Sacrifice. Brigid Kemmerer
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Название: Sacrifice
Автор: Brigid Kemmerer
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Учебная литература
Серия: Elemental
isbn: 9780758294401
isbn:
Hannah rolled her eyes, then realized it made her look like a petulant sixteen-year-old. She pulled her helmet firmly down on her head and studied the window really hard.
She still couldn’t decide if she liked him. His name wasn’t really Irish, of course, any more than hers was Blondie. He’d joined the station a month ago, showing up three days later than expected because of some paperwork mix-up. His real name—Ronan O’Connor—had been on his locker, and she and the rest of the company had expected a red-haired, freckled kid with an Irish accent, fresh out of fire school.
They hadn’t expected a twenty-six-year-old seasoned firefighter.
They also hadn’t expected a black guy. Not unheard of, but it made him the only one in the firehouse. Jerry Crondall, one of the older guys who killed off his brain cells with cigarettes and liquor, had taken one look at Ronan O’Connor and said, “Hey, kid, are you what they call Black Irish?”
The new guy had sighed and started unloading his gear. “No, man, I’m just Irish.”
And that had stuck.
He was still looking at her. Hannah glanced over. “What’s your problem?”
Her words were harsher than he deserved, especially since his brown eyes weren’t mocking, just assessing. But she’d learned pretty quick that she needed to take the offensive or risk becoming the station doormat. It didn’t matter that she could run lines or carry O2 tanks or break down a door like the rest of them. Without a penis, she had half the guys in this company thinking she was inferior. Being a sweet little thang would just reinforce it.
She already had to deal with the nickname Blondie.
“Seriously,” Irish said, his voice low. “You look tired.”
Like he knew her at all. “We’re all tired.”
He leaned sideways to call over her shoulder. “Chief. I think Blondie—”
Hannah kicked him right in the shin. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed.
If he said she couldn’t handle another call, she would pull the Halligan bar off the side of the truck and introduce it to his skull.
Irish smiled and held her eyes. “I think Blondie and I should be on search and rescue.”
Chief didn’t even look over his shoulder. “You got it.”
Hannah didn’t say anything. Search and rescue could be easy—if people had gotten the hell out of their houses—or it could be horrible. Like if she had to drag some obese guy down a flight of stairs.
She didn’t know whether to hug Irish for confirming she had another call in her, or to smack him for being such a cocky shit in the first place. He was telling the chief what their assignment should be? What next, running the department?
Just when she was about to zing him with a comeback, she realized they’d turned onto Magothy Beach Road. She could see flames through the trees up ahead, toward the water.
Five houses. Single family. Sounds like the whole cul-de-sac.
Her heart stuttered to a stop.
Then it kicked into action again.
She caught sight of the street sign. Chautauga Court.
“Shit,” she whispered.
Michael.
CHAPTER 3
Michael stopped at the tree line and stared. Chris and Hunter were breathing hard beside him.
Five houses sat around the court. All blazed with fire—except the Merrick house, where no flames were visible, but smoke seemed to seep through the roof. At the others, smoke poured through roofs and flames shot high against the sky. Discordant smoke detectors screeched from each. The sirens coming up from Magothy Beach Road were louder.
Compared to the others, the Merrick house sat like an afterthought in the midst of this inferno. No motion, complete darkness.
Michael couldn’t remember if he’d turned on a light.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. Smoke burned his already abused lungs, but he couldn’t cough. The heat was blistering, even from this distance.
His brain was frozen on his thought from fifteen minutes ago, when he’d been standing right here with Hunter.
His brothers were safer inside the house, asleep and oblivious.
But the Merrick house wasn’t actively burning. Good? Or very bad?
Michael swept his eyes along the tree line behind the houses, looking for any sign of his brothers.
“Gabriel!” he yelled, sending power into the ground, seeking . . . anything. “Nick!”
Nothing.
He tried again, louder, spinning in a circle, as if his brothers would come sprinting out of the woods with a crazy story about what had happened.
Nothing.
Michael only spotted two people: the Hensons. They stood in the backyard next door, silhouetted by the flames. The woman clutched at her husband—whether in panic or from injury, Michael couldn’t tell. They were an older couple with a yellow lab and too many grandkids to keep track of. Mrs. Henson had dropped off dinners almost every night for a month after Michael’s parents had died. Michael mowed their lawn every week through the summer and plowed their driveway in the winter.
Flames poured through their upstairs windows. Their siding was buckling from the heat. Mrs. Henson was clutching at her husband in the backyard and screaming for Charlie.
Their dog. Trapped.
“Our house is smoking,” said Hunter. His voice was shaking. “I can’t sense anyone inside.”
Michael looked at him. That statement could mean two things.
“Where are they?” said Chris. At some point he’d grabbed Michael’s arm. His breath was shaking, his eyes a little too wide. The earlier indignant fury was gone from his expression, and now he just looked young. And frightened.
In a flash, Michael remembered Chris five years ago, flames reflected in his eyes exactly like this. Then, Michael had dragged his youngest brother out of a burning house much like this one. Chris had been choking, gasping for air.
Then, he’d been punching Michael, crying, yelling, his voice breaking. “Go get them! Get them!”
Their parents.
Red and white lights strobed between the houses, underscored by the sound of hydraulic brakes and sirens cutting out. The sound should have been reassuring, but it wasn’t.
Michael didn’t want to believe Calla was behind this—but five houses. Five points on a pentagram—a symbol typically used to call the Guides. She wanted a war. This СКАЧАТЬ