling flames that were spreading across his lawn. Flames were creeping toward the shrubs along the front of his house and the palm tree offering the front porch shade. Dale had a wet towel and was frantically slapping it at the flames, but there was too many for him to handle.

  Donovan shoved the truck into park. “I’m going to help him. Check on the house.” He jumped out of the truck without waiting for an answer from Beth. A second soaking-wet towel sat on the driveway waiting to be used. He didn’t say a word but snatched up the towel and worked side-by-side with Dale to put out those flames.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Beth couldn’t get a word out before Donovan sprang out of his truck and rushed to their neighbor’s rescue. He had left the door open, letting the smoke fill the cab, and the engine running. She unbuckled her seatbelt—a habit although they only went around the block—and stepped onto the road. With her hand on the door, she watched Donovan pick up a wet towel and dive into the
job. Doing this sort of thing was so Donovan. He liked to help people in need, even when he was in great need. He put others before himself without a thought. That heroism was one of the many reasons she loved him. Knowing he would be okay, she took his place behind the wheel and parked the truck back by the stop sign.

  While passing Mrs. Caraway’s house at the end of the road, Beth saw flames feasting on Mrs. Caraway’s pink, flowering tree. As a child, Beth would lie under that tree and let the pink petals fall around her, pretending they were fairies. Now those fairy petals were falling to the grass, burnt. She raced across the lawn. Crisp petals rained down on her. She turned on the garden hose, compressed the handle, and pointed the beaded streams at the burning tree. Flaming petals came off the branches. She watched the wind carry them. They landed in the grass, on the driveway, and drifted over her head. She ducked as they got close. The ones that landed in the grass fizzled out once the petals dissolved. A few ignited the grass. She continued to spray the tree, because if she didn’t extinguish it fast, the flames would send off more fiery petals into the wind. Those petals could set fire to other properties, other segments of woods. If that happened, they’d all be surrounded by it. Trapped. And the firefighters wouldn’t have enough hands to go around.

  The flames in the grass weren’t as big of a threat. Not yet.

  She aimed the hose’s spray higher on the tree’s canopy. The water shot loose petals and doused the flames on the branches, but other branches were stilling blazing.

  A flare-up in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She turned her head to see her shirt sleeve had caught fire. Gasping, she dropped the hose and patted her shoulder with her bare hand. The flames didn’t burn her, but her heart was ticking so violently that she had to bend forward with her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

  The hose lay at her feet. Drops of water dripped from the wet nozzle. She picked it up with shaking hands and was extra careful of the petals that swirled around her like hornets. When the flames were finally gone, leaving parts of the tree black, she attacked the burning grass. Then she sprayed down the rest of the tree and the ground around it where crisp petals had landed; they looked like cremated insects. Before turning off the hose, she walked along the edge of Mrs. Caraway’s property, spraying the woods. She hoped it would be enough to keep the fire back, at least until the firefighters could get to it.