I’m about to go back to the couch, but something draws me to the kitchen. Not the window. I’ve looked out it enough. But I could grab a beer. Chips. One of the chocolate chip cookies I got from Delectable Delights.
Once I enter the kitchen, I head to the fridge to get a beer. Then it’s over to the cabinet, where the cookies are stored. From there, it’s a quick trip to the sink to grab a few paper towels—as a guy living on his own, I don’t mess around with actual napkins.
As I’m tearing off a piece of paper towel, my gaze drifts to the kitchen window.
Not because I’m actively checking on Vienna. No. The window is right there. It would be oddnotto look out it.
So I move in front of the kitchen sink and I look out the window, expecting the glow of lights through the cabin windows and wisps of smoke spiraling into the moonlit sky.
Except.
That’s not what I see at all.
Thick clouds of smoke are billowing from the chimney.
A violent, angry light flickers behind the windows.
My heart stops.
The cabin is on fire.
The cabin’s on fire, and I don’t know if Vienna’s trapped inside it.
“Fuck!” Fear clutches my chest. I drop the beer bottle into the sink, barely aware of the shattering glass. Flinging the cookie and paper towel aside, I race from the kitchen and through the living room.
All I can think about is getting to Vienna.
My boots are already on and I’m about to fling open the front door when it hits me.
Call 911. I need to call 911. Even if the cabin can’t be saved, Vienna might be hurt, need the paramedics?—
“Fuck!”
I spin on my heel and sprint back across the living room. Snatching up my phone from the coffee table, I glance at the screen just long enough to dial 9-1-1. Then I’m moving again, racing for the door, barely-contained panic urging me faster.
Thank fuck, I shoveled a path directly from my house to the cabin before I went over to see Vienna this morning.Why not,I asked myself before I did it. But even then, I think, deep down, I knew why.
Not that I’d be running over there in a mad dash to save her from a fire.
Deep down, I knew I wanted to make it easier to see her.
But shoveled path or not, the quarter mile to cover feels like ten times more. As I close the distance, each footstep somehow slower than the last, the smoke billowing from the chimney grows darker and the flames behind the windows, brighter.
I don’t spare the dispatcher extra words. I just bark, “My guest house is on fire. Two-forty Sweet Valley Road. Possible victim—” My voice catches. “Theremight be someone inside. A woman. I’m going in after her.”
The dispatcher tells me not to. She says it’s not safe. She says I should stand back and wait for the firetrucks to arrive.
No fucking way. Not if Vienna’s in there.
Ending the call, I shove the phone back into my pocket. Then I put on an extra burst of speed as I race towards the cabin.
By the time I get there, the flames are licking the at front windows.
I glance around the exterior of the cabin and shout, “Vienna! Vienna! Are you out here?”
There’s no answer. Not that I expected one.
No. In my gut, I know she’s inside.
