by Linda Jacobs
Frank dropped the hose, surged forward and grabbed the woman. “Javier,” he grunted. “Take over.”
Javier Fuentes, lanky, mid-twenties, took the handoff and restrained the woman from rushing into the burning building. Her dark eyes went wide as she screamed and struggled. Her short legs kicked at Javier’s shins.
Adrenaline surging, Clare demanded. “What floor?”
“4-G …” the woman managed. “He’s only two.”
“Let’s go,” Clare told Frank without bothering to ask why the child had been left alone. As she bent for the hose, her sense of purpose seemed to lighten the weight of her equipment.
They headed in.
The building’s peeling doorframe had been defaced by purple graffiti and the interior stairwell smelled faintly of mold and urine. New and sparkling in the seventies when oil jobs had enticed northern immigrants to Houston, the housing had fallen into disrepair.
At the second floor landing, Clare and Frank met smoke. She tipped up her helmet, covered her face with the mask, and cranked the tank valve. Beside her, Frank wordlessly did the same.
As they moved up, Clare made sure the hose didn’t snag around corners while Javier and others fed slack. Business as usual, so far, and they would find that young mother’s child.
At the third floor and starting blindly toward four, Clare felt the smoke grow hotter. She crouched below the deadly heat and told herself that she could breathe. Positive pressure prevented fumes from leaking into her mask, and the dehydrated air cooled as it decompressed.
In, out, slow …
Isolation pressed in with the superheated atmosphere. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Frank had left her, belied by his tugging on the hose. At times like these, she had to keep her head on straight. No giving in to claustrophobia and no thought of turning back.
If you misguessed the dragon in the darkness, you would pay with your life.
Fourth floor hall, and Clare went onto hands and knees. Darkness and disorientation complete, she concentrated on keeping the hose in line and her breathing steady. The worst humiliation was if she sucked her tank dry and had to make an ignominious exit.
Ahead, Frank cracked the nozzle for a bare second. Heat slammed down as the spray upset the thermocline. He hit the valve again. A glimpse of not quite midnight winked from the shadows, now there and then gone. Clare ground her teeth and her chest tightened as they approached 4-G.
The door stood ajar. A good omen, she hoped, as she and Frank accepted its invitation and crawled inside.
Drapes and couches blazed, giving off toxic gases that made her glad for filtered air. The ceiling sheetrock was burned away, revealing the space beneath the roof where storage boxes blazed. Did they contain old clothes and junk, or precious family heirlooms from Southeast Asia, belonging to the young woman who waited below?
A thousand degrees from above drove Clare and Frank onto their stomachs. While hot water rained onto shag carpet, she inched along, one gloved hand feeling the way and the other on the hose. If you let go of your lifeline, you could lose orientation, the sure first step to a mayday situation.
Through the drop-spattered mask, there was no sign of life in the living room and nothing that looked like a crib or playpen. Clare looked toward a door that must lead to a bedroom, but flames licked at the frame and walls. No haven there. Sick with the possibility of failure, she dragged herself toward Frank. She had not yet told a mother that her child had died in a fire.
If hell existed, this must be its antechamber. Frank lay ahead of her, directing the hose. By the tugs, she felt him move forward, risking the dragon backing around and coming down with searing breath. Clare found herself staring at the constantly changing colors of combustion, unable to resist the inferno’s splendor. Her love-hate relationship with fire hurt most at times like these.
An ominous rumble began, the vibration resonating in her chest as though the dragon cleared its throat. Cold horror cut the heat.
Through the steam cloud from the power cone, she caught a shifting in the rafters, a barely perceptible sideways slide. She couldn’t grab Frank’s collar to warn him, couldn’t do a thing except scream his name into the maelstrom.
One moment, Clare was crawling toward him. The next, he disappeared in a shower of light.
SUMMER OF FIRE
LINDA JACOBS
It is 1988, and Yellowstone Park is on fire.
Among the thousands of summer warriors battling to save America’s crown jewel, is single mother Clare Chance.
Having just watched her best friend, a fellow Texas firefighter, die in a roof collapse, she has fled to Montana to try and put the memory behind her. She’s not the only one fighting personal demons as well as the fiery dragon threatening to consume the park.
There’s Chris Deering, a Vietnam veteran helicopter pilot, seeking his next adrenaline high and a good time that doesn’t include his wife, and Ranger Steve Haywood, a man scarred by the loss of his wife and baby in a plane crash. They rally ‘round Clare when tragedy strikes yet again, and she loses a young soldier to a firestorm.
Three flawed, wounded people; one horrific blaze. Its tentacles are encircling the park, coming ever closer, threatening to cut them off. The landmark Old Faithful Inn and Park Headquarters at Mammoth are under siege, and now there’s a helicopter down, missing, somewhere in the path of the conflagration. And Clare’s daughter is on it…
ISBN#1932815295
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“There! Shine your light over there.”
“Frank, it’s just some sand trickling.”
“SHUT UP, damn it! Do you hear that?”
“Yeah, I hear it. It’s the dirt under your boots.”
“I’m not moving, Jack.”
“Frank? What is it?”
Stone ground against stone. The earth shook. Walls trembled. In a gush, sand poured from slots in the wall. Dust swallowed the air.
A secret sanctuary has been breached.
And so begins the tale of a prehistoric crystal cylinder seal, discovered in a passage beneath the base of Cheops’ Pyramid. Because of its ultimate secrets, Egyptologist Dr. Karl Cassim’s only daughter is taken hostage; Cairo’s Minister of Police betrays his office; and the chosen must prove their worthiness by passing through the Seven Gates of Osiris. With the assistance of American astronomer Julian Rutledge, renowned British Egyptologist Sir E. Osborne Hunsdon, museum curator Nancy Gottlieb, and the very things he debunked — gods, curses, and magic — Dr. Cassim discovers a prophecy, a warning for the New Age of Man. Everyone’s life will be changed.
Maybe even yours.
ISBN#1932815546
ISBN#9781932815542
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DAVIE HENDERSON
WATER FALL
GLEN
When Kate Brodie inherits Waterfall Glen it seems like the start of an exciting new life. Full of romantic notions, she swaps her dull routine in San Francisco for life as a Highland lady.
But the stunning beauty of the glen belies a troubled history and uncertain future, and Kate’s imposing new home, Greystane House, is full of disturbing revelations about her family’s past. Each portrait on the ancient walls tells an unnerving story, while the empty rooms echo with rumors of a centuries-old curse that takes on new significance when unsettling events threaten the small community whose fate lies in her hands.
The only person Kate can turn to is a man haunted by equally troubling events, a man she has every reason not to trust. Only with his help can she find a way to defend old values against the materialism of the modern world. Only together can they lay their ghosts to rest.
ISBN#193281583X
ISBN#9781932815832
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