Chapter 1

Chapter One

Addison

"Not until every one of the kids is out!" I shout. I'm not shouting to be a jerk. It's just that the roar of the flames is too loud for anyone to hear me. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind I realize I'm being a stubborn jerk. I can't help myself. If I don't survive, I don't survive. I'll be damned, though, if I survive and even one of the kids is left in the building.

There's a brief flash of irritation on the firefighter's face. It's not easy to see through the smoke and the breathing mask he wears. It's there, though. He dismisses it, however, and ducks past me to get to the kids. He grabs one and two other firefighters grab one each. I get back down on my knees and herd the rest of the kids back toward the outside wall. It's concrete. It might get hot but it's not going to catch fire.

Oh no! All of their crafts are burned up!

Wow. Did that thought really run through my mind. Everyone here could die. Until those three firemen come back with empty arms, I can't even be sure of the kids they take. I'm looking at a burning shelf where little paper maché sculptures are burning and I'm treating that like a big regret?

How the hell did this fire even start?

I stand up as I see the firemen returning. I quickly usher three more of the kids. "You need to get yourself out," one of the firemen says, "just like how on a plane you put your oxygen mask on first and then?—"

"You're going to let me come back in and help after you get me out?" I shout. Then I kneel with the rest of the kids. There are seven of them left but soon only sex as the fireman takes one of them. I think it's right then, with half of the kids out or on their way out, that I really dare to let myself hope. It's just possible we're all going to get out of this alive.

Holy heck! I'm twenty-two and a half years old. How in the world am I thinking about whether or not we're going to survive? How in the world am I not totally freaking out? Actually, I guess I really am totally freaking out. I just keep it all inside because my first duty is to these kids. They showed up to their after-school program like they do every single week and every one of them is going to damned well make it home. That's why all the freaking out happens inside of me.

I said all of that with a lot more confidence than I feel. I'm not some kind of wonder woman. I'm not a superhero at all. Maybe I'm having one of those superhuman moments, though. You always read about them or hear about them. A woman lifts up a boulder to save her son or a man rams a car with his body to protect his daughter. That sort of thing. Maybe something like that is happening for me right now. Maybe I'm getting some superhuman bonus.

Whatever I look like on the outside, I'm not that on the inside.

I don't want to die.

I feel selfish for that because there are still six kids who need to be rescued before me. I should be focused on them. I should be but I am so afraid right now! I feel like it takes every bit of energy and strength that I have in order to keep the kids from knowing just how frightened I am.

And then one of the firemen is back. He says, "Firefighter Cameron is on his way. He'll get the kids we already took and then come to help you here. If he can't get them out, he'll bring them back here." It's maybe the most nauseating feeling imaginable for me to believe they were absolutely safe but that now they're back in danger. I put on the best face I can. Then, the firemen say, "If that happens, they'll be safer here. The fire took the front. We're going to get some protective gear, okay?"

No. It is most definitely not okay, for fuck's sake! That's what I think but not what I say. What I say is, "Just here in the hallway?"

The fireman says, "Is there a room near… Hang on…" He goes past me and I follow him, gesturing to the kids as we go. He says, "There's a brick wall here, so at least one wall isn't going to burn. That's good. That means this is probably the only place still somewhat safe where the roof will be less likely to collapse for a while. You get the kids as calm as you can in here." He looks at me and suddenly takes off his helmet and his mask.

I know this is going to seem stupid but the fact that he does that gives me more reassurance than anything else might. It's like he's putting the two of us in the same boat. He's identifying with me. He looks like a father, if that makes any sense. I can't see with the heavy fire equipment but he looks like the kind of guy who would have a dad bod. He's nice-looking in a father kind of way. Hell, I can't explain it. His face gives me comfort, though. He uses his radio to say, "Cameron, you there?"

"Go ahead, Lloyd."

"These are special circumstances. Can you get in here, Nathanial?"

"On my way. You guys coming out?"

"Yeah."

"Roger. I'll suit up."

He looks at me, and I can honestly say I've never known anyone to look more sincere in expression when he says, "I can promise you Nathanial Cameron can get you and the kids to safety."

So maybe when this Nathanial Cameron guy shows up later, my instant head-over-heels love and lust reaction can be understood. The man makes him out to be some sort of rescue god, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself, though, so I'll just say that I promise I'll get to the part of going gaga over the fireman in a little bit.

For now, let's get back to being terrified and now being even more terrified because I'm worried about the roof collapsing, too. Let me tell you that somewhat safe and less likely to collapse aren't very reassuring phrases! I dutifully help get all the kids into the back, though. Once this man, this Roger Lloyd, leaves; I have no real way to handle anything. I just feel sick to my stomach and very afraid.

But this isn't about me right now. I tell the kids, "You guys are going to be the biggest stars in school tomorrow! Make sure you tell everyone that it was a lot, lot scarier than it really is. Nobody is allowed to talk about how the firefighters told me we're all going to be fine, okay? That way you really look like heroes tomorrow."

I know the kids are terrified. On the other hand, they desperately want to cling to hope. They want to just believe me without trying to figure out whether or not I'm being honest or just trying to make them feel better. It's devastating, actually, how ready and willing they are to trust me.

I need that man, this Nathanial Cameron, to show up and make everything better.