Sleeping Beauty Suspect

This section of town was undergoing a revival. Many of the old houses had been or were in the process of being restored to their former glory.

The house on the corner wasn’t one of them.

A badly twisted metal fence encased an overgrown yard that had become a dumping ground for all sorts of debris. The once stately mansion was now a dilapidated eyesore with peeling, grayed paint, sagging porches and boarded-over doors and windows.

Swearing under his breath, Flynn reached for his tank. Ben and Hal were on the ground starting the line to a nearby hydrant. A plume of thick smoke trickled up from behind a plywood-covered window. This was the lieutenant’s shift and he hurried forward to open the front gate only to discover it was rusted shut. By the time Flynn and Carey reached him, the gate was no longer an issue.

But the yard was.

They had to battle their way through the dense underbrush. Flynn eyed the plywood-covered doors and windows. Historic or not, someone should have torn this disaster down a long time ago. Large, shapeless bushes and a forest of unpruned trees were surrounded by weeds, broken bottles, rusting cans and other trash. Rose bushes gone wild lurked beneath a tangle of vines, tugging at the firemen’s heavy pants as they fought their way to the sagging front porch.

Flynn listened as the lieutenant barked orders in his ear over the radio. Only the right-hand side of the building appeared to be involved at the moment. Lew moved past them with a crowbar to rip the plywood from the front door. Inside, flames flared in glee at the influx of fresh air. Their color was enough to confirm suspicions that this was another arson.

Straight ahead lay the staircase but they turned toward the fire first. Remnants of discarded furniture had been left scattered behind some time ago. A battered sofa provided plenty of starter fuel. Flames and smoke sprang from it to creep up the flowered wallpaper at its back. No sign of anyone. Flames gobbled a scattering of old newspapers on the floor.

They covered the downstairs quickly. All the rooms were empty.

Smoke rushed upward and so did they. Flynn prayed the wooden stairs weren’t rotted and would hold their weight.

“It’s really moving,” Carey muttered under his breath.

“Yeah.”

They reached the landing and turned to the room directly over the flames. There was little time left to scan for victims. The fire was spreading with wicked speed.

Flames broke through the floor in the room over the fire, sending them back to the hall. The heat became oppressive as they crossed to the room opposite, Carey going right, Flynn left.

“Clear,” Carey’s voice repeated in his ear.

“Clear,” Flynn agreed.

Flames began licking up that wall as well. They were nearly out of time. Dense smoke swirled to fill the space, growing blacker by the second. The snapping crackle of the blaze was audible even over the sound of their breathing apparatus.

On the floor in what had obviously been another bedroom, an old mattress piled with rags jutted out from the wall. Perfect. More fuel for the hungry flames. About to turn back, Flynn stumbled over something and went to his knees.

“Flynn!”

“I’m okay.”

He started to rise and stopped. A small, bare human foot protruded from the pile of rags. He stared in shock and a jolt of adrenaline sent him stumbling forward. He touched the appendage to be sure it was real.

“I’ve got a victim!”

The rags proved to be a long dress of some floaty material worn by a slender slip of a woman with long hair. Flynn called out the location as he bent to lift her. She didn’t stir, not even when he picked her up. He wondered if she was already dead.

Carey tapped his arm. “We gotta go!”

Flynn nodded. Smoke curled around them insidiously, blacking out the room. Carey led the way toward the door and was quickly enveloped. Flynn could no longer see his partner, but he kept moving in the same direction. Even before he bumped into Carey’s broad back, he realized they were too late.

The radio crackled in his ear. “Flynn, Carey, pull out! Pull out! We have flames going up the stairs,” Lew yelled.

There was nothing to see but dense smoke.

“We’re on the second floor, back of the building left side,” Carey responded. “We have an unconscious victim. We’re going to need an escape route through a window.”

“We’re on it.”

But, of course, he and Carey wouldn’t be able to see the window even if it hadn’t been boarded over.

Pushing aside his fight-or-flight reaction, Flynn tried to relax and breathe evenly, wishing he could wipe at the sweat running down his face. Frenchy and Lew would get them out. This being a corner room, there were likely windows at their back and left side.

Carey bumped his arm. “I’ve got the outside wall. We’ll use it as a guide to the windows. Stay on me.”

Brushing the back of Carey’s suit with his free hand, Flynn followed his partner step by cautious step as the flames gobbled the structure around them with incredible speed. How much accelerant had the bastard used?

Without warning, Carey stumbled hard and went down. Flynn barely managed to avoid sprawling on top of him. He staggered to the side nearly dropping the woman as he tried to keep his footing.

“Carey!”

“Floorboard gave. My foot’s stuck.”

“Mayday,” Flynn called. “Carey’s trapped. Corner bedroom near the back.”

He reached down with his free hand. “Can you pull yourself out hanging on to me?”

“Yes.” And he groaned when he tried to pull free. “No! I’m wedged tight. Go! Get the victim out!” His friend sucked in a sharp breath. “I think I broke something.”

Flynn swore. A sliver of flame broke through the wall across from them.

“Lew? We’re in trouble here!”

“Stand by. We’re on our way in.”

Carey tugged at his wedged foot. A wider tongue of flame licked up the wall at their back. They swore as one.

“Go!”

He hated that Carey was right. Flynn had to get the woman out. If she weren’t already dead, she soon would be. He headed toward the reassuring sound of axes on wood. The room lightened for a brief second as a plywood cover was ripped free outside.

Glass shattered. Smoke billowed toward it in a rush to be free. Flynn lumbered toward the opening, half afraid the floor under him would give at any minute. Frenchy filled the window. Flynn handed the woman to him and turned back.

“Carey!”

“We’ll get him,” Lew’s voice said in his ear. “You go!”

But Flynn was already trying to retrace his steps. He couldn’t see a thing and nearly stepped on Carey.

“I’m free,” Carey told him, panting hard. He accepted Flynn’s help to his feet and swore in obvious pain. A tongue of fire whipped up through the hole where his boot had been.