First things first. Harris lowers the girl to the floor—gently, even if she won't care.
"Stay there!" he calls out to the unconscious girl, as he dashes to bar the best conduit for the flames, the door. Gallows humor is like a helping of oxygen, giving him super-Harris strength. He puts his shoulder to the heaviest piece of stand-alone furniture in the suite, a commode. "Huurh!"
The commode digs in, his back protests.
"Fuuu..." He pushes harder. The commode lumbers an inch, screeches against the floor, picks up speed, slides into its new place. "Fuuu..." He pushes harder. The commode lumbers an inch, screeches against the floor, picks up speed, slides into its new place.
"Fuuu..." He pushes harder. The commode lumbers an inch, screeches against the floor, picks up speed, slides into its new place. "Full make-over!"
He grabs the nightstand. "French doors, Miss!" And tosses the bulky missile with all his might through the window.
Glass explodes over the balcony. He throws himself down, over the girl to protect her from stray shards. Because she's in her skin, and Murphy's law— Because he has to protect her.
For a second, they wait out the deadly hail on the floor, face to face. Only his mask separates him from her waxy features. The bright-red lipstick emphasizes bloodless skin around her lips. Crap.
He takes a long drag of air, wrestles his oxygen mask off and slaps it on her. His lungs immediately burn.
"Mayday!" Jung's voice breaks through on the radio. "Mayday! Ladder to the third floor tower window! Sarkisian and one vic are trapped!"
Groaning, Harris climbs back to his feet and hugs the girl to his chest. Every movement is a win against oxygen-deprivation. Jung's voice broadcasting that Sarkisian is trapped, isn't helping his struggle.
Focus... on living. What does he have to live for?
My dad. The house. Dad. The state will shove Sarkisian Senior into some facility without him, so he has to survive. Has to keep dad safe.
The last obstacle is a wedge of glass hanging onto the window frame. He smashes it with his elbow and steps outside.
"Help's on the way," he promises the girl between gasping for air. Will there ever be enough air for his wheezing lungs? "No worries."
Yep, no worries. None. A hotel door and an art déco commode stand between them and the inferno. Its tongues billow one window over, blasting his face with heat every time the wind gusts.
"Everything is under... under..." The shakes start in his hands, threatening to crawl up his arms, into his shoulders, and take over his whole body. If his muscles give up, he'll drop the girl. Everything... under control. I'm in control.
The girl mumbles something through the oxygen mask.
"What's that?" He bends his ear to her.
"Mom," the girl moans in one piteous note, like a dial-tone. "Mom..."
Maybe the girl still believes that moms can fix things? Then her mom must differ greatly from his. He coughs smoke out of his throat and spits it out. "Don't worry, I'll get you to your mom safely. Just need to wait a little longer, 'kay?"
"Angel comes... with fire... fire... fire."
"Fire, yes. But we'll be fine, because it's Thursday." This is the dumbest shit of a conversation, but at least his mind is no longer stuck in the first gear. The shakes recede. "Cool people like us don't die on Thursdays."
YOU ARE READING
Ablaze
Mystery / Thriller||Love Triangle between a Firefighter, an Arsonist and an Heiress ♡|| Deeply wounded by his mother's betrayal, Harris, a Milwaukee firefighter, doesn't accept human failings, including his own. That's until he saves a redhead from a burning hotel...
