Page 17 of Big Daddy Firemen

“You’re always welcome to hang out,” he said, “but you don’t need to work on your day off. Enjoy your weekend.” He shrugged. “You know we take it easy on Saturday and Sunday, unless needed. We’re really only on call, we just happen to live where we work.”

“I won’t work,” she said. “Just hang out and?—"

Before she could finish that statement, a bell rang. Jean poked her head out of the dispatch office and said, “That old building on the west end of town!”

The announcement and the bell weren’t necessary now. The smell of smoke was already drifting down Main Street and streaming into the open doors of the firehouse’s garage.

Daisy watched as the men sprang into action. Their swiftness and efficiency were a sight to behold. They were dressed, in the fire truck, and pulling out in just a little over a minute.

Leaving a very scared Daisy behind to pray and wonder if her guys would return safely.

CHAPTER TEN

“Son of a bitch!” Austin yelled.

The men were out of the truck and had the hose ready. Instead of just instantly spraying the flaming structure, they surveyed the scene first, looking for the best point of attack.

Miller’s General Store.

At least, it used to be. The place had been closed down for fifty years. No one had done anything with the property, though there’d been talks of renovating it and turning it into a restaurant or boutique to attract tourists.

That wouldn’t ever happen. Because now the old building was just a stark but rapidly crumbling silhouette against the blazing inferno. Flames leapt and danced, their fierce orange and red tongues licking at the sky, consuming the structure with relentless hunger.

The sound of the crackling fire and snapping wood filled the air, along with that tell-tale charred stench fires always brought. Austin breathed a heavy sigh, the sight of the destruction weighing on him. The town, and its history, meant something to him. He hated to watch a piece of it literally go up in smoke.

That thick, black smoke billowed upwards, blotting out the sun and casting an eerie shadow over the scene. The heat wasintense, radiating outward in waves that distorted the air and made it difficult to breathe. Up until approaching the fire, the morning had actually been quite cool and crisp.

Now, feet away from the inferno, it felt hotter than July.

“Let’s get this thing out,” Walker yelled.

Austin nodded, aimed the hose, and nodded again, indicating it was time. Water jetted from the end, dousing the spot he stared at and instantly calming the fire. Right there, at least. Elsewhere, it was still burning intensely.

Walker and Cane went around the building, trying to gauge the scene better and ensure no one was inside.

A front window shattered with explosive force, sending shards of glass cascading to the ground. Somewhere inside, wooden beams groaned and cracked, succumbing to the fire's unyielding assault. The walls began to buckle and collapse, each crash echoing the building's demise. It was a scene of raw, untamed destruction, and a tragic end to a piece of history. Everything that building had seen and held, the decades it had stood, were all reduced to smoldering ruins.

But it didn’t take long for the fire to be extinguished. And, thankfully, it didn’t get the chance to spread to the trees just ten yards behind it or to any of the other buildings down the street.

Some Big Cedar citizens had gathered on the scene.

“You need any help?” Sheriff Quinn Hardin asked.

“Nah. It’s all good. Just putting out a few lingering hot spots now,” Austin told him. He continued working the hose, shooting water anywhere he deemed might be a trouble spot.

“It was obvious the place was empty,” Walker chimed in as he walked back around to the building’s front. “But we still swept it to make sure. Thankfully, no one was hurt.” He looked at the wrecked ruins and shook his head. “But a piece of Big Cedar history is gone. That thing stood for over a hundred years! Wasn’t it built back in 1910 or something like that?”

“Yep,” Quinn confirmed. “Not far removed from this area’s Wild West Days.” He shook his head, as well. “Damn shame to see it go down.”

Cane craned his neck to look at deeper into the charred remains and then said, “Miller family still own this thing?”

“Yeah. Some distant grandkid,” Quinn said. “Lives in California or something and hasn’t even laid eyes on it. They won’t miss it. Like I said, damn shame it’s gone. And it’s a damn shame they weren’t willing to sell and let someone redevelop it. Could’ve been something nice.”

More townsfolk started pouring onto the scene, with Theo and his wife and Little, Grace, among the ones hurrying toward the building.

“Damn. The old Miller place,” Theo said, a look of disgust on his face.

Theo was a tall, strong Black man with close-cropped hair still cut in the style of the Marines he’d spent twenty years serving. He seemed to have muscles on top of muscles and was quite an opposing figure—especially to all those terrorists he’d hunted down back in his military days.

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