Page 3 of Burn Point

“Please, please, please stop,” I whimpered.

A horrendous crash shook the house, and the quilt pressed down heavily, trapping me. Flashes of lightning brightened my hiding spot while debris pelted the room and me.

This was bad.

This was so incredibly bad.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the storm moved past. The wind quieted, and the rain slowed. My labored breath against the heavy quilt was loud in the deathly silence that followed.

I shifted to lift the quilt off me, gasping as pain burned hot and bright when I tried to move my leg. The pressure of the quilt and whatever was holding me down was too much. Claustrophobia kicked into high gear. I had to get out.

In a flail of arms and elbows, I battled that damn quilt until blessed fresh air kissed my cheeks. I sank against the side of the tub, panting, gulping in huge mouthfuls of burnt-wood-scented air, slamming my eyes closed as if, somehow, I could avoid whatever nightmare this was if I didn’t actually see it. A cold, wet drop of something hit my cheek with a splat. I blindly reached out, my hand brushing the rough bark of a tree limb. My eyes popped open and I glanced up. The night sky displayed back-lit clouds where my roof should be, the view framed by leaves and branches just above my head.

Oh my God.

There was a tree in my bathroom.

And where was my roof?

I felt around for my laptop bag, wishing beyond anything that I’d remembered to put a flashlight in the bag. My fingers grazed the rough fabric, and I gripped and tugged, but couldn’t budge it.

Maybe I could find my phone and call 911. I thought I remembered grabbing it, but after a brief feel, it was nowhere near me.

The wail of sirens and robotic bleep of home alarms going off sounded in the distance. The house groaned, and the tree snapped and popped, paralyzing me. If I moved, even an inch, would this thing topple and crush me? I sat frozen in place, scared to move, staring blankly into the inky darkness of the remains of my house.

What was I going to do? How was I going to get out of this?

Voices of my neighbors calling to each other broke my trance.

I was alone in this town. Other than the dog walker, would anyone know to look for me? And where would I go if someone did come?

A whimper escaped.

Stuck in a collapsed house, with no way to call for help, I used the only thing I had, and began yelling.

?

Nate

Sitting in the firehouse bay on the edge of the storm, watching as it passed over our town, knowing lives and homes were in danger, had been a grueling exercise in patience. We’d been listening to radio traffic, ready to move, ready to do something, anything, just waiting on the storm to pass. The crackle of the radio was a constant hum as I pulled the engine out of the safety of the Station Four bay and hit the button to close the big red sliding door behind us.

“Which way are we headed, LT?” Cal Johnson, lead firefighter in the jump-seat next to me, asked in a strong, sure voice. Cal and I had worked together for a few years. He was filling in at our station for Big Mo, who was out on medical leave. His normally goofy attitude was on the shelf, and he was all business. Like the rest of us, he was ready for action.

“I don’t know, but I’m done sitting here waiting. We can at least head toward where we know it hit.” Sitting by with confirmed reports of a tornado in downtown had been excruciating for the entire crew. Knowing that people needed us and being unable to act had gone against everything I was as a person.

“911 to NFD.” The radio operator’s voice cracked with tension.

“NFD, go ahead 911.” Captain Mac Collins’s gruff voice floated through speakers. I checked the rearview to make sure he was following the engine in the pickup truck.

I took a left out of the station and headed toward town. Knowing that we were at least rolling eased the helplessness churning in my gut.

“We have several calls and our CAD system is down. How would you like to proceed?” Looked like we were going old school without the benefit of having a computer mapping system.

Cal stared wide-eyed out the front window. “Oh shit, Nate. This is bad.”

He’d never worked without a computer system in the truck and looked scared to death.

“We’ll take down the addresses when you are ready, 911,” Collins answered.

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