Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“Malik!” Was that Avery? No chance to look because I was falling, fighting a losing battle to keep hold of the lead, slipping and sliding until the horse was dragging me, and I had no choice but to let go.
Too late. I’d let go too late because the last thing I registered was a hoof heading straight for my face.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Avery
This crowd did not want to be controlled. Even after Keely handed me a megaphone, I had a hard time making people listen to me. The main street of the ghost town had devolved into utter chaos. Some partygoers had raced to their cars. Others were trying to follow Keely’s haphazard instructions for a bucket brigade. A large number of people milled about, rubbernecking or panicking, with plenty of clutching to each other, screaming, and generally ignoring our instructions.
The fire spread from the mercantile to the next building, heading right for wardrobe, and beyond that, the livery set and holding pen for the animals. I was desperate to check on Malik and Cole, but keeping the crowd from danger took every spare scrap of my attention.
“Do we have a head count?” I called to Keely.
“Everyone seems to think the mercantile is clear, but I’m still waiting for some crew to check in. Haven’t seen Liam and Andre.”
“I’m going to go check wardrobe.”
“Be safe,” she yelled after me. “Filming is done. Don’t try to save the costumes. Just get anyone out of there.”
“I’m on it.” I raced over to the wardrobe building, where I found some volunteers carting out armloads of dresses. No Liam or Andre. “Get clear of the building. Fire’s heading this way.”
I pushed through the people near the back of the building, calling out for Liam. I found him in the back of the space, near the worst of the smoke, clutching his sewing machine and standing over Andre, who was slumped in one of the folding chairs.
“Smoke’s getting to him. Bad lungs from the air force.” Liam’s face was pale, all traces of his usual jolliness gone. They both seemed frozen, rooted to the spot.
“We’ve got to get out of here. Can you walk?” I offered Andre a hand up, but he immediately collapsed back into the chair. “Fuck. You take one side. I’ll get the other,” I directed Liam. “Leave the machine.”
“I’ve had it since high school.”
“Fine.” This wasn’t the time to argue. I grabbed the handle with my prosthesis. The weight of the case made my arm pinch like hell, but I had to ignore it in favor of getting my left arm around Andre, working with Liam to get him on his feet. The three of us stumbled toward the exit, smoke thickening by the second. My eyes stung and my lungs burned and both my shoulders damn near wanted to unhinge, but still, I pushed forward. “Come on. Walk with me.”
I channeled Malik and Duncan and every officer I’d ever had, charging ahead, dragging Andre and Liam with me. Finally, we were clear of the building, lurching toward fresh air, but even outside, smoke hung thick. Andre was a sickly shade of gray.
“Medic,” I yelled. “Is there a medic?”
“I’m a nurse.” An extra in a prairie dress rushed toward us. “I heard EMTs are on the way.”
The nurse helped me get Andre a safe distance from the building as sirens sounded in the distance. I set the sewing machine on the ground near Liam.
“I’m going to go flag down an ambulance crew,” I told the nurse as she checked Andre’s pulse and summoned a bottle of water from an onlooker.
Emergency vehicles streamed past the diner and motel to flank the mercantile. Some of the first responders on the scene used bullhorns to try to clear the area of onlookers, while a couple of trucks’ worth of personnel in fire gear started attacking the worst of the blaze. No ambulance yet.
“That horse is gonna escape!” someone shouted near the livery, and I put my quest for medical attention for Andre on hold, running past the clump of people gathered near the holding pen. I made it to the rails of the pen exactly as a massive horse flung Cole to the side, and then Malik—my Malik—tripped.
“Malik!” I screamed as the horse dragged him through the mud like he was a plastic figurine. Except that was Malik. He was flesh and blood and so damn smart and mine, and he was lying there like an action figure tossed aside, lifeless and unmoving.
And the horse, which had to be terrified by the smoke and the crowd and the sirens, kicked Malik.
It. Kicked. Him.
“No!” It wasn’t until someone hauled me backward that I realized I’d started to climb the pen fencing. And now I had to be held back, still screaming like that might help. Cole made it to his feet and somehow bodied the horse onto the trailer, slamming the door shut right as I tossed off the arms holding me.