Nothing Left to Burn (21 page)

The crowd—now up to about thirty spectators—surged backward. I scanned faces. Everybody looked scared, sickened, and worried, except one kid. He was sending a text message.

Glass broke, and I whipped around. The truck crew already had the roof cut and, firefighter Ken Tully had just shoved a Halligan tool through a window on the top floor. The smoke turned dark and rushed to fill the hole. Flames lashed out—orange, red, green, yellow. Jesus, the heat. I felt it from here. The crew spread out—two guys already had the hose stretched, ready for Chief Duffy’s order to attack. Another pair positioned a ground ladder. I tapped the record button on my phone’s camera and shot some more footage. Maybe I could update the station website, since I couldn’t do anything else that was useful. I panned around the fire line, recorded the chaos on one side and precise choreography on the other. The fire shot out another arm from a rear window, and my heart rate kicked into high gear. The heat, God! It was vicious. I stepped back, trying to move the crowd with me, but the smell, holy God, it was worse than the heat.

I watched and recorded, and something scratched at the back of my brain.

This
wasn’t right.

I studied the burning house. The flames were wrong. The smoke patterns were wrong. The smells, everything was off. Nothing matched what I’d read.

I spun around and scanned the crowd again. Bear had the traffic direction under control, along with a neighbor who’d decided to help. A police car blocked the street across from Bear. Up and down the block, the crowd of now fifty stood and watched, their expressions horrified.

All except one.

The boy sending the text message.

He didn’t watch the fire. He didn’t watch the crew trying to fight it. He just kept scanning up and down the street.

The textbook said to look for the people who stand out, and hell, did he stand out. He was the only thing at this scene that matched the textbook. He wore clothes at least two sizes too big for him. He looked familiar, but I didn’t know him personally. I pegged him at about twelve, maybe thirteen years old. I doubted the cell phone even belonged to him, because he pressed every letter one at a time with one finger instead of using his thumbs.

I watched him a moment longer. And then, one of our guys emerged from the black smoke. In his arms, he cradled a small bundle. My heart squeezed and stopped—just stopped.

The firefighter removed his helmet and mask. Chuck Avers gently laid his bundle on the grass where Engine 21 was parked. It was a cat. A cat and two kittens, one black and white, the other with gray stripes.

All three were unconscious.

“Reece, I need a hand.” He waved me over. I ran to my car to fetch a bottle of water while Chuck opened a panel on Engine 21 and took out the pet resuscitators. I stripped down, tugged off my T-shirt, soaked it in water, and wrapped it around the kittens. Their fur was a little black from soot, but I didn’t see any burns. I felt for pulses along their hind legs and found a beat that was slow but steady. A good sign.

“Got a pulse in both.”

“No pulse here. Mom’s gone.” Chuck covered the cat’s body with a towel, then handed me a tank, and we squeezed oxygen into the unconscious kittens wrapped in my wet shirt. Across the street, the crowd expressed its collective sympathy.

“He moved, Chuck. This one’s coming around.”

Chuck glanced at the black-and-white kitten twitching under my hand and gave it a few aggressive rubs that quickly had the tiny animal wriggling in protest. “Good, good, he’s getting pink again. Nice job, Reece.”

I grinned but quickly grew serious when the striped kitten didn’t move.

“This one’s gone,” he said.

“No. No, Chuck. I felt a pulse. Give him a few more minutes.”

Chuck swiped a hand over bloodshot blue eyes and sighed. “Reece, I got a fire to put out. Can you take over?”

I nodded, took the bag valve, and squeezed it rhythmically. The tuxedo kitten started licking its sibling, letting out a few tiny
mews
. It didn’t take long, another minute, and the tabby twitched. A minute after that, he was blinking yellow eyes at his brother in a “What the hell happened to us?” exchange that had me grinning from ear to ear.

I tried to keep the mask over both tiny faces. Tux kept fighting the mask, but Tabs was still kind of out of it. I poured some water into the bottle cap and held it steady while the alert kitten lapped it up.

“Reece, you need help?”

I looked up to find Bear actually striding toward me, his shuffle gone. “I got this. Control the crowd, and keep an eye on that kid.” I pointed out the suspicious one. “He keeps texting and looking at everything except the fire.”

“Copy.” He strode toward the onlookers gawking from across the street just as Tabs swatted at the mask over his face.

“Hey, little guy. Welcome back.”

I unwrapped them from my wet shirt, let them totter around on their own feet for a few seconds, and stood up. A cheer went up from across the street. I scooped up both kittens. “Anybody have a box we can borrow?”

“Yeah, I do!” a woman wearing a jogging suit called out. She disappeared inside a house, then returned a few minutes later with a pet carrier and a soft blanket. I put Tux and Tabs inside.

It took the crews about an hour to knock the fire down, and the chief called the all-clear. A cheer went up from the crowd, and I grinned.

“Pretty cool,” Bear whispered, and I nodded. It was. Then he slapped my arm. “Look! That kid’s taking off.” He jerked his chin toward the suspicious boy.

“Come on. Let’s follow him—shit!” My mother’s car was blocked by Engine 21 and Truck 3. I started running. “Hey! Don’t move!” I hollered.

The boy froze and stared at Bear with huge frightened eyes, then at me. “I didn’t do nothin’!”

“Then why are you running?”

“I gotta get home.”

“In a minute.” I put out my hands. “I saw you as soon as we got out of the car. You have a phone. Did you call 911?”

The boy’s eyes bounced from me to Bear and back. He shook his head. “No, I, uh—”

“Who were you texting?”

“Nobody! I was just—”

“Just happened to be at the scene of a fire but didn’t call the fire department.”

“I was walking by and—”

“Did you see anybody leave that house?”

“No.” The boy’s eyes shifted, a sure sign he was lying.

“Bear, get the chief.”

“Copy that.” Bear took off at a jog.

“No, wait! I told you, I didn’t do nothing. I didn’t see anything either.”

“Cadet Logan,” Dad barked. “What the hell is going on here?”

I whipped around and found my dad standing there with his helmet in his hands. “Lieutenant, this kid’s acting suspicious. He was one of the first spectators on-scene. He has a phone but never called 911. I think he set this fire.”

Dad’s face went red—well, redder than it was from exertion. He put his hands on his hips, his eyes going to slits when he saw the tattoo over my heart. “And you just what, strode up to him and
accused
him?”

“No! I was trying—”

“Logan!”

Dad and I both spun at the sound of the chief’s bark.

“Lieutenant, supervise salvage.”

I could hear my dad’s teeth grind. “Copy.” He walked away, gear jingling.

The chief turned to me.“Cadet, what were my instructions to you when I found you on-scene?”

I swallowed hard. “Crowd control, Chief.”

“And why are you halfway down the block antagonizing a little boy?”

Antagonizing? Whoa, wait.
“I think he set the fire.”

Chief Duffy’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Based on your
minutes
of experience, you decided, by yourself, to confront someone who may be entirely innocent of any crime?”

“Yes. I mean, no! He was acting suspicious, and I didn’t want him to get away until I found out more—”

“Cadet, you don’t get to decide what you want without clearing it with your lieutenant and with me. I told you to stay put.” He punctuated that word with a sweeping gesture toward the crowd line. “You didn’t follow that order.” He turned and found Bear. “Acosta!”

Bear froze. “Sir.”

“Your orders were traffic control. I don’t see any traffic on this lawn.”

Bear’s face turned a sick shade of gray. “No. No, sir.”

“Why are you way down this end of the street?”

“Cats, Chief.”

“What?”

“Cats. Three of them. One didn’t make it. A neighbor has the two survivors. Logan resuscitated them.”

Chief Duffy took off his helmet, scrubbed a hand over his hair, and sighed. “You are dismissed. Leave the scene—”

“But Chief, what about salvage?” I asked.

He stepped closer to me. I was a little over six feet tall, and he still looked down on me. “I said you are dismissed. Go home. Expect a phone call from me later when I decide what to do about you two going freelance.”

Fuck.
I opened my mouth, but Bear’s hand came down heavy on my shoulder and squeezed.

Hard.

“Copy, Chief.” Bear nodded. He turned me around and practically towed me back to my mother’s car, still blocked by Engine 21 and Truck 3.

“Bear, I—”

“Get in.”

Jesus. I got behind the wheel, and he folded himself into the passenger seat and shut the door. He sat there, panting, for a moment. “
Deus.
” He let his head fall back on the seat and covered his face.

My stomach clenched and flipped. My fault. All my fault. I didn’t follow orders, and now Bear’s in trouble.

A tap on my window made me jerk. It was the woman who provided the cat carrier. I opened it, and she handed me a blue cloth.

“Thought you could use a shirt.” I took the cloth and unfolded it. It had a Superman S. She patted my hand. “You both did a good job here today. I hope you don’t get yelled at.” She smiled, and my eyes burned. Damn smoke was really irritating them. Chuck Avers tapped on my hood, indicated he’d move Engine 21 so we could leave.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said and started the car. I pulled away and drove down the street. Chief Duffy and my dad were having what looked like a tense conversation. Both glared at me as I rolled by. I rolled my shoulders, straightened my spine, and looked ahead.

Time to face the firing squad.

Chapter 20

Amanda

Late Sunday morning, after I’d done the chores Mrs. Beckett assigned me, I opened the front door to head out for my run, when Larry nearly bowled me over.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” I asked with a grin.

He skidded to a stop, sweat running down his face like tears, and stared at me, jaw dangling. Without a word, he bolted up the stairs to his room.

Weird.

I shook my head and started out. The weather was perfect. Excellent running weather, really.

But…

I couldn’t even fool myself with this fake happy routine. No sense trying. I stepped into the street and started a brisk walk. I’d read every word printed on the literature Mr. Serrano gave me. With each word, the rock in my belly grew a little bigger.

I lengthened my stride and poured on the speed, running full-out until my lungs wanted to explode. I jogged around a corner and jerked to a stop. Trucks from both LVFD and the next town were just pulling away from a foreclosed house, or what was left of it. I pulled out my phone and texted Gage to see if he knew what happened. He replied immediately.

2 alarms! And guess who was first on-scene? Reece and Bear.

Holy crap.

I texted back and asked him to meet me at the firehouse. I wanted to hear everything that happened at this fire and how the hell Reece and Bear managed to be anywhere near the scene. I jogged back home, showered and changed as fast as I could, and started for the stairs, but Larry was huddled on the top step, blocking my way.

“Oh. Hey, Larry.”

He opened his mouth but then shut it.

“You okay?”

He lifted one shoulder, let it fall.

“Come on. You can tell me. I won’t get mad, no matter what’s wrong.”

The muscles in his throat worked, but he still didn’t say anything.

With a sigh, I squished myself onto the step beside him. “Larry, you know I’d never narc on you, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He squeezed his eyes shut. It didn’t sound like he believed me. I tried not to take that personally. Larry’s been bouncing around the system for a long time and knew the rules better than I did. We were friends. More than that, we were solid—well, as solid as foster kids can let themselves get. It was hard to talk. And a lot of people think that was because we don’t trust them, but that’s not the problem. The problem is remembering
not
to trust. You kind of settle into the routine and get used to the people around you. If you’re lucky, you can fool yourself into believing they like you, maybe even love you. But stay in the system long enough, and you know every time there’s a knock on the door, it could be your social worker there to pull you out.

So you weigh the pros and cons.

You know if you say something, just
one
thing
out of line, the social workers and judges are gonna get involved, and before you can protest, you’re huddled in a tiny ball in the back of a county vehicle on your way to the next home, the next group center, wondering what loser they’ll assign you to next.

Because for every couple like the Becketts, there are fifty who do it only for the monthly checks.

That’s what happened to me at Mrs. Merodie’s place. I had my own room. Toys. Clothes. I was supposed to start school. And then, the knock on the door came, and I got buckled into the backseat of that county car and driven to someplace new.

Someplace
else
.

You never see those people again. You’re not allowed to call them or visit them.

So I tried to cut Larry a little slack. Whatever was on his mind, he wanted to tell me but was afraid one of us might be gone in the morning. I knew exactly how he felt.

“Hey, can you show me how to text?”

“Um, sure.” The Becketts had given us both cell phones, so they could contact us when they needed to. But they weren’t exactly state of the art. I took out my ancient flip phone, showed him how to double or triple-tap keys to get the rest of the letters, and clicked send.