Chapter 13
Smoke still pushed from shed door when Daddy took hose from my hands. His fingers closed around brass nozzle where mine had been. Sweat still on his skin, shirt still torn at shoulder, soot still gray on his chest. He didn't ask. He just lifted.
I was outside on grass now. Water still ran. Hose still stretched from spigot past shed wall to his hands. Rabbit still clutched in left arm, pink dress damp, one pink sock soaked, one bare foot cold on wet ground.
Mommy pulled me back. Her arms came around my shoulders, rabbit pressed between us. She held tight. She didn't let me step closer to flames.
Daddy dropped to one knee at edge of concrete. He aimed nozzle low, at base of flames along shed wall where fire licked wood. Not at smoke, not at top. Base. Water hit, hissed, turned to steam. Steam thickened, white and hot, pushed smoke sideways. My idea had been right. Fire needs water. But his arms made it work.
He swept steady line. Left to right. Water cut orange, left black wet wood behind. Heat pushed back. Air smelled like wet ash and hot brass.
Mommy held phone to ear with other hand. Voice shook but words stayed clear.
"County dispatch, shed fire, 412 County Road 9," she said. "Wood shed fully involved, ten feet from house, trees close. Family outside safe, adult male freed, toddler with me. We have garden hose on it now."
Dispatch answered, faint on speaker. Mommy repeated address. Gave cross street, Miller's fence line. Said no injuries, smoke inhalation possible. Said we needed fire and sheriff.
She kept one arm locked around me. I pressed face into rabbit. Rabbit smelled like smoke and wet cotton.
Daddy kept spraying. Water hammer shook hose. His tattoo showed through torn shirt when he twisted. Rope gone, skin red where rope had been. He breathed hard. Cough caught him, he turned head away from steam, kept nozzle aimed.
Flames along far wall shrank, then flared where wind hit. Daddy chased base again. Water pooled, ran off concrete toward grass, kept ground wet between shed and house. Trees behind shed stayed untouched. House siding stayed dry except spray drift.
Siren came then. Low at first beyond highway, then louder down county road. Mommy turned my face away from shed, toward driveway. Red lights flashed through trees before truck appeared.
"Stay here," Daddy said to me. Short, breathless. "Don't move."
I didn't. Mommy's grip tightened. She counted breaths against my hair.
Fire truck rounded corner, then county sheriff behind it. Gravel popped under tires. Hose still ran, steam still rose, shed still burned but fire stayed inside walls now, not spreading. Water line held.
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Daddy didn't stop until truck door opened and boots hit ground. He lifted nozzle, let water fall, looked at me and Mommy. His eyes watered, not from smoke.
We were outside. We were together. Fire still burned, but line held until help arrived.
