Page 107 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

Inga the dog had helped her escape. But before then, her dreams had saved her. No one could take those away. Not the mean man with the mask, not the stupid guards, not even her own fear. Because at night, the dreams would come and she’d feel strong and free and invincible.

Now, buried under rubble, a different dream shimmered across her vision. There was a man out there who loved her. A man so true and kind and strong that nothing in this world was going to keep her from him.

Ignoring the pain, she maneuvered her hand to her face and clawed the rest of the gunk out of her mouth. “Fred,” she croaked. The sound barely penetrated the dense silence under the desk. Desperately she worked up more saliva and spit out more dust. “Fred,” she said, louder.

“Rachel?” From the wild hope in his voice, she knew he’d heard her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” She spat again, feeling as if she were spewing out years of blockage. This time, her voice came out more strongly. “I was about to tell you that I love you so much and I don’t think we should let anything get between us. It doesn’t matter whose daughter I am or how much money he has. I don’t care about any of that stuff. And I’m sorry I didn’t leave it up to you to rescue yourself from Kale. I should have known you’d think of something …”

“No, Rachel, I was wrong. I was completely wrong!” He broke in, as if he couldn’t hold back another moment. “I had my head up my ass. I was too worried about myself, and trying to prove something. I shouldn’t have gotten mad, I should have been grateful, and I hope you can forgive—”

“Stop it, Fred! This is my time to babble! You know I have to babble when I’m feeling claustrophobic. You can talk when I’m done.”

She became aware of a loud mechanical noise nearby. But she still had so much to say, so she just raised her voice and talked over it.

“What I’m saying is, I don’t regret doing the interview, I’d do that again in a heartbeat. It worked out for the best anyway. The part I’m sorry about is the money, because it’s my dad’s money and I’m used to money solving everything, but sometimes it makes things worse. And then I tried to protect you again when I saw the bumper sticker at your house, but I should have just told you and you probably would have thought of something, instead, now look at us … what is that sound?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s a compressor. We’re going to inflate a couple of air bags to create some space. The helitack team choppered them in.”

“Air bags?”

“The air bags will lift the pile enough so I can crawl in and dig you out. Here we go with the first air bag.”

She heard a short drone, then a slender crack of light appeared. Bright light; there must be more flashlights out there, or maybe spotlights. A sudden thought struck her. Was she getting special treatment, once again? “Doesn’t the fire department have a lot more urgent problems than me?”

“You’re trapped, Rachel. That’s urgent. We have crews out all over San Gabriel, but this area was hit the hardest.”

“My father didn’t have anything to do with this?”

“No, this is the San Gabriel Fire Department doing its job.” She heard the pride in Fred’s voice. “But your father is on his way.”

“That’s good.” She wanted to see him. No matter how suffocating his eccentric ways, her father loved her, and she loved him. With her whole heart—like a dog.

“We’re deploying another air bag.”

The crack grew bigger, until artificial white light was filtering in. The space grew wider, almost as wide as her body. Surely she could just crawl through.

“I’m coming out,” she called to Fred.

“No. Don’t move. It’s safer if I come in and get you. I’m handing in a helmet. Put it on if you can. There might be more loose pieces and we don’t want you getting hit on the head.”

About to protest, she snapped her mouth shut. Hell no, she didn’t want more brain trauma. She had too much to say, too much to do. There was the Refuge to rebuild, fund-raisers to plan, investors to woo. And most of all, Fred to love.

An object blocked the light, passing haltingly through the crack, which was now as wide as the heating vents at Cranesbill. It must be the helmet Fred was pushing toward her. When it was close enough, she painfully stretched out an arm and snagged it. By dint of much careful twisting and maneuvering, she managed to get it on her head, but the effort exhausted her.

“I’m coming in,” Fred announced. She didn’t protest this time, knowing she needed his help. Now that she could see the outside, taste the night air on her tongue, the craving for freedom nearly made her lose her cool. Out, out, she wanted out. A dark lump blocked a large portion of the light, and she knew it was Fred. Strong, true-blue Fred, coming to her rescue.

“What should I do next?” she asked him.

“How badly do you think your legs are pinned?”

She tried to move her legs, and managed about two inches. “I can move them a tiny bit. I just don’t have any room.”

---