I could barely breathe as I scrambled away, glancing at my own little car so close to the fiery building. Knowing my cell phone was inside, I looked at it longingly, but there would be no retrieving it so I could call 911. My car and the others in the yard would likely explode, too, and within seconds. I had to get as far away as possible before that happened.
Ignoring the blood gushing from my knees and the palms of my hands, I got up and ran. I ran for my life as more explosions sounded behind me. When I was about a quarter of a mile away, I turned, panting, to look at the fire ball that was once my Uncle Leonard’s shop. Two of the three cars in front were on fire. For a moment I watched until my Mini Cooper exploded, shocking me back to reality. I turned and ran the last distance to the farmhouse, finding the hidden key and quickly letting myself inside. My puppy cried from her kennel and though I longed to get her out, I had to call the fire department. Thankfully, my uncle was old school, and we still had a landline. I picked it up, but my fingers trembled as I dialed 911.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” A woman’s voice asked almost immediately.
I was out of breath, but I somehow got the words out. “The Auto Shop is on fire,” I gasped. “I need help. There’s someone inside!” Tears started down my face as the gravity of the situation settled. Carter was dead and it was all my fault.
“Which auto shop, ma’am?”
“It’s called The Auto Shop! That’s the name of the business. It’s out on Old Calloway Road!” I cried.
“Who’s inside?”
“Carter Stanton. He is a mechanic who worked there.”
“Are you a safe distance away?”
“Yes, about a half-mile,” I answered breathlessly, my voice cracking. “Oh, my God! Hurry!” I knew it was already too late to save him or the building. It had been too late before I’d even gotten outside.
“What’s the address?”
I told her the address and she affirmed the fire department and EMTs were on their way. “There are no hydrants, correct?”
“No, but we have a lake on the property if they can siphon the water.” The suggestion was no doubt ridiculous, but it was all I could think of to help.
“Who am I speaking with?”
“Marin Landry. I own the shop.”
“Isn’t that Leonard Landry’s place?”
“Yes. He was my uncle.”
The sirens and flashing lights were already showing up on the horizon. “Okay. They’re on the way.” I glanced out the kitchen window above the sink of the ranch house. Two fire trucks, an EMT ambulance vehicle, and two sheriff’s cars all with sirens screaming and a bevy of flashing lights were coming over the foothills toward me at a breakneck pace.
Honk! Honk! One of the firetrucks blew their horn as they reached the last intersection before the property line. Honk! Honk!
“They’re already here,” I said into the phone, thankful the ranch was so close to the city limits.
“Okay, ma’am. Please be available in case the sheriff or firemen have questions, but make sure to stay a safe distance away.”
“I will. Thank you.” I was sobbing as I hung up the phone, shoving my bloody feet into an old pair of Vans without laces that I used when working around the ranch. I grabbed one of my uncle’s old work shirts off a hook by the door and flung it on as I pushed through the door and started running back toward the commotion. It was painful, but I tried to ignore it.
I could see firemen scrambling to get the hoses out and hooked up to the tankers, and two others in heavy gear rushed into the building as the orange and red flames raged up the sides of the building and set the roof ablaze.
Another group of men were hosing down the two remaining vehicles on the edge of the yard down with some sort of foam I could only assume was some sort of anti-inflammatory agent. I could hear them yelling as I got closer, the one in charge using a megaphone to bark orders to the others.
For the first time, I felt the cold night air and breeze in my hair. I felt a throbbing ache in my knees and elbows, and the burning in my hands and feet where the gravel had ground in and ripped my flesh. I wrapped my arms around myself and slowed to a fast walk as I ran out of breath, keeping my pace quick despite the pain, after seeing the two men rush into the flames, risking their own lives in an attempt to rescue a man who was surely dead.
As I approached two of the EMTs ran up to me with a gurney. “Let us help you,” one middle-aged man said, his eyes kind, and no doubt taking in my tear-stained face and assessing the extent of my injuries. “Can you lay down for us?”
I shook my head. “No, please get those men out of there! It’s too late to save Carter,” I begged. “I saw him die. Get them out! Please!” I begged, almost screaming. “Get them out!” My hand flew to my mouth as I started to sob again.
“I’m so sorry,” he said softly. The man who spoke to me nodded, indicating that the other should go tell the fire chief what I’d just said. I sank
