She turns and squeezes the handle of the fire extinguisher, but nothing happens. Now I know why this building isn’t engulfed in flames. She was in there bravely keeping the blaze at bay.
I grab her arm and pull her back. I don’t want this girl anywhere near these flames or near this thick smoke.
“It’s my kiln,” she says, coughing. “It’s spitting out fire.”
“Is anyone else in there?” I ask, not wanting to let her go.
“No,” she says. “Just my whole life.”
“Stay out here or you might not have a life,” I warn her. “We’ll take care of the flames.”
“Doug!” I shout as I run back to the truck. “Status!”
“Working on it!” Doug shouts. “There’s a raccoon down here who’s mad as hell. Ow!”
I let out a frustrated growl, grab two large fire extinguishers from the truck, and sprint back inside.
If the flames are contained to one side of the building, maybe I can save the structure.
I duck under the heavy black smoke and survey the scene. Flames are travelling along the scorched wooden floor near the kiln, crawling up the wall, and snaking toward the ceiling. Shelves are overturned and broken pottery is everywhere—cups, bowls, and vases shattered to pieces.
I grip the first extinguisher and unleash it. White powder explodes into the air, thick and blinding. The fire along the floor and ceiling dies, but the kiln is spitting out flames like it’s alive.
“Doug!” I holler, hoping he can hear me. “Turn the power off!”
The woman rushes back in, scrambles past me, rips a painting off the wall, and slams the breaker hidden behind it.
The kiln powers down. The flames falter.
She grabs the second extinguisher and we work together, side by side, finishing it off. We douse that fucker with white powder until it’s a scorched, smoking, flameless mess.
“Ready, Ethan!” Doug shouts from outside.
“Fire’s out,” I call back.
He appears in the doorway a moment later, bleeding from a scratch on his face.
“What happened to you?” I ask.
“Fucking raccoon,” he says, breathing hard. “He was such a dick.”
I turn to the woman, take her arm, and guide her outside. She’s shaking and staring at the destruction like she can’t quite process it yet.
“You’re okay,” I whisper in a soothing tone as I get her away from the danger. “Things can be rebuilt. You’re okay, that’s what’s most important.”
She finally looks at me.
God, those eyes… Even though they’re watery and bloodshot, they still tighten my core. My soul seizes as she looks up at me.
“It’s you,” she says, not taking her stunned eyes off me. “The man from the calendar.”
Oh god.
Not this again.
My shoulders drop.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s me.”
