Page 105 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

“Rachel?” he shouted into the void. Maybe she’d been with the kidnapper as he poured the gasoline. Maybe he’d shut her inside the bungalow, knowing how much she hated small spaces. The man was insane, Fred wouldn’t put anything past him. He took a cautious step forward, eyeing the damaged wall. It didn’t look too precarious, but without any way to shore up the concrete, he shouldn’t go inside. On the other hand, if Rachel was in there, he didn’t have a choice. He turned on his flashlight and took another step forward.

And then, amid the increasingly distant bleating of the goats, he caught a sharp yip. He stilled and listened again. Sirens in the distance, the rumbling of an aftershock racing across the terrain … and there it was. Greta’s bark.

He swung the beam of his flashlight in the direction of the barking. It caught a slight gleam from something metallic … he squinted through the darkness. Rachel’s rear bumper! Was Greta somewhere over there? Was she with Rachel? He ran across the yard to the Saab. The border collie was inside, scrabbling at the window. When he opened the back door, the dog launched herself at him, jumping up and clawing at his chest. “Hey, girl. Where’s Rachel? How’d you get stuck in the car?”

Greta whined loudly, then took off like a shot toward Rachel’s office.

As he started to go after her, an aftershock hit. He dropped to his hands and knees to ride it out. As soon as the shaking stopped, he raced across the yard, running faster than he ever had in his life. Greta was barking like crazy, but when he got close to her, his stomach dropped with a sickening plunge. The front of the guesthouse had sustained the worst damage. The roof had caved in, crushing the walls. Plaster dust floated in the air; he wished he had a face mask or even a bandanna. Greta was sniffing at a pile of splintered wood and plaster that looked as if a giant had stomped on his toys in a tantrum. How could anyone survive under all that?

But Rachel must be alive, because Greta was trembling and letting out sharp, excited barks, just like a real rescue dog. Fred knelt next to her and gripped a roof tile that perched atop the rubble like a jaunty beret. He gently rolled it down the slope of the debris pile, keeping control of its movement so it didn’t trigger an avalanche.

The removal of that block opened up an air hole through which sound would travel better. “Rachel,” he called. “Are you in there? It’s Fred. And Greta.”

He shushed Greta and waited for any sound from under the wreckage. It would help to know where she was. If he made a wrong move, the entire pile could collapse in an unwanted direction.

“Rachel,” he called again, urgently. “Sweetheart, it’s Fred. Wake up. I need your help. I can get you out of here, but I need your help. Come on, my sweet love. I need you. Please, Rachel. Say something. Anything.”

He aimed his flashlight directly into the gap between jagged pieces of plaster. Maybe the light would wake her up if his voice didn’t. Greta gave a few more eardrum-shattering barks right next to his cheek.

“Ow,” he told her. “No need to deafen me.”

But then the softest breath of sound caught his attention. “Shhh,” he told Greta, wishing he had her toy with him, the one that rewarded her for finding a victim. When her barking subsided, he bent his ear to the hole.

“Fred?” A hoarse voice floated from deep inside the pile.

“Rachel! Are you okay?”

A pause. “Uh … sort of? Been worse?” The upward, almost comical lilt at the end of each sentence made him want to cry from relief. But he kept a tight grip on his emotions. He had to keep his cool. She’d be following his guidance, and he needed her to keep calm.

“That’s what I like to hear. Listen, Rachel, don’t make any sudden movements, but can you move at all, or are you completely pinned?”

“I … I can move a little. My arms. I crawled under the desk.”

“You’re brilliant.” He remembered exactly where the desk was situated. Now to get the rest of her office off her back. He wondered if she was getting claustrophobic, but decided it was better not to ask. Best to keep her focused on each moment and what needed to be done.

“Fred,” she called urgently. “There’s a man, Officer Lee, and he’s the one who—”

“He’s dead,” Fred said bluntly. “Very very dead.”

“I—I didn’t shoot him, did I? I was going to, but I’m not a good shot, and I wasn’t even ready to shoot, but then the earthquake hit and I didn’t know what was happening and the gun went off and—”

“Shhh, sweetie, it wasn’t you. I saw his body and there was no bullet wound. No blood at all. His neck was broken by a flying chunk of stucco. And if that hadn’t killed him, he probably would have burned to death. Earthquakes are not the best time to commit arson. Things have a way of getting out of control.”

“What about the fire? The animals?”

“Fire’s out. And there’s a whole gang of goats heading for the highway.” He propped his flashlight on the pile so he could work faster, plucking more chunks of plaster from the pile.

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