I have a big head and little arms. I’m just not sure how well this plan was thought through.
That T-Rex?
That’s me right now.
I had the brilliant idea to buy everyone a few precious minutes and shelter them inside the ice palace.
Too bad that brilliant idea doesn’t hold up very well under the simple truth that ice melts.
So.
I’ve got a headache and arms full of unconscious girl, and the walls are wet and running and growing thinner as the flames work their way through. People cower back, screaming, whimpering, hopeless, trapped on all sides like fireflies inside a jar.
And I’m just not sure how well my plan was thought through.
Clark edges in closer, staring at the leaping flames through the translucent walls. “Peace…I think we gotta make a break for it.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I catch Leo’s eye across the room.
He’s got his wife and kid with him—ugh, I hadn’t even realized they were here, but he’s using his massive bulk like a wall, keeping people inside. I tilt my head his way, but he shakes his in return.
“If we run, everyone runs,” I tell Clark. “And people are going to get hurt in the chaos. We can’t have a stampede. There are kids here.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” he begs. “Burn to death? Shit, I don’t know…”
“There’s still time,” I whisper, and hold Andrea closer, trying not to sense the change in the air.
It’s getting warmer.
It was frigid before, but the fire’s licking deeper against the ice. It’s warming up fast inside the enclosed space, the air heating as the flames eat through the ice shell, closer to us.
One of the walls is thinner than the others, just a paper-fine shell of ice keeping the fire out, and people start backing up. They’re crowding each other, retreating as the flames leap higher, catching on something with a deafening roar.
Some kind of fuel tank, something, I don’t know what. But suddenly there’s a flash, and I hear the ice cracking, and everyone’s screaming, shoving, and I can’t move or I’ll hurt Andrea, but I don’t know what to do—
Until a loud hiss echoes over the clamor.
I clutch Andrea to me, squeezing one eye open.
I’m just staring as a huge spray of water comes arcing out of nowhere, splashing against the walls and splattering down, dripping down to smother the flames outside.
Not all of the red outside is fire. I see it now.
Some of it’s a fire truck.
Holy hell.
I tumble to my feet, barely keeping my grip on Andrea, staring at the two wavering figures outside. Blurry or not, there’s no mistaking them.
Holt Silverton.
And Blake!
The two of them stand strong, fighting to wrestle the massive high-powered fire hose hooked to the truck. They’re spraying the walls down and smothering the flames under jets of water that freeze as soon as they touch the palace.
Others cry out in relief, and Clark lets out an awkward laugh, realizing the same thing I do.
We’re going to be okay thanks to one jaw-droppingly beautiful hero man.
“Holy crap,” he says, sinking down next to me, leaning against Andrea. “I knew he’d come through.”
I’m the only one silent.
Crying.
Tears of hot, uncontrollable joy.
Yeah, I knew he’d come through, too.
While the face I want to kiss forever ducks through the half-melted archway, looping his arm over his head to beckon to everyone, I burst out sobbing with the gorgeous, wonderful feeling of relief in my heart.
“Everybody get moving!” Blake calls, that voice as wonderful, as soothing, and as strong as it was the night he picked me up on the side of the road. “Train’s moving this way, people, and we’re all goin’ home.”
* * *
It’s hours before the fire’s fully out.
Even longer before the chaos starts to fade.
Blake and Holt couldn’t put the flames out on their own.
Not with just one truck and its reserve tank.
But they cleared a critical path.
They cleared an opening that let people escape the ice palace and spill across the highway to take refuge in the fields on the other side by the school, many retrieving their cars from along the road, forming tight rings like pioneers used to circle their covered wagons for shelter, huddling for warmth.
By the time everyone was out and accounted for, the backup someone called in came wailing down the road—more fire trucks and ambulances with Missoula stamped on the side.
The whole time, I never let Andrea go.
And the whole time, I don’t take my eyes off Blake, who still hasn’t found us in the commotion.
Not even as Andrea and I are bundled into the back of an ambulance. They check me for burns, look her over, and give us the verdict.
Stable.
Oh God, she’s going to be fine.
“She’s got a little frostbite, no doubt,” the EMT says, checking Andrea’s pulse. “Hurts like hell, but it’s only surface level. No deep tissue damage. We just need to keep her warm and hydrated, and she’ll heal up just fine.”