Burning Truth, page 10
O’Connell assessed the situation, calling Austin and Dicky over.
“It’s a strange moving fire,” he said, “both ends of the factory building are engulfed, the middle structure remains so far untouched. Which makes me think this fire was set deliberately, and that our arsonist lit each end on purpose, either to make our job that much harder or to destroy the place that much faster. I don’t care if the building collapses, I just want to make sure no one’s inside like last time, or that it spreads. Damn negligent owners should have reduced it to rubble after the last fire. Also, I put in a call to Chief Silva over at Honor Hills and he and his crew are already barreling their way here. Each team will take a section of the building, and hopefully get the fire under control before it consumes the whole building and spreads to the dry countryside. Fortunately the winds are relatively mild tonight, so at least we’ve got that in our favor. Okay, men, get to work, and above all, be safe. No sense reliving the past.”
“Right, Chief,” Austin said, and sprang into action, a slow-to-foot Dickey trailing him.
Austin felt weighed down by his gear and could only imagine how much worse it was for a man of Dicky’s age and girth. He reminded himself to handle the bulk of the heavy lifting. As he grabbed hold of the hose and positioned himself, Dicky behind him, he signaled for the water to be unleashed. The rush of water thickened the hose and water shot out of it in an unrelenting spray. Austin held on with all his strength during the initial rush, pointing the nozzle directly at the fire as it licked at the ground, threatening to light its entrails like a live wire.
Overhead he could see the hook and ladder rising into the night sky, edging closer, Nick positioned in the metal basket, ready to fight the flames the roared through the crumbling roof. He shot forth his own spray and while sheets rained down on Austin, he forged ahead, aiming the hose, dousing at flames the danced before him. He felt a sudden rush when he saw an explosive burst of orange flash before him. Whatever chemicals the Lucky Scent factory had used in their products, they were combustible and that meant they were dangerous. One wrong combination of heat and the whole place could become a powder keg.
All around Austin firefighters swarmed the building but none had yet dared to venture inside. He saw the arrival of the engines from Honor Hills, their dedicated team rushing into battle like the cavalry come to save the day. Both chiefs conferred on strategy, pointing, speaking into their radios and sending men to their tasks, all while smoke and heat filled the air, warming the cool April night.
As he did during the fire at what turned out to be his father’s childhood home, Austin’s ears perked up, listening for any signs…sounds, of life. Not that he expected there would be, since the factory had been shut for over a year, the fire last year rendering it inhospitable. White Pine was not known for its derelicts on the street, homelessness wasn’t an issue, so there was no need to think strays would be residing inside. But he’d thought that about the old house in the woods, too, and it turned out not only had someone been inside, he’d been camping out at it for over a week. As his father had said, “Working up the courage to face you both.”
Austin was glad to save his life, no matter who he was.
But that was as far as their relationship went, he was certainly no father to him, not then, and not now.
“Austin, focus…Christ…” Dicky cried out.
He blinked back to the moment and saw that the hose had weakened in his grip, water failing to reach its target. Dicky was trying to keep it directed at the flames before it but he lost his hold, too, and the hose fell to the ground, dancing like a man set aflame, out of control, dousing them, spraying them. Flames spread fast, eating up the ground between the factory and where they stood. Austin dove onto the hose like an alligator wrestler, grabbing the nozzle and trying to get it settled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two men come to their aid, one of them dropping in right behind Austin to bring the situation to normal, the other attending to Dicky.
Flames grew closer, and all of a sudden fire surrounded them.
Austin thought the arsonist must have left a trail of accelerant, perhaps setting a trap.
He felt the heat all around him, saw the other two men trapped inside with him, Dicky still on the ground and vulnerable to the encroaching flames. Smoke billowed inside the fire wall to the point that visibility was low.
“Shit, shit…”
“Get the hose, Austin, spin around and try to weaken the flames.”
He recognized Trent’s voice, and it was almost as though the spirit of Paddy Rodgers was alive. His son, who had nearly died at this site last year and who had carried guilt with him since then, was suddenly, determinedly, focused on not repeating history. No one else was going to die on his watch, not his father, not his friends, not his fellow brothers. Together the two men aimed the hose and shot around the perimeter of the wall of fire, a fine mist spraying back on them, keeping the fire at bay. But the fire continued to dance high, the wall nearly ten feet, the heat and smoke intense. A cry filled the night and Austin turned to see flames licking at Dicky’s feet. The other man, who Austin determined was Angel, was trying to grab hold of Dicky under the arms and drag him out from the wall.
“Austin, Trent…right there…” he said through his radio, pointing toward a spot near the ground where the accelerant must have burned out, leaving a blackened scar on the ground. The water hit it like a dam unleashed, and Angel followed the spray, grunting as he hefted Dicky’s body toward the slight opening. The man was slack, dead weight, and Austin wondered if he’d had some sort of medical emergency. Why else had he too lost hold of the hose? Guilt washed over him, not unlike how Trent must have felt last year. Why had his mind drifted, why had he let his father’s reappearance in his life affect his job, endanger a colleague?
“Austin, it’s okay, I’ve got the hose, follow them,” Trent said.
“No, I’m good.”
“That’s an order,” Trent demanded, his voice heard not just through the radio.
“You’re not my boss…you’re only a volunteer.”
A crackle came over the radio, the chief’s gruff voice angry and authoritative. “Austin, do as he says, get the hell out. The place is going to blow, there’s accelerant littered all around the place.”
Austin heard the words, let them sink in before instinct won out. He threw himself into the air, diving out from the wall of fire, feeling an intense rush of heat attempt to sizzle his skin. His gear protected him, and at last he landed on the opposite side of the fire in a puddle of water that cooled him, shocked him into realizing just how close he’d come to frying. Dicky, too. Then he realized that Trent was still trapped. Firefighters had dashed over, and with quick action they sprayed at the fire and watched as it steadily died down. Finally, the fire cleared enough and Trent emerged, his gear singed and blackened, but he was alive. Thank God he was alive. It would have been too cruel a twist had he perished at the same place his father had, nearly to the date.
Austin then noticed that the fire trucks had begun backing up, and everyone in close proximity was distancing themselves from the burning, crumbling factory. He grabbed for Trent and the two of them went running as far back as they could, even as Angel assisted a noticeably worn Dicky to an ambulance flashing its red lights. Austin stole a wistful, regretful look back at Dicky as he was lifted into the back of the ambulance, aided by the EMS. Shit, the first casualty of the night, and it was his fault.
He didn’t have much time to think about it, and wouldn’t for some time, because at that precise moment the abandoned, decrepit factory exploded into a fiery cloud of dust and debris, all of it disintegrating amidst the abundant, reenergized smoke and flames. The fierce blast was so strong, so hot, the rush of air nearly knocked him to the ground. Staring back at what a few hours ago had just had a ruined shell where once a company thrived and kept half of White Pine employed, it ceased to exist behind the scorched, burning rubble. The fire still burned, of course, it would until the old place was just a memory.
For the brave men of White Pine and Honor Hills, it was going to be a long night.
§ § §
When Austin returned to the fire house, his body weary, his face blackened with soot, morning was already stretching toward lunch time. The bright sun was climbing into the clear blue sky and at last a calm, warm wind was blowing down off the mountains, creating in the air the most beautiful spring day they had since the turn of the season. Other than an acrid smell of smoke that persisted if you went downwind, there was no hint that a devastating fire had happened last night. Only the quiet that had settled over the guys as they hung up their gear and went to their bunks indicated they’d been at work for over eight hours.
“Austin, why don’t you head home, you’ve had a tough one.”
“We all did, chief,” Austin said, setting his battered helmet on the shelf.
Chief O’Connell approached him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “That’s an order, lad.”
Was that the chief’s way of undermining him? Last week he’d been a hero, today he was a lad. “Look, Chief, if this is about Dicky...”
“Austin, not now. We’ve all had a night of it and need our rest.”
He nodded, realization dawning on him that he’d make no progress today. He accepted his leave without further protest, grabbed his coat and just flung it over his shoulder, his achy, thick bicep bulging from underneath the T-shirt he wore. Scuffling his feet on the ground, he at last made it to his car and pulled out, catching a glimpse of the fire house in the rearview mirror. He knew it wouldn’t be his last sight of the place that fed his soul, fulfilled his dreams. The chief hadn’t relieved him permanently of his duties. But yet driving away in the wake of his failure last night, he felt an old insecurity surfacing, one he thought he’d buried last year during his triumph as both a full-time member of the White Pine Fire Department, as well as being the hero for them all during the Fire Ball celebration.
He arrived home to find his mother making breakfast, his father sitting at the table.
It should have been the perfect domestic scene, except for the fact Allan Walker had no business sitting there as though he expected to be waited on hand and foot. And as much as Austin hated to admit it, Alberta Walker hadn’t looked this happy in years. Love was a strange thing, he surmised, even when you knew someone was bad for you to keep taking them back, and the elapsed time from when they first left to returning didn’t seem to matter.
“Alberta, I’m starving. Don’t overcook my eggs.”
Austin wanted to smack the guy a few times, but he was too tired.
“Austin, dear, sit down and have some breakfast.”
He mumbled his “no thanks” and started toward the stairs to the second floor.
“Hey, boy,” said Allan.
Austin halted in mid-step, turned around at not only the harsh tone his father used, but the word. Like he was hearing “lad” all over again, this time coming from a man he had no respect for. He decided it was best to ignore him, he was tired and just wanted to take a quick shower and lie down.
“Austin, I’m talking to you,” Allan said, now at the base of the stairs.
“All I hear is what I heard for twenty years. Nothing,” he said.
“Austin!” his mother said, chastising him. “Come back down here.”
Twenty-plus years of living with his mother, he knew he couldn’t defy her orders, even if he wished to. So he padded back down the carpeted steps, brushing past his father with obvious disdain. He returned to the kitchen and settled at the kitchen table. Alberta served him a plate of eggs and crispy bacon, doing the same for her husband before she joined them. All she had in front of her was a cup of coffee.
“Mom, eat your breakfast,” Austin said, pushing his plate toward her. “You only made enough for two.”
“Nonsense, nothing would please me more than to watch my two men eat.”
“Do as your mother says,” Allan added.
Austin dug in, barely looking up from his plate as he wolfed down the scrambled eggs.
“So, I heard the fire whistle last night,” Alberta said. “Looks like it was a long night.”
“The longest,” Austin said, “which is why I just need to catch some sleep.”
“Fine, finish your bacon and you can be excused.”
Like he was five years old and negotiating how few of his vegetables he would eat. Back then it had been the three of them, only to fade to two soon thereafter.
“Where was the fire?” Allan asked.
“Old factory, burned to the ground.”
“The Lucky Scent?” his mother asked. “Why that eyesore should have been torn down last year, brings bad luck. Allan, dear, you missed it but that place went up in smoke and flames, with poor Chief Paddy going down with it. What happened last night, Austin?”
“No one’s quite sure,” he said evasively. He didn’t feel like talking about it.
“Good riddance if you ask me,” Allan said.
Austin’s head perked up, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Why do you say that?”
“Those bums fired me,” he said.
“Oh, Allan, that’s ancient history. You didn’t like factory work anyway.”
“Didn’t mean I could quit, I had a wife and son to support.”
“Had being the key word there,” Austin snuck in.
Just then Allan scraped his chair across the linoleum floor, standing upright. “You listen to me, boy, and you listen good. I know I’ve made mistakes and I’ve got some making up to do with you and your mother, but she’s willing to give me a second chance and so I don’t know why you can’t. Not everyone’s life is perfect, hell knows mine wasn’t, and I suppose back then I was either too selfish or maybe scared, you know, having the responsibility of a family. I panicked, and so I left. Doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you all those years.”
“Thinking doesn’t put food on the table,” Austin said.
“Austin, listen to your father, he’s trying to apologize.”
“It won’t matter. He’s just trying to alleviate his own guilt. I could care less.”
Allan raised a hand, Austin deflecting it. “Don’t even try it, old man.”
Alberta let out a squeal of protest as the two men stared each other down. Allan was the first to let down his fist. No way Austin was giving in, knowing the coward would back down.
Taking his pyrrhic victory with him, Austin left the kitchen, storming up the staircase. Soon he was in his room, and as inviting as his bed was he knew a quick shower would make all the difference in how he felt. Wash the soot of last night off him, wash too the foul scent of the man downstairs and what he’d nearly done.
He grabbed a fresh towel and wrapped it around his trim waist before making his way across the hallway to the bathroom. Once inside he adjusted the faucets until the right temperature was spraying from the nozzle. Naked, he stepped in and felt the warm rush of water cascade down his body, and so he stood in the stall, his arms pushing against the tile wall, just soaking it all in, the heat, the power, the cleansing of his demons. But did they ever really go away, did the drain truly claim them, or was it as superficial as the rest of his life. Austin Walker was not someone who understood subtlety, nuance, he liked things way out in the open, as clear to read as a newspaper headline, as real as a fight.
A quick knock on the door broke Austin from his search for dreams.
“Ma, I’m busy…”
“Austin, it’s me…Tucker.”
“Come on in, make it fast,” he said.
The door opened and a bit of steam rushed out into the hall. He peeked out from behind the shower curtain and saw his handsome lover, a look of concern on his face.
“What are you doing here?” Austin asked.
“My Dad told me what happened, the fire…you… Dicky.”
“Yeah, fucking great night,” he said, sarcasm dripping off him as much as the water was.
And you want to talk about it?”
“Not right now, not while I’m enjoying the peace and quiet in here.”
“My Dad realizes he was harsh with you.”
“Makes two of them today,” he said. “Tucker, no offense, but the last topic I want to talk about is fathers and their sons.”
“Sorry. You want me to leave?”
“No, I want you to take your clothes off and join me. I have this urge to drop the soap.”
It didn’t take long for Tucker to shed his clothes, and it didn’t take long for him to step into the shower and have the water moisten his skin, drench his chest until it looked like a matted rug, nor did it take long to kiss Austin and hug him and make him feel better. It didn’t take long for either man to be sporting an erection, and it didn’t take long for Austin to take Tucker’s into his mouth. What did take a while was the remainder of the shower.
“Oh, Tucker, fuck me like you did the other night.”
Austin felt the man’s long cock pierce his ass, pushing him up against the tile until he felt the brush of Tucker’s drenched, hairy chest on his back. Hot water flowed over their hard bodies, rising steam filling the room until it swirled around them in a moist cloud, and when Tucker thrust hard at him, again, again as many as times Austin asked, Austin tried to keep his cries confined to the shower stall. His breath came in heavy bursts and he begged Tucker to go deep, to slide his entire cock inside him, to never stop, because to stop meant a return to reality, and the reality that was downstairs was not anything he ever wanted to deal with.
Chapter Nine
Joey
Joey Silva pushed the dumbbell up over his head as high as his straining arms could, his body screaming beneath the weight. Sweat poured down his face, but that only served to urge him on further, to challenge him both mentally and physically, just the way he liked it. It was one of the reasons he enjoyed life on the edge as a firefighter. The sheer physicality of the job kept him in amazing shape, kept his mind sharp, and kept his body primed for other activities he never denied himself. Like two nights ago at the Highway 50 Motel with that photographer. They’d just been getting to the real action when the fire whistle blew, thus preventing him—and Ellis—from blowing. Being unable to finish what he’d started was high among Joey Silva’s pet peeves.
