Page 175 of Protecting What's Mine
The flames had engulfed the living room and dining room completely. He dropped to the floor as smoke billowed in hypnotic waves, blinding him.
His gloved hand found something that shouldn’t have been there. A gas can. Accelerant. Jesus.
He crawled forward into the inferno, the ceiling raining down on him in slow motion as the fire fueled itself. Flames and insulation, ceiling tiles. A macabre storm.
He couldn’t even see the stairs.
“Mackenzie!” He shouted her name. But there was no response.
He tried uselessly to knock back some of the flames licking at the drywall, the floor, as he made his way forward.
The stairs. He found them with his hands. They were on fire, almost melting in front of him. He had to get upstairs. He crawled up one then another. The carpet on them was on fire. Everything was on fire.
Something hit him on the shoulder, then gripped.
It was Brody and Stairmaster. And they were dragging him away from the stairs. Away from his woman. Away from his future.
“No!” Linc roared. He fought them, but they didn’t let him go.
They were almost to the door when the stairs gave, collapsing, sending a cloud of dust to mix with the toxic fog bank of smoke.
They dragged him out.
“Chief and search and rescue are out of the structure,” Command announced in a relieved breath.
Linc yanked off his helmet, his mask. “I’m going back in there.”
Brody stopped him with a hand to his chest. “There were shots fired.”
“Do I look like I fucking care? Mackenzie is in there. Sunshine is in there, and I’m getting them out.”
“The stairs are out,” Stairmaster said.
“I don’t care if I have to climb my way up with an ax. I’m not letting her go.”
“It’s too tight. We can’t get the ladder truck any closer, and we can’t go over the roof,” one of the volunteers reported breathlessly.
“Then we’ll take a ladder around back to the bedroom.”
“Let’s get it off the truck,” Brody said. “Where is it?”
“Staging at the end of the road. Units are stacked up like Tupperware out there.”
But Linc couldn’t wait for the volunteer to return with it.
“I have an idea,” he said and sprinted for the fence, for home.
Less than a minute later, he aimed Betsy at his backyard fence. He didn’t stop to think. He simply mashed the gas pedal and sent the antique truck smashing through the fence.
He slammed on the brakes as a half dozen firefighters threw themselves over the locked front gate into the side yard. Together, they braced Betsy’s ladder against the side of the house.
His heart was in his fucking throat as he started to climb.
He needed to be careful. To be smart. If the arsonist was in there, if they were still conscious, he’d be a sitting duck. The bedroom window was closed. No ventilation. Trapping all that poison in that tiny room.
It could be a trap, but it didn’t fucking matter. He was going in.
He felt the ladder shake beneath him. One of his crew climbed behind him.
