Fortunately the slight breeze was coming from the right direction, wafting the sparks away from the house toward the clearing on the far side of the barn. He could at least try to delay the fire’s spread until the trucks arrived. That is assuming someone had spotted the smoke and called in the alarm. If nobody arrived momentarily, he’d have to break into the house and call himself. Meanwhile, there should be some kind of garden hose.
Hand over his mouth and nose, he ran along the side of the house until he found the hose attached to a tap in the stone foundation. He cranked the faucet to the max, grabbed the hose by the nozzle and began to spray the section of house closest to the barn. The intense radiant heat of the fire could easily scorch and perhaps even ignite the house as well. The paint was already beginning to blister and the spray from the garden hose wasn’t going to be terribly effective. But until help arrived, it was all he could do.
Will was deciding which window to smash when he heard something behind him. He craned his neck, hoping to see an engine and tanker coming up the driveway. Instead, a bright yellow school bus idled beside the house and a stocky, barrel-chested man was running toward him.
“What the—?” He stopped, gasping for breath and staring at the barn, panic in his face. Then he snarled at Will, “Who the hell are you?”
It wasn’t quite the reception Will had been expecting. He didn’t think the man was looking for an introduction either. “If you live here,” he replied, raising his voice against the fire, “call the fire department. Now!”
But the man had already unlocked the side door and was disappearing inside before Will completed his sentence. The smoke was thickening. Will’s eyes stung and sweat dripped from his forehead. He doused his head and face with the hose, though the relief lasted no more than a few seconds. The man suddenly reappeared at his side and lunged for the hose.
Will let go, but when the man swung around to aim the hose at the fire, he grabbed his arm. “Forget the barn. Save your house!”
He stared at Will, his eyes wild. For a tense moment Will was afraid it would erupt into a fight, but the man suddenly directed the spray back to the house.
“Where’s the nearest fire hall?” Will hoped the guy wasn’t going to say Essex.
“Not far. It’s a volunteer brigade. They’re on the way.” He looked behind him at the barn. “Got an antique harvester in there.”
“Nothing else? Animals?”
The man shook his head. Will could see pain and frustration in his eyes. It was a look he’d seen many times after fires had wiped people out. Homes, possessions—not to mention lives.
“Let me do this,” Will said, moving his head closer to be heard. “You better move the bus out of the way before the trucks get here. Then start taking anything out of the house that you want to save.”
“You think it’ll spread to the house?” The man’s voice cracked.
“Just in case.” Focusing on the house would distract him from the barn and the antique harvester.
Hesitating for no more than a second, the man tossed the hose to him and vanished into the smoke. Will turned to check on the barn and saw that the roof was ablaze. No possibility of saving it now. He just hoped the guy had a good insurance policy. He also hoped the meager spray from the hose would be enough to keep the house from scorching before the trucks arrived.
A familiar sound rose above the roar of the fire—the muted wail of sirens. Will felt the tension ease out of him. An engine rolled up the driveway, followed by a tanker truck. Will squinted. Figures in heavy bunker gear and yellow helmets were jumping from the trucks and quickly unraveling hoses. One man stood apart, wearing a red helmet and shouting instructions. Noticing Will, he strode toward him.
“Who’re you? Where’s Warren?”
“If he’s the guy who lives here, he’s inside the house. I happened to be driving by and saw the smoke.”
The man stared at the hose in Will’s hand. “Leave that. I’ll get a couple of my men over here. There’s a shed behind the barn that needs cooling down, too.” He glanced behind him. “Too late for the barn.” He started to head for the tanker truck. “Stick around. I want to talk to you later.”
Will turned off the tap and stood aside as two men dragging a hose ran toward him. Responsibility was now on someone else’s shoulders, which suited him just fine.
He watched while two others began assembling the metal frame of a portatank to hold the water from the tanker truck. Once the tanker dumped its water it would go back for a refill at the nearest water source. Will estimated there’d be seven minutes for the truck to race back before the portatank emptied. Hopefully, a reservoir or water tank serviced the farms in the valley and it was close enough.
The owner of the house was now outside, talking to the captain. The two looked quickly at Will, then away. Discussing who he was, he figured, and how he’d so coincidentally happened on the scene. He’d expected questions. It was no secret that arsonists often hung around to witness their work. But there were more pressing matters at the moment. The captain began to help another firefighter lug a hose around the side of the barn. Probably saving the shed.
The farm owner walked over to Will. His face was flushed and he was breathing heavily. He held out his right hand. “Name’s Warren Lewis,” he said. “Wanna thank you for helping out.”
In spite of his words, Will saw wariness in the man’s eyes. Not quite sure what to make of me? Still, he clasped the outstretched hand. “Will Jennings.”
“Scotty—that’s the captain, Scott Andrews—said you did the right thing by cooling the house.” He lapsed into silence, watching the firefighters hosing down the house and the shed. The barn blazed unchecked. “If they had more men and another tanker truck, they could’ve saved the barn,” he muttered.
“For what it’s worth, the barn was already at peak when I got here.”
“Yeah?”
Warren’s curiosity prompted Will to add, “I…uh…used to be a firefighter.”
“So why aren’t you helping them?” He turned his head at a sudden shout from the firefighter at the portatank.
Will swore under his breath. He’d blown it. The portatank was probably full and the tanker would be leaving for a refill. They’d be a man short.
Lewis turned back to Will as the tanker began to reverse out of the driveway. “Where’s he going?”
“For more water. Is there a lake or something nearby?”
“There’s a reservoir about two miles down the road.”
Will nodded. They stared at each other for what seemed a long time before Will relented. “Guess I’ll see if they can use my help.” He jogged toward the man monitoring the portatank. Without protective gear, there was no way the captain would let him do anything nearer to the fire anyway.
The guy at the tank frowned when Will shouted that he’d watch the water pressure and do the refill when the tanker returned. Will could hardly blame him, knowing that firefighters seldom wanted civilian help. “It’s okay,” he said, raising his voice, “I know what I’m doing. I used to work for the Newark Fire Department.”
The other man shouted back, “The truck’ll be back soon and the tank’ll need refilling right away. We got about three minutes of water left here.”
A tight time frame. Likely one of many drawbacks to rural firefighting. Still, it seemed that the guy had no sooner dashed to help the hose men working on the house than Will heard the tanker returning.
As