If the old man who’d collapsed at the party died—as Darien suspected he well might—given the look on the old geezer's face when they hauled him out in that makeshift stretcher, it could throw a massive wrench in the works. Lavelle was already unhinged, and his revelation that he’d known Cisco coupled with the death of her friend would just make matters worse.
Darien punched the deck with a fist. He knew it had been a mistake not to say anything to her, but he didn't have any idea what Cisco had been up to. If he’d had a reliable form of communications with the outside world, he would've been able to make better decisions and he might be in a much better position relative to the rest of the neighborhood.
If, if, if…
He frowned. Everything circled back to the old man. Rumor had it he had a ham radio rig hidden in his house somewhere. That was how the sheriff had known to arrive when he did back when the first fight had taken place at Lavelle's house. Marty Price was the linchpin. He alone was the communications pipeline for the entire neighborhood. If he died without passing on that knowledge…
Darien went to take another sip of his coffee, but instead of the sweet earthy aroma of fresh-brewed coffee over a campfire, he smelled smoke. He took the sip anyway and glanced down at the fire pit. A thin tendril of smoke trickled up above the dying embers, but that shouldn't have accounted for the strong scent carried toward him on the breeze. He lowered the mug and looked around.
Something was on fire.
The scent was stronger now that the wind had shifted. He left the cup on the railing and trotted down the steps to the yard, then moved to the front of the house. As he rounded the corner, Darien froze. A column of black smoke rose into the air above the trees southeast of the house. Whatever was on fire had just started…and it was close.
He turned and raced back inside. "Everybody up! There's a fire in the neighborhood! Get up!” he shouted.
Jon Boy, visible through the open floor plan living room, sat up on the couch and rubbed his eyes. Spanner emerged from the dining room, pulling suspenders on over his shoulders as he tried to pull down the shirt he’d been sleeping in. Upstairs, Harriet growled something in response.
"Get up!” Darien yelled again. He grabbed the closest pot left on the counter the night before and banged on the countertop to wake the dead.
"A fire? Where is it?" Spanner demanded as he staggered into the kitchen.
"Somewhere toward the south entrance just down the street. There's only a couple houses that way—you get everybody up and make sure to get Franks. I've got to go warn Lavelle."
Spanner nodded and turned back inside the house. Darien sprinted outside again, turned the corner, and scrambled down the steps to the yard. He was down the long, tree-lined driveway and across the street in less than a minute. As he ran, he kept an eye on the plume of smoke as it grew taller and taller in the air. It was more than a little unnerving to see a fire that close and not hear sirens, cars, cell phones—anything.
As he approached Lavelle's front door, the crackling of the flames in the distance made his skin crawl. He raced up to the front door and pounded on it with his fist. “Open up! Wake up! There's a fire!"
It took longer than he would've liked, but someone threw back the deadbolt and the door cracked open. "What is it?" Lavelle asked, her face puffy with sleep.
“There's a fire down the street. We gotta do something, but I don't know the neighbors well enough—“ the door swung all the way open, and she stepped out in cut off sweatpants shorts and a light T-shirt, a stainless steel shotgun in her hands. For a split-second Darien couldn't say who looked better—Lavelle with her flame red hair and petite figure, or the tall, statuesque blonde across the street whose house he shared. He shoved all thoughts of women aside and focused on the problem. "I've got my guys getting up now, but we need to go check this out.”
She blinked and then looked where he pointed. A short gasp escaped her lips, and she clenched the shotgun with white knuckles. "Give me a minute, lemme throw on some clothes and I'll be right there."
As she turned, he waved her off. "Okay, meet me there—I’m headed down the road to check it out."
"Right, see you in a minute!” The door shut behind her and he heard muffled voices from the other side.
He hadn't had time to ask about the old man, but that could wait. A fire in the neighborhood not only could prove fatal to those who might be in the house, but if it spread to other houses, could end up burning down the entire subdivision without the aid of firefighters. He raced back across the yard and glanced at the old man's house, all boarded up and wrapped in blue tarps as it was, already looked like a ruin. The houses on this side of the neighborhood were situated far enough apart that he doubted any fire could do serious damage unless the wind whipped up as well, but on the other side of the neighborhood it was a different story. The houses in the newer half of Bee’s Landing were packed together like sardines.
He raced down the street and rounded the corner just south of the old man's house and slowed to a stop. The Westin house was completely engulfed in flames. Never before had he been so happy to have gotten out of that place. He jogged forward and got as close as he could before the heat forced him to stay back. The snap and crackle of the fire as it consumed the tinder-dry interior roared in his ears as the thick black smoke roiled up and obscured the early morning blue sky.
As he stood in the road and tried to figure out what his next move was, Lavelle pounded down the street next to him, followed by two other men from the neighborhood. "You don't happen to have a firehose or anything around here, do you?" he called out as they ran out.
"Good grief," Lavelle exclaimed as she stared at the conflagration. "What happened?"
"I don't know—is anybody living in there?” he asked as he pointed at the house across the street.
"No," Lavelle said. "Susan and Henry are shacking up with somebody down the street—their place was all shot to pieces and they didn't feel safe staying there."
"It was probably a good move. Who knows if this fire’ll jump across the road when the wind picks up later in the day."
"Later in the day?" asked Lavelle. “We don’t have time to wait for it to burn out." She turned to one of the men that had followed her. "John, can you go spread word to the neighborhood? I think we need to get a bucket brigade going."
It wasn't long before a dozen volunteers had arrived, each carrying buckets. In the distance, Darien noticed even more people heading down the road. He glanced at Lavelle as she stood and conferred with two of the volunteers while they kept an eye the blaze. He had to admit she was able to muster a lot more support faster than he ever could. Whether she liked it or not—whether she admitted it or not—she was the de facto leader of Bee’s Landing. He sighed.
She was a leader in ways that he would never be able to match. No matter how long he stayed in the neighborhood, he was never going to be as much of a friend and commander as she could be. As he watched part of the Westin house collapse in on itself, Darien's dreams of ruling Bee’s Landing went up in the cloud of smoke and sparks that rose into the air. It wasn't meant to be, and all the strife and struggle and suffering caused by his desire to be the sole ruler had brought him nothing but grief.
It took longer than Darien liked, but Spanner finally showed up with Franks and his crew. The numbers were about even between the volunteers and his men. He stepped over to Lavelle. "Okay, what's the plan? My crew doesn't have any buckets, but we're willing to help you"
She smiled, the first time he'd seen her do so. "Trust me, were glad you're here." She clapped him on the arm and turned him toward the man who'd followed her, the Hunter. "John's bringing in the buckets. We need to stretch out a line of people from here to the pond, working right through the yards over that way," she said as she pointed toward the back corner of Harriet's property. "If we cut through the woods and space everybody out about 20 yards, we should have enough people to reach the pond and get these buckets moving quick."
/> "I got more people coming in from the other side of the neighborhood, they should be here over the next few minutes or so," he added.
"Great," Lavelle said. She turned to Darien. "You up for this?"
"You bet,” he said. He turned to his men. "Franks, take your boys and spread them out, you anchor the line here. I'll take Spanner, Jon Boy, and a couple others. We’ll head down to the pond."
"Okay, folks—let's go! We’ll spread out in between them,” the hunter, John Douglass said to the volunteers who held buckets.
"Let's go people!” Cami called out. “We might not be able to save this house, but if the wind kicks up, hopefully we’ll be able to protect the others!”
"What’re you gonna do?" Darien asked as his men positioned themselves.
"I'll stay here,” she replied. “With more volunteers coming in, somebody's going to have to organize things," she said with a sigh as she wiped sweat from her face. The heat had increased as the fire spread throughout the entire house. "It seems to be my lot in life."
"For what it's worth, I think you're doing a great job," Darien said. He meant every word.
He left Lavelle there to handle the hot end of the bucket chain, then ran to catch up to Franks and the rest of his team. They sprinted across the yards and trees that separated Harriet's property from the abandoned house and Susan Curtis’ house. When they emerged on the other side, it was only a short run down to the pond. Franks was already setting up and stood knee-deep in the water.
"Somebody get me a bucket!" Darien called as he passed men spreading out about 20 yards apart on the line to the pond. One of the volunteers handed him an orange paint bucket which he took and sprinted down to the water. He tossed it to Franks, who scooped it up and passed it back to Darien.
He grunted with the weight of the pond water, then jogged to the next man, who took it from him and handed over an empty bucket. Darien went back to Franks, who scooped up another bucketful.
"It's gonna be a long day," Darien muttered to himself as he jogged back up the slope to the next man in line.
Chapter 13
Lavelle Homestead
Bee’s Landing Subdivision
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Cami had to stand in front of the burning Westin house for close to five minutes before the first bucket was passed man-to-man as they jogged the 20 yards or so between each position and finally delivered it to her. She stepped forward as close as she could to the flames near the front door and pitched the bucket’s contents through the open door. She heard a hiss, and the water was gone.
She stepped back and handed the empty bucket to the runner who turned and ran about 10 yards and met the man from the second station with a full bucket. They traded, then he sprinted back to Cami, who stepped forward and tossed the bucket again. It took a few moments to get the rhythm going, but eventually they all settled into a decent routine. Cami lost track of the number of buckets of water she’d tossed into the fire, as her eyes grew dry and her face grew hot, but the pace seemed to quicken as more people joined the line.
Spanner, Flynt’s right-hand man, ran up to her, his greasy hair slicked back by sweat. "Where's Darien?" he called, breathless.
Cami grunted as she tossed yet another bucket’s worth of water through the open door. She wasn’t sure, but it seemed like the fire had retreated further into the house. She looked down and found herself standing on the threshold and smiled—she hadn't been able to get so close when they'd started.
She moved away from the front porch and handed the empty bucket to the runner who handed her a full bucket. "He's down by the pond,” she said as she turned and tossed the next load of water through the front door. “Why?”
"I went back to Harriet's place…see if she had any extra buckets—and she wasn't there. She’s over at your place now. Said she was scared and didn't want to be alone."
Cami rolled her eyes and took the next full bucket from the runner. "Well, I'm glad she's not scared anymore," she said sourly. "You gonna jump in line or what?"
She tossed the bucket of water through the door, then turned, but Spanner was gone. Through the haze of hot smoke that circulated around the house, Cami saw the line stretch out toward the pond and spotted Spanner in the distance as he ran through the forest on his way to report to Darien. She frowned. He hadn’t found any more buckets.
The next runner came up with a bucket of water, and Cami had to worry about the fire, and not whatever Flynt’s men were up to. She glanced over her shoulder as she waited for the next bucket and her heart sank. "Is that—hey," she said as the runner approached, breathless with a full bucket of water from the pond. "Is that more smoke?" Cami asked. "Or are my eyes just dried out?"
The man huffed as he handed the bucket over, and turned. He studied the smudge on the horizon while he caught his breath. “It is more smoke! Where the heck is that coming from?"
Cami handed him the empty bucket. "It must be a second fire!" She tossed the last bucket of water into the house, then took the empty bucket with her. "I'll run back to the pond, we have to let Flynt know. Take over for me?”
"Right." He turned and yelled to the man next in line. "Move up! Everybody move up! We’re rotating!"
Cami jogged down the long line of volunteers as they passed empty buckets toward the pond and full buckets toward the fire. As Cami ran along, two more volunteers showed up and took their place in the line, which made the gaps between the runners just a little smaller.
She whooped and encouraged the volunteers as she ran. “Keep going! We’re making progress!"
She found Flynt at the edge of the pond, drenched in sweat, and stripped of his shirt. The hard muscles of his chest and back rippled as he took each bucket load and jogged up the hill to the next station, so the man who took the bucket from him could travel on flat land. She handed him the empty bucket she carried. "We got a problem.”
"I heard—Harriet left her house and went to yours…” he grumbled as he took the empty bucket.
Cami waved him off. "I couldn’t care less what Harriet does right now—there's another fire. Looks like on the other side of the neighborhood."
Flynt swore and turned to peer where Cami indicated. "Doesn't look like much. It must've just started."
"And another thing—the front door to the Westin house was open. Did you notice that?"
"I did. I wasn’t gonna say anything, because I figured that maybe it opened once the fire got going…”
"Me too," Cami agreed. "But now there's a second fire…and it just got started…”
Flynt paused, the full bucket of water held before him as his arm strained to keep the load steady. "Somebody’s starting these fires on purpose."
"Agreed," Cami said. “But what can we do about it?"
Flynt handed the bucket to the next runner, then put his hands on his hips. "How's the Westin house look?"
Cami shook her head. "It's gonna be a total loss. I think we should shift our focus to the other house."
Flynt nodded. "Right. That side of the neighborhood’s a lot more packed, anyway. It'll be more dangerous to have a fire spread from house to house over there. If this place is already gone," he said with a nod of his head toward the burning house on the other side of the trees, "then it'll burn itself out soon enough. There's less of a chance the fire could spread to any other places on this side of the neighborhood. Agreed?"
"Agreed," Cami said. She stepped down to the water's edge, washed her hands, then splashed some across her face. "I'll go tell the others. We've got to get everyone shifted to the other side of the pond."
"Right," Flynt said. "What do you think about switching positions? I'll take the guys on this end of the line, and we’ll head over toward the new house. Bring your end from the Westin house over here and ya’ll can be the new anchors at the pond."
"Sounds good to me. I'll spread the word," Cami said. She turned and ran up the bank, then yelled out the instructions to every other volunteer in th
e bucket line. A few groaned, but some nodded and jumped to the task immediately. By the time she made it back to the Westin house, two of the main walls of the house had collapsed, and most of the people in the volunteer bucket line had already begun the process of shifting positions to tackle the new fire threat.
Cami paused to catch her breath and watch as the house was consumed by fire. The crackle and snap of the fire as it consumed the house was punctuated every now and then by the sharp bark of a wood beam that split or a brick that exploded. As she turned to leave, she heard several bricks explode, but the sound didn't come from behind her, the popping noise came from up the street.
She froze—it was gunfire. John Douglass, the last man on Cami's side of the bucket brigade, paused some 20 yards away. He'd heard it, too. He glanced back at Cami, then pointed up the street. "There's a couple guys running around the corner up there!”
Cami drew her pistol and sprinted. Whatever was going on, it was far too close to her house—far too close to Amber, Marty, Mia, and the kids—for her to ignore it, fire or no fire.
"No!" she yelled as she waved at Douglass. "Go tell Flynt! I'll check it out! We've got to get that fire out!"
"But—“ Douglass argued.
"No!" Cami repeated. “Whatever it is, I'll handle it!"
She didn't wait to see if he listened to her orders but sprinted down the road toward home. Thoughts ran ragged through her mind’s eye from attackers swarming the undefended house to Amber attempting to fight off a horde of raiders on her own. Cami smothered those thoughts and put all of her focus and willpower into making herself move faster down the street.
As she rounded the corner near Marty's house, she picked up her pace. Despite the fact that her lungs burned from the smoke she'd inhaled while trying to fight the fire at the Westin house, Cami forced herself to the absolute limit as she ran. She saw something that made her forget about the pain in her legs, back, and lungs—something that sent a cold chill down her spine and drove her forward at a reckless pace. Heedless of whatever possible danger might be waiting at her house, Cami charged forward. She had no choice.
Broken Tide | Book 4 | Backflow Page 10