“The troughs outside.”
The noise intensified as the lumber in the ceiling caught fire. We needed help, but would anyone in Portsmouth Square help Sam save his hotel?
“We have to get the children out.” Father lifted his arm to cough into his sleeve.
Jim lunged at Sam, and I screamed, but Sam jumped out of his way.
“Get the children out!” Sam said as he kept his eye on Jim.
I wanted to help Sam, but what could I do? The children needed to get to safety, and I had to find help. My heart hammered as I followed Father out of the hotel, pulling Johnnie along with me. He coughed and stumbled, but he continued.
When we arrived outside, fresh air filled my lungs as Johnnie fell to his knees on the road. Hazel tore away from Father’s side and sat next to him.
Several people had come out to the square, and a bucket brigade had already started. People were running in every direction as they gathered containers and formed a line.
Relief overwhelmed me. “I thought they’d let it burn.”
“They won’t risk losing their own buildings,” Father said, coughing. “No matter what they think of Sam.”
I turned to reenter the building, and Father grabbed my arm. “Where are you going?”
“I have to help him.”
“There’s nothing you can do. You’ll only get hurt, or worse.”
“I can’t let him die.”The Annals ofSan Franciscotaunted me. Had the authors gotten the date wrong? I’d never considered that.
Or worse, what if this part of history had somehow changed because Cole left?
“Sam can take care of himself,” Father said.
I stopped fighting long enough to convince him to let me go—and then I ran back into the hotel.
I couldn’t let Sam die.
The smoke was so intense, I couldn’t see beyond the entry hall. Fire had spread to the dining room and was climbing the stairs.
“Ally!” Father yelled as he appeared at my side. “Come out—”
“Go outside, Father,” I yelled back. “Stay with the children.”
I moved farther into the hotel and found Jim and Sam still fighting.
Sam looked my way, and Jim used the distraction to lunge at him. He barreled into Sam’s chest and knocked him down.
I screamed, but the smoke was thick, and the air was so filled with the noise of the fire that I couldn’t even hear my own voice.
Sam fell hard and hit his head on the toolbox. His body went limp.
“Sam!” My voice cracked, and tears ran down my cheeks, both from fear and smoke. I got on my knees and crawled to him as Jim disappeared into the smoke toward the back of the room.
When I reached Sam, I shook him, but he was unconscious.
I had to get him out of the building, but how was I going to pull him to safety without help? Was this how I was going to die in this path? With Sam?
Despair filled me as I thought about never seeing him again, of living the rest of my life in 1929 grieving the loss of the man I’d come to love more than any other.
“I won’t give up,” I said as I lay next to him. Burning lumber crashed to the floor next to me, and the heat had become unbearable.
