“Mitch.” Her voice wobbles. “I just looked out the living room window. There… there areflamescoming from the apartment below me.”
Horrified, I ask, “There are flames? Coming from the second floor?”
A few seconds pass before Penny replies, “Yes. I can see them if I stick my head out the window. There… there are a lot, Mitch. What… Oh, God.”
My heart stumbles. Stops. “Penny. Get away from the window.”
Penny whimpers. “The house is on fire. That’s why I burned my hand. The fire is right outside my door. What do I do?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
My years of experience as a firefighter paint a dismal picture. An old house like that could be completely engulfed in minutes. And Penny’s on the third floor, easily twenty feet from the ground if she jumps. Which would be dangerous at best and deadly at worst. But if she stays inside…
Ah,shit.
Panic threatens to take over.
It’s hard to hear anything above the frantic pounding of my heart.
Forcing a calm I don’t feel, I say, “Okay. You need to call 911. And get into the bathroom. Close the door. Wet a towel and wedge it at the bottom, so smoke can’t get in. And I’m on my way. I’ll be there in—” I punch the gas. “Two minutes.”
“Mitch. You can’t get in here. It’s too dangerous.”
“Penny. Just do what I say.Please.”
“Okay.” Her voice is thick with tears. “I’m going.”
“Hang up,” I tell her, though it’s the last thing I want her to do. “Call 911.”
“Mitch.” A broken sob escapes. “I’m sorry we argued. I’m sorry I made you wait. You’re not like Mark. Not even a little. I?—”
“Please, Pen. Call 911. I’m almost there.”
From a few streets over, I can see the glow of flames and billows of smoke.
“Okay.” She pauses before adding in a tiny voice, “But please, Mitch, don’t risk coming inside. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m coming for you,” I reply firmly. “That’s a promise.”
CHAPTER 3
PENNY
I’m going to have to jump.
There’s no way around it.
It doesn’t matterwhenMitch gets here. He can’t get inside. And I can’t leave.
All it takes is one look out the bathroom window to know just how bad my situation is.
The fire is tearing through the floors beneath me, shattering windows and splintering walls. Flames lick at the windowsills and clouds of black smoke billow into the sky. The house creaks and moans, sounding almost like a living creature as it’s devoured by flames.
Just like I will be, if I don’t get out of here.
Still clutching the phone with one sweat-slicked hand, I tentatively reach towards the bathroom doorknob with the other. I’m not eager to burn my hand again, not when it’s already red and blistered from the first time, but I’m not sure how else to tell if the fire’s reached my bedroom.
Well, aside from opening the door to look. But I’m not doingthat. Not when I’ve spent years hanging around with firefighters,hearing their stories and mentally tucking away all their tips—if you’re caught in a fire, stay low to the ground, cover your nose and mouth with a wet towel, and always keep the doors shut to slow the spread of the flames.
