Playing with Fire

by Rachel Lee

  And the case wasn’t over yet. She still hadn’t found out why those open stall doors bothered Wayne. She knew they bothered her. At this point she still hadn’t ordered payment to the Buells. She kept remembering Edna Buell talking about how she had endlessly complained about life on the ranch. Had she driven Fred to set fire to the whole place, with a result far beyond his expectations? He had certainly gone from lacking motivation to having a really big one. He wouldn’t make any money on this, but maybe he’d finally been pushed to the point of breaking. He wouldn’t be the first person who’d snapped.

  On the other hand, Edna could have done it herself. The whole fire was either the sign of a genius arsonist or someone who hadn’t realized what might happen. A fool or an Einstein. She couldn’t decide which.

  But at the same time, she realized that if she denied the man’s insurance claim, she needed more than a suspicion. And if she did, she could forget ever coming back to this place. The weekend had left her utterly confused, to the point where she didn’t know what mattered most to her anymore. Her job or this town. This fire chief.

  Damn, she thought as she accompanied Wayne to the station. They’d both been subdued this morning, and he was taking her to the station to outfit her properly, not just with turnout gear, but with the fire-resistant uniform everyone wore. As for her underwear, she skipped it except for her cotton panties. All her lacy stuff was an invitation for a serious transfer burn. She replaced her bra with a cotton T-shirt.

  “We still have to talk about the Buell fire,” she said as they headed for the station.

  “I know.” He was silent for a minute as he turned a corner. “Unless you want to ride on the truck with everyone else, we’ll talk on the way to the training field. It’s a bit of a drive.”

  Since they were so close to the station, she let it drop. She’d let it drop all weekend. A little longer wouldn’t matter. She had questions she couldn’t answer, and she was fairly certain they were questions that would never get answered. One of the realities of her job was that while she could prove with fair certainty that a particular person hadn’t caused the burn, she often never knew who had.

  She was handed slacks and a shirt in a man’s medium. Probably loose on her, but too tight for most of the guys she saw working here. She wondered where they had come from. Only the department badge had been embroidered on the breast, no name and no rank.

  While it wouldn’t have bothered her to change in the locker room, Wayne’s questioning about her easiness with nudity had reminded her that things were different here. Not something she usually had to think about, but she slipped into one of the bathrooms to deal with it.

  When she emerged, a bunch of grinning faces greeted her. “All ready?” Ken asked.

  “As I can be.”

  “So are you riding on the truck with us?” Jeff wanted to know.

  “I think the chief’s taking me. I’m the newbie, remember?”

  That got her a round of laughter and back pats. Even Donna joined the laughter as she passed Charity an SCBA, a self-contained breathing apparatus.

  “I hunted up one with a slightly smaller face mask,” she said. “I had that problem when I was still on the response team. Wanna try it on?”

  “Thanks, Donna. I really appreciate it.” Without donning the air tank and harness, she put the mask over her face and adjusted it. “Perfect!”

  Donna’s grin broadened. “Yeah, been that route.”

  Impulsively, Charity hugged her. “You’ve been great.”

  “Well, of course,” Donna said, rolling her eyes. “And I’ll be out there to defend you against these dumbheads. You know they’re not going to leave you alone.”

  “Hell, no,” Randy chortled. “That’s half the fun we’re going to have today!”

  “Let’s roll,” Ken said, ending the repartee. “We don’t have all day.”

  * * *

  The chief’s car trailed behind the truck, the fire rescue ambulance and a string of cars belonging to firefighters and volunteers. Enough personnel had been left at the station house to cover any average fires or car accidents, but it still seemed quite an assortment were looking forward to their chance to drill.

  “A lot of volunteers,” Charity remarked.

  “This is the only fire experience a lot of them will get unless we have a range fire. Plenty will take the knowledge home with them to their local areas. You ever seen ranchers and farmers fight a fire? They’ve got enough heavy equipment as part of their jobs that they practically bury the fires while digging fire breaks.”

  “And every rancher is fairly well prepared.”

  “Believe it. Like you said once before.”

  Silence again. The radio on the dash crackled with empty air. No one was broadcasting anything at the moment.

  “We going to be here all day?”

  Wayne shook his head. “I’ll run you through the first part, then leave them to it. I don’t need to be here all day while everyone takes a turn.”

  And then what? she wondered. “So when are you going to tell me what’s bothering you about those stalls?”

  “Yeah.” He sighed, once more shaking his head a little as if a gnat was bothering him. “It’s simple. I’m no rancher myself, but I get that you never leave stall doors open, whether the stall is occupied or not. Unless you have sliding doors, they block the central area, so you want them out of the way. If you’ve got animals in, then you don’t want them getting out. So basically stall doors are opened only to let animals in or out, or to clean.”

  “That makes perfect sense. So you think Fred did this? Or knew something?” Even speaking the words made her feel slightly sick.

  “Damn!” The word sounded angry. “I hate being suspicious of people I know. Hate it! But those stall doors didn’t open themselves. Our arsonist, for now unknown, opened them. Had to. Maybe hoping the animals would run from the barn when the fire started. Apparently they panicked and didn’t get out, or the fire blew up so fast they didn’t have time to figure out which way to go, but someone thought they might. I emphasize someone.”

  “I hear you.” She gnawed her lip, a habit she had thought broken years ago. “Wayne?”

  “Yeah?”

  “We have to be honest about this. Painful or not. I’m even wondering about Edna.”

  “After that little interview? Yeah, me, too. And we’re looking at a fire that theoretically shouldn’t have happened. No arsonist is that good. How many times have we agreed on that? So I’m looking at this and thinking this fire was never intended to be that bad. Something went wrong, nearly killing that family. When you look at it that way, everybody’s suspect, including Fred and Edna Buell.”

  “So we’re right back at the start.” All they had learned hadn’t helped them one bit. She looked out the window and the bright morning, the greening countryside, and tried to fit any of this into a pigeonhole. It wasn’t working in any way that felt right.

  “So what are you going to do?” he asked.

  “Probably pay the Buells.”

  He glanced her way. “Why?”

  “Because I can’t prove they did this.” Suddenly she sat up straighter. “I have a thought.”

  “Yeah?”

  “There were other fires, right?”

  “Obviously. We talked about it.”

  “Someone set them. Someone threatened me. I’m investigating the Buell fire.”

  “So?”

  “What if the other fires were a setup for the Buell fire? So that we’d know it wasn’t the Buells.”

  He shook his head again. “I’m not following.”

  She twisted until her seat belt pressed against her neck. “I don’t think either of the Buells had the time, or even the messed-up minds to conceive of staging fires to make the burning of their ranch loo
k like part of a string of arsons. Someone else did that. It’s still possible that the Buells took advantage of the earlier arsons. Certainly the timing of putting in the smoke alarms seems a little weird. But it could have been exactly what Fred said it was. His wife got worried and nagged him to do it. Regardless, they’re not responsible for the other fires. It seems like a big leap to think they decided to burn their own place. It doesn’t fit.”

  “Maybe not. But it could fit.” He slapped his hand on the steering wheel. “I want that arsonist. I want him bad.”

  “You know how likely that is.” Another silence. “Anyway, I want to interview the Buells one more time. Right now there is absolutely nothing to prevent me from issuing their check except a vague suspicion for which I have absolutely no proof. Unless something changes when I talk to them again.”

  “I’ll set it up,” he said grimly. “For tomorrow.”

  “Individually.”

  “Of course.”

  The parade of vehicles reached the drill site twenty-five minutes later. Everyone was climbing out and starting to suit up. Soon Wayne and Charity joined them, donning the heavy turnout gear. After Charity checked her breathing apparatus, Wayne lifted her air tank for her while she arranged the harness and tightened it. The weight felt familiar, like an old friend. Excitement began to build in her, and she let everything else drift away.

  There was only one thing you could allow yourself to think about in a fire, even a drill: doing the job. Her focus became intense.

  She and Wayne were scheduled to be among the first to enter the fire building. Everyone went in teams, Ken reminding them once again of the two-in, two-out rule that must never be broken. He even brought up last week’s fire, when Wayne had charged in to save the baby and one of the firefighters had immediately followed.

  “Always pay attention to who’s going into a building. Good move, that someone saw and followed the chief.”

  Wayne spoke. “I knew someone would follow. You guys are that good.”

  A few cheers of approval went around.

  Ken spoke again. “I know the chief counts on you. But it’s my job to be the meanie. Don’t ever assume someone will see you going in. Always take your partner.”

  Teams separated, some going to work on other drills with the trucks and hoses while the first group entered the fire room by twos.

  This drill was flashover and smoke. Her heart raced like a galloping stallion as she and Wayne walked toward the building. It was operational now, and flames shot out the upper-story window. Black smoke must be building inside.

  When they stepped through the door, visibility dropped almost to zero in the thick smoke. “Go ahead of me.” Wayne gestured. She obeyed, knowing he was right behind her. She dropped to her knees to get below the smoke as far as she could. She could feel the superheated air through her turnout gear. God, she’d forgotten how hot it could get and how fast. Beneath protective layers she could feel her skin tightening.

  She crawled forward, knowing it was her job to get out the back entrance. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know what was coming. Ahead of her she made out the vague outline of concrete stairs. For the flashover exercise she needed to get past them.

  She tasted smoke. Why was she tasting smoke? Her mask should be blocking it. Closer to the stairs she crawled, waiting for the moment.

  It took her by surprise. She expected the smoke near the ceiling to flash over. Instead, a huge gout of flame came roaring down the stairs toward her. She flattened herself immediately, and felt Wayne grab her legs as the roaring beast raced toward them, searing raging flames like a huge fountain. Then the smoke above ignited, and the heat became almost unbearable.

  She felt a prod from Wayne, and began belly crawling forward to the exit.

  Her mind whirled with the suddenness and unexpectedness of those flames coming down the stairs. Like real life. Why had she expected any less?

  She was panting with effort, and the more she panted the more she realized something was wrong. Her body was demanding air, and she wasn’t getting it. She tried to speed up toward the door. Her head had begun to spin. A bump drew her attention to the side and she saw Wayne had crawled up beside her.

  “What’s wrong?” His voice crackled on the radio.

  “Can’t breathe.” She struggled a few more inches and then the world disappeared.

  * * *

  “Turn it off,” Wayne barked into the radio. “Firefighter down.”

  The flames across the ceiling began to shrink. Ignoring them, he rose from the floor, grabbed Charity’s limp body under her arms and dragged her toward the exit. He had only one thought: get her out of there. He couldn’t even feel the fear. Training took over. Fear was for later.

  In moments two more firemen burst into the building. With the door open, the air began to swiftly clear, and he picked Charity up, gear and all, slinging her over his shoulder.

  Ten more steps and they were outside. Two more guys came over to help as he laid her on the grass and ripped her mask off. Horror hit him as he saw soot around her nose and mouth.

  “What happened?” Ken asked.

  “Look at her. Give her oxygen. And save that whole damn SCBA and mask. Don’t let anyone else touch it. Something went wrong.”

  Ken released the harness and pulled away the SCBA. Then Wayne rolled her on her back.

  Someone held out the oxygen mask, and he grabbed it, placing it over her face. Her lips looked gray from the smoke stains, but her cheeks were too red. Carbon monoxide. A fast killer in a fire like that.

  “Charity.” He called her name. Someone tried to edge in and take over. He refused to budge. “Charity!”

  He thought time would never move again. Fury, fear, pain—they all hit him like a racing train. Incoherent prayers ran around inside his head. An eternity seemed to pass before her saw her eyes flutter open.

  “Charity.”

  “What happened?” she asked groggily.

  * * *

  Wayne rode with her to the hospital in the fire rescue ambulance. The burn building had been shut down for the day. Any other exercises would be limited to other drills. Not that he thought the burn building had anything to do with this. The respirator Charity had worn was firmly wedged against him as he sat at the end of the gurney. Another paramedic had taken over, Jack Hughes, a man who preferred the paramedic part of being a firefighter. A good man; a good paramedic.

  Charity’s color was improving, the oxygen mask still strapped to her face. “I’m okay,” she kept saying.

  “We’re going to let a doctor verify that,” Wayne said tautly. She was not okay. Not when she kept repeating the same protest. At least some of the cherry color had begun to seep from her cheeks.

  “She’ll be okay, Wayne,” Jack said. “You know that.”

  “Yeah.”

  The sirens were loud even inside here. The ambulance jolted quite a bit until it reached smoother roads just outside of town.

  She’d be okay. He glanced down at the SCBA cradled beside him and wondered what the hell had happened. How had she been breathing smoke instead of air? He’d checked her gear naturally, since she had been his partner in there. All the guys did it for each other. The gauge had said the tank was full of air, the cock had moved correctly, the mask had been seated properly on her head and face. He’d looked.

  He stared at that rig beside him, questions pummeling him. Some things were designed simply enough that they shouldn’t fail. This was one of them. Simple tank full of simple air, with a simple hose leading into the face mask. A respiration valve. Pressurized. And over the past few months every respirator in the place had been sent out for maintenance checks. Yet he’d read recently of tanks failing because of shoddy maintenance or manufacture. Well, shoddy maintenance wasn’t on the list. He’d managed to eke enough out of the budg
et to make sure of that.

  Tampering? The thought chilled him to his very soul. He needed to prove what had happened. But first to get Charity into medical care. She’d be all right, but she needed treatment whether she thought so or not. Her blood chemistry had to be returned to normal. It was so far out of balance she was still at risk. Despite her short exposure there was even a chance of neurological damage.

  He had to find out what had happened. He was responsible for every firefighter in his station. If the equipment company had failed somehow, then any one of his other people could be at risk, hence the decision to stop the burn drills today. And if someone had tampered with this breather, then there was going to be hell to pay.

  At the hospital, Charity was whisked away from him. Once the doc heard what had happened, treatment began immediately. He stood for a few minutes at loose ends, holding the suspicious SCBA, wondering where to begin.

  Donna arrived. “You okay, Chief?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Want me to take that breather back to the station?”

  “No.” He wasn’t going to let it out of his sight. “I’m going to look at it myself. If that company screwed up...”

  She nodded. “You need anything? Coffee? Ken is having someone bring your truck back, by the way. He should be here soon.”

  “Thanks, Donna. You’re a champ. I’m fine.”

  She left, and he was grateful not to have to talk. Charity lay in the hospital and he was blaming himself. He knew someone had tried to kill her at least once, yet he’d let her go into that building. Why hadn’t it occurred to him...

  “God.” He whispered the word. If it was tampering it had to be one of his own people. No one else had access. No one.

  The doctor came out finally. “We’ll need to keep her for a few hours, Wayne. You can see her for a minute or two.”

  “How bad is it?”

  Dr. Joe smiled. “Not bad. Toxic fumes, but she still needs stabilizing. We shouldn’t have to keep her overnight.”