Fatal Burn (West Coast 2)

Sweating, carrying the fire extinguisher he’d found in the kennel, he jogged across the paddock and closer to the fire, spraying retardant on the ground near the burning shed while looking for Shannon, searching the shifting shadows, feeling the blistering heat from the blaze.

Where was she?

With the horses?

Still in the stable?

He didn’t see her anywhere outside but he noticed the small horses racing back and forth in a far corner of the field. They were anxious, their eyes wide, their heads high as they sniffed the air and whinnied in fright.

Shannon wasn’t with them. Or nearby.

Again he swept his gaze around the nearby buildings.

Had she gone back to the house?

No, he decided, still blowing retardant near the base of the burning building. After releasing the horses, she would have run to the kennel to make certain he’d taken care of the dogs. She’d been adamant about saving the animals.

Sirens screamed in the distance and another horse, a panicked, yellowish animal with black stockings, mane and tail, careened out of the stable. The mare barreled past him at breakneck speed, dark legs flashing as she beelined for the rest of the herd now huddled and restless at the far end of the paddock.

Was Shannon still inside?

“Shannon!” he yelled, one eye on the door, the other on the plume of retardant he was shooting toward the shed. Slowly, he eased toward the stable.

He thought she might have gone out the other door at the front of the building, the one where she’d entered, the smaller door that faced the parking lot, but as the flames roared higher and far he heard in the distance the wail of a siren, and he had a bad feeling.

A real bad feeling.

He didn’t know how many horses were on the premises. The small herd that was snorting and pawing might be all the horses, nonetheless, he moved toward the open door, feeling the heat char his lungs, tasting the smoke in his mouth.

All the while he scanned the landscape, the buildings, the connecting paddocks, porches and walkways.

The sirens screamed closer, the noise nearly deafening.

His canister was suddenly empty, the few last gasps of retardant sputtering out.

“Shannon!” he yelled again, spying a hose coiled on the outside of the stable, only a few feet from a watering trough and spigot. Still watching the door, he jogged to the building, tossed the empty fire extinguisher onto the ground, then unwound the hose. Losing no time, he attached the hose to the spigot, twisted the tap on full bore and turned toward the stable, intending to spray down the roof. “Shannon!”

Where the hell could she be? Still inside? With an injured horse?

“Hell!”

He had to find out. Dropping the hose, he let it wriggle and writhe on the ground like a dying snake.

He was two steps from the doorway when he heard her scream.

A sharp, piercing cry of sheer agony.

Fear jolted through him.

“Shannon!” He ran into the yawning open doorway and into the darkness.

She was less than ten feet from the door.

A crumpled heap in a pool of blood.

“Jesus, no!”

He was at her side in a second.