Spark by Brigid Kemmerer Page B

sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Go home, Hunter.”
    “Did you hear them? The firemen have been ordered out.
    There’s still someone inside, but there was something called a flashover. Do you know what that means?”
    A flashover meant the fire had gotten too hot, and with nowhere else for that heat to go, the interior of the house was being consumed. The heat would be enough to kill anyone before the fire even got to them. No wonder they weren’t hitting the house with hose trucks nothing to do now but let it burn to the ground.
    Someone inside.
    Gabriel bit the inside of his cheek. “Yeah. It’s bad.”
    From the front yard, that woman screamed again. His heart kicked.
    “What if they’re still alive?” said Hunter. His breathing sounded quick.
    “What if they are?” Gabriel snapped. “You think thirty firemen are just going to let me walk in the front door? Do you have any idea how hot it must be inside that house?”
    “Look.” Hunter pointed at an ambulance parked on the grass along the side of the house.
    Gabriel looked. A fireman was on a stretcher, not moving.
    Someone held one of those breathing bags over his face. Other people were doing . . . something. Fast and rapid and almost panicked. He had no idea.
    Hunter grabbed his arm and shook him. “No, there. His gear is lying in the grass.” He started untying one of the twine brace-lets at his wrist. “Take this. Tie it against your skin ”
    “Dude, I don’t know what you think I’m going to ”
    Hunter jerked his head up. “Don’t you want to help?”
    Gabriel stared back at him. He gritted his teeth and didn’t say anything.
    He hadn’t been able to help his parents.
    That thought tightened his throat, and it took him three tries to speak. “They might be dead already.”
    Hunter shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’d feel it.”
    “What? How do you ”
    “Because he’s dead.” Hunter pointed at the fireman on the stretcher. His voice was strong, but his breath shook. “And I feel that.”
    Gabriel stared back at him. His breath was shaking, too.
    “All right. Give me the stupid rock.”
    Getting the gear wasn’t hard. Gabriel slipped through the darkness and grabbed the coat and helmet, pulling into the shadows under the back porch to slide his arms into the sleeves.
    He’d left the oxygen tanks it was going to be hard enough to move in this coat. It had to weigh twenty-five pounds. The helmet felt damp with sweat. Gabriel tried not to think about the fact that the last guy to wear this stuff had just died.
    Hunter’s rock was tied to his wrist.
    If you get hurt or need help, I’ll know.
    Cheerful.
    The basement was a walkout, onto a concrete patio. The sliding glass door had been smashed out, but most of the firefighters had retreated to the trucks at the front of the house. He should be able to walk in without anyone noticing, especially with those smoke detectors still screeching a warning to anyone smart enough to listen.
    Not him.
    Gabriel wasn’t ready for the darkness. He knew the sounds of a fire; he spoke its language. The pop of contained liquids exploding, the roar of flames, the crackle of a fire making progress. But the basement was a well of pure blackness, a claustrophobic blanket of smoke and nighttime. Stairs would probably be along the wall, right? He strode forward.
    Only to run into a pole. The metal beam came out of nowhere to crack him in the forehead. It almost pushed the helmet clean off his head.
    Now he could see stars.
    He wished he had a flashlight. In the house thirty seconds, and he’d practically given himself a concussion.
    He moved more slowly now, hands outstretched, waving in front of him, ready for obstacles.
    His feet found the next one. He didn’t even know what he fell over, it just cracked into his shins and sent him sprawling. He rolled and whacked his head on something.
    The smoke detectors kept screeching, pounding into his head.
    The blackness in the basement was