Forbidden Fire (35 page)

“Marissa!” Arms closed around her. She opened her eyes. He had climbed through the tunnel to reach her. She wanted to smile. She wanted to touch his face and tell him that he was always noble, even if he couldn't begin to love her anymore.

But she couldn't do anything at all.

Outside, fires were beginning to burn with a red and regal splendor.

But in her world, there was nothing but blackness.

Chapter Eighteen

I
an dared take no time to ascertain Marissa's condition while they remained within the building.

The Tremaynes had built a fortress, but not even a fortress could stand in the path of the ferocious gas blaze surely eating its way to them.

There was no time for anything; he could only carry her through the tunnel space, locked to his body with one arm, while he used his feet and his free hand to drag them along. When he came to the end of the tunnel through the debris, Darrin was waiting to help him. He allowed Marissa to collapse into Darrin's arms, then slipped free himself, calling to Ralph and Teddy that they must hurry.

He jumped clear and swept Marissa into his arms, leaving the others to deal with Sandy and Father Donohue as he carried her fleetly from the building and into the daylight.

There was not much of it. The smoke was a blanket upon them now.

She inhaled and exhaled on a shaky note. Her eyelids flickered open, and she offered him a feeble smile. Then her eyes flickered shut once again. He set a finger upon her pulse and found it steady. He whispered her name and leaned closely over her, listening to the pattern of her breathing. It, too, was steady and deep. She was going to be all right.

“Mr. Tremayne!” Ralph was behind him, carrying the Father with the help of one of the lads. The other boys had already fled to safety, except for Darrin. And Darrin was never going to leave Marissa, Ian knew that.

“How's the lady, sir?” Ralph asked. Darrin had already come around beside him.

“She'll make it,” Ian said. He rose, carrying his burden. No, no burden, ever, he thought. Her weight was easy to hold.

They hadn't made it, though. Not yet, he thought. The street was filled with refugees, fleeing the threat of fire. Some were dressed, some were not. Some carried belongings. And some abandoned them along the way.

“Mr. Tremayne!”

He heard a shout and turned to see that a horse-drawn hospital wagon was coming to their side of the street. Driving it was one of Dennis Sullivan's fire lieutenants, Matthew Montague.

“Matthew!” he called in return. The wagon came to a halt at his side. “Sir, you're needed down the street. A man with building experience. They've got to rig up some kind of a system to lift a roof. There's twenty people trapped. Can you help them?”

“My wife—” he murmured, looking at Marissa. Her clothes were sooty and bloodied, her face was blackened with smudges of dirt. She was so still, and so beautiful, in her dishevelment. So vulnerable. They couldn't ask him to leave her.

“I can take your injured to the hospital, sir. Your wife will be well tended, I swear it.”

“I cannot leave her,” Ian said.

Darrin stepped up behind him. “I'll stay with her, sir. I'll never leave her. I'll tend her, I promise.”

Bobby touched his arm. “I'll come with you, sir.”

Ian wanted to scream out against the injustice. He had crawled through hell to reach Marissa, and now they wanted him to abandon her.

But she was going to be all right. He knew it. And there were twenty people caught beneath a roof, and he could help. He couldn't let them burn. The death toll would be high enough today.

“All right, Matthew.”

Darrin leaped into the wagon and Ian crawled up behind him. There were already injured aboard. People with hollow eyes and bloodied bandages. Ian glanced their way, then laid his wife down, her head cushioned gently upon Darrin's lap. With guilt he realized that Father Donohue and Sandy were in far more dangerous shape, and he helped to bring them to the wagon.

“Where is Chief Sullivan going to form his fire line?” he asked Matthew.

“I'm sorry, sir. I don't know much of the plan yet. I'm afraid the chief is in the hospital. He went to reach his wife and fell through the floor.” He was quiet for a minute. “I'm afraid they don't think he's going to make it, Mr. Tremayne.”

Ian felt ill. Dennis Sullivan had been the one man in the city truly aware of its strengths and weaknesses. A good man, who had fought for more.

“I've got to get going, Mr. Tremayne,” Matthew said nervously. He looked at the flames that were clearly visible behind them.

Ian stepped back. Darrin looked over the side. “Take care of them!” he called to Matthew.

The wagon rolled away. Terror struck his heart.

He might never see Marissa again. He was going to walk in the direction of the fire.

He had to see her again. They had survived thus far; they had to weather the fire.

She had never understood him. When he had tried to tell her she hadn't listened. He didn't give a damn if she was the daughter of the greatest sinner or the finest saint, a child of riches or a waif born in poverty. He had fallen in love with her, and neither time nor distance had changed a thing. He had been angry because she had lied, and kept on lying. She hadn't trusted him. Even when he had cradled her in his arms and spun out his dreams for their future, she hadn't trusted him.

She had never said that she loved him. Not until she had needed him. And then he had been angrier still because it had seemed that she needed to buy his help. He would have gone for her uncle whether she had loved him or despised him. She should have known that.

But that was the only time she had said she loved him. Until this morning.

And then she had run away from him.

Away from him …

And into the fire.

“I'm with you, sir,” Bobby said, clearing his throat and tapping Ian on the shoulder.

“No, you're not,” Ian told him. Bobby was a young man and there were surely enough willing hands by the downed roof. Only a fool walked toward a fire.

“See that bay there, Bobby? He's my horse, a darned good one. Take him and follow the wagon. Make sure that everyone is taken care of. Do what you can. I'll meet you at the hospital.”

“But, sir—” Bobby protested,

“Would you get the hell out of here so I can get where I'm needed?” Ian demanded impatiently. Then he turned and started walking into the stream of people. The going was hard. People, some half dressed, were surging down the street. They carried what they could, or dragged carts of household belongings. Some held nothing, and some looked dazed. Some wore bandages, and some chatted as if they were tourists out for a stroll. And some had eyes that seemed already dead.

Ahead of him, he saw the fallen roof, and half a dozen firemen and civilian volunteers trying to help. One of the men recognized him, and they all made way for Ian to survey the situation. He called for rope and pulleys, and explained that they were going to lever away a section with what equipment they had. Everyone set to work.

To Ian's amazement, he realized that the coming fire was casting light across the darkening street. Twilight was coming.

And the fire was coming closer and closer. And with it, a continual stream of humanity.

San Francisco was under military law, someone told them. Funston had taken over at about four in the afternoon.

Looters were being warned that if they were caught, the police and the military would shoot to kill.

There had been tremendous bravery.

And there had been events to shock humanity. Thieves chopping away fingers to steal rings from corpses. Scalpers demanding huge amounts of money for the use of their wagons. Grocers demanding fortunes for a loaf of bread.

And always, there was the fire.

By early evening, the roof was cleared away. They were able to pull three women, six children and seven men from the wreckage. Three men were dead; they had been crushed by the falling walls. And one woman had been suffocated by the plaster. They had probably died immediately, Ian thought. And he breathed a prayer of relief, for he had been hearing other tales, horrible tales. Stories about men and women trapped, and rescuers trying to help them but not being able to. Stories about people running from the blaze, hearing the screams of the trapped behind them.

There was one story about the man who had begged an army officer to shoot him before the blaze could reach him.

Ian stayed with the firemen and the volunteers as the dusk became darkness, and only the ferocious fire was left to light the city.

It was out of control. It didn't take a trained eye to see that. The fire was entirely out of control.

And so, it seemed, was the city.

He had been holding her. Holding her, looking down into her eyes. And his gaze had been blue-gray with anguish, filled with concern. He had held her, and she had known that things would be all right …

But even as she awoke, she sensed that he was no longer with her.

Everything around her was white. Incredibly white. She blinked and realized Darrin was sitting in a chair by her bedside. He saw that her eyes were open and leaped to his feet.

“Mrs. Tremayne! You're awake. The doc said you'd come to soon enough. Promised me that you'd be fine, he did. I couldn't believe him, I was so scared. Well, no, I wasn't really scared, you know—”

“It's all right, it's all right!” Marissa acknowledged with a weak smile. She tried to sit up. She felt a fierce pounding, but it quickly subsided. “Ouch!” she murmured.

“Oh, you are still hurt—”

“Darrin! I've a knot on the head and a bit of an ache, but I'm sure the doctor was right and I'll be just fine. I was never badly hurt.”

“Well, you had us frightened enough!” Darrin told her. “You were out cold.”

“But I'm awake now,” she said gently. “Darrin, what about Father Donohue and Sandy?”

“They set the Father's leg and gave him some brandy and sent him on. Sandy is not doing so well. She lost an awful lot of blood, they say. But they've sewn her up, and they're crossing their fingers. Now, you hold on, Mrs. Tremayne. I'm going for the doctor—”

“Wait!” she called. “Darrin, what—what happened to Mr. Tremayne?”

“Oh!” He came back to her bedside. “They needed him. He had to stay.”

“What?” she cried with alarm.

“Seems they needed somebody who knew something about the structure of a building to lift up a roof. Mr. Tremayne had to go back with them. I promised him, though, that I would stay with you.”

Marissa nodded, feeling dizzy. He'd gone on. He'd pulled her through, but then he'd gone on. And she must have dreamed that he held her in his arms with such anguish and tenderness.

Darrin returned in seconds, but not with a doctor. One of the nurses, a black-garbed nun, accompanied him into the room.

“Ah, Mrs. Tremayne, I'm so glad that you're back with us. Dr. Spencer says you'll be fine, just as long as you take it easy. Except that I'm afraid you won't be able to take it quite so easy. We're evacuating the hospital.”

“What?” Marissa gasped.

The nun grimaced. “I'm afraid the fire is coming our way, and doing so quickly.”

“The fire has come this far?”

“Indeed, I'm afraid so. We're under martial law, and officers have just come to warn us that we must be out.”

“Has anything been heard of my husband, Sister?” Marissa was already crawling out of the bed.

“Mrs. Tremayne,” the Sister said with a frown. “Where are you going?”

“I've got to find my husband—”

“Mrs. Tremayne, there is no way to find your husband. He is working with the rescue crews, and he is a very smart man, I've heard. He'll find you when he's able. Don't you see!” she added with some frustration. “There's no way for you to find him! Mrs. Tremayne! There's looting going on out there. And police and army traveling the streets. Looters have been shot dead in the streets. Children have been beaten. Thievery and abuse goes on. You cannot find your husband, and he can take care of himself. He will find us, I promise you.”

“But we're moving—” Marissa began.

“To the park, Mrs. Tremayne. He'll find us. Now, get back in bed until we've got the evacuation arranged.”

Marissa shook her head. “No, Sister. I can't find Ian, but I'm not sick. And others are. I can help, and so can Darrin. Give us something to do.”

“Mrs. Tremayne—”

“Sister, we can carry things!”

The Sister sighed, then smiled. “Fine! I can use some volunteers! Those who can walk will. We've wagons outside for those who cannot. Come, I'll assign you to patients to watch!”

Ian thought it had been the longest day of his life. He stayed with his crew, connected with what was going on in the city through messages from the policemen, the firemen and occasionally one of the army officers.

The main thrust against the fire had been the use of dynamite.

But the firemen had never really been trained to use dynamite. Though the rumor was subdued, it was out there that they were causing more damage than good. Improperly laid, the explosions were sending sparks on to untouched dwellings.

But they needed a good fire wall. A solid stretch of space with nothing to feed the flames.

Mayor Schmitz was calling meetings and forming a committee of civilians to help make decisions. People were saying that Freddie Funston had had no right to place the city under martial law.

But terrible stories were running rampant. Stories of men shot for looting, and left in the streets with placards attached to their bodies. “Punishment for looting! Thieves take care!”

There were stories about cowardice and wretchedness. Stories about the average man, and stories about the rich and famous.