Page 66 of We Can Forever

I stare out the window, my good mood dissipating as a fog of worry comes rolling in.

Chapter Twenty-Three

MICHAEL

Stepping into the high school’s main hallway, I take in the two paths. One, leading to the gym and cafeteria, is clear. From the other direction, smoke billows along the lockers.

My team fans out, everyone following their assigned routes to anyone who might be trapped or otherwise in need of assistance. Since it’s Sunday and the school was locked when the fire started, there’s a good chance no one is in here, but you can never be sure.

I take a step toward the smoke—and then freeze.

It’s like weights have been clamped around my ankles. I’m sinking into the floor, unable to move, unwanted images flashing across my mind’s eye.

My dad. In a fire similar to this one—on the mainland, on a Sunday. Looking for occupants.

It’s when he had his heart attack and collapsed.

My windpipe tightens, but my SCBA is working just fine, pumping air into my mask. It’s me that isn’t all right.

I haven’t been in a fire this big since Seattle, and I thought I could handle it. It’s not the fire itself that’s challenging me, though. It’s what it reminds me of.

My dad.

The man who slipped away in the blink of an eye, before we had a chance to make up.

What if I don’t make it out of here alive? Katie will be orphaned. And Hannah…

I shake some sense into myself. I need to keep it together. There could be people in this building relying on my finding them and getting them out safely.

I make my way down the hallway, Red and the rest of my team at my side. “It’s all classrooms down this way?” I ask over our comms line.

“Yep,” Red, whose kid goes here, confirms.

I nod and push forward, kicking open doors to make sure each room is empty. We round a bend, getting closer to the source of the smoke, when I notice something odd. Flames. At the end of the hallway.

But they’re purple.

Shit.

“Where’s the chem lab?” I ask Red.

His eyes widen as he gets what I’m suggesting. “At the end of the hallway.”

I switch to the main line. “It’s a chemical fire! Halt any water use. Get the foams ready.”

Why did I not think of this? Of course every high school has a chemistry lab. And with my training in Seattle, I should know better. I was part of a team that handled calls all the time for an industrial park that produced bath and body products.

I haven’t had my head screwed on straight; that’s my problem. I’ve been distracted by my own problems since the call came in, too busy feeling sad about my dad.

And now we could all pay for it.

“We need to back out,” I bark into the line. “Get chemical protective clothing and move back in.”

We hustle out of the building, sweat pouring down my temples, and get into the chemical-resistant suits. Meanwhile, the fire rages behind us, and a crowd of curious onlookers appears. The police drive them away across the lawn, preparing for a possible explosion.

“You okay?” Red eyes my shaking hands as I pull on my gloves.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

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