Novel Preview

Chapter 1

Derek Kitsch’s freshly sharpened axe clanked against his oxygen tank in the back seat of the rusted Chevy pickup truck while the dread in his gut grew to a dull roar.

Please be ok. Please be ok. Please be ok.

The worn-out tires bounced across his gravel coated driveway and Derek tore out onto the unpaved, rural roads. He slammed his steel-toed boot into the gas pedal as hard as he could. The first beams of morning light peeked over the horizon and through the tall, dry grass carpeting the open fields.

In the rearview mirror, Winona stood on the porch in her robe with that concerned look she always had when Derek took a call. He rubbed a thumb across the ring on his left hand and remembered his promise to come home safe.

Though he suspected he may not be able to keep it this time.

“Kitsch?” The walkie-talkie squawked in the passenger seat.

Derek startled and picked up the device, “Here.”

“Fire’s taking over quick,” Reynolds said. With his thick southern accent, it sounded more like Far’s. “Neighbors say there’s still no sign o’the Halls. We’ve got the truck and we’re headed that way.”

Derek’s heart leapt into his throat. He checked his watch. It’d been twenty minutes since he first received the call. Fire spread quick and if the family wasn’t out by then…

“I’m moving as fast as I can.” He threw the walkie-talkie back into the passenger seat and pushed into the gas pedal until the truck squealed in protest.

Small town fire response had always been a problem. Getting the volunteers out to the community house was no quick task. With a population of only about a thousand, you relied on volunteers and the farmers who contributed could only move so fast. Sometimes the fires were far away from them and sometimes they just didn’t move quick enough. Derek was reminded of the phrase, “everything moves slower down here.” It wasn’t their fault they didn’t have the training he got down in the city, but it still didn’t stop Derek from wishing his personnel was better equipped.

If Kelly Adler was here Derek would have better help. That kid had spent a lot of summers under Derek’s wing. But of course, he’d moved on to the Big Apple for bigger and better things. Never mind how none of his dreams had panned out. Derek had sworn to be one of the first people to buy his book when it was published. “One of,” because he wasn’t sure he could beat Mr. Gray to the store. In terms of supporting that kid, Ol’ Winston Gray would always have Derek beat. Still Derek had yet to hear of any novel written by Kelly and in moments like this, he wished he’d stuck around to help. It was selfish, but it’s how he felt.

Derek prayed the inexperienced volunteers that he did have wouldn’t cost poor Juniper.

He remembered when she was in diapers bouncing on his leg with the most infectious laugh he’d ever heard. He remembered the first time she had come out to help with the harvest a couple years earlier. She’d finally been five and her dad had let her ride on the edge of the tractors seat while Derek drove up and down the field to cut the alfalfa. He remembered the time she’d snuck out into the barn about a year earlier when she was seven while he had worked on a brisket. He still wasn’t sure how she did it, but she had come out of the barn on top of a cow who’d seemed completely unbothered.

It appeared that she had the same charming effect on animals as she had with every person she ever met. She was the happiest, silliest, most out-going kid Derek had ever known. Her dad, Greg Hall, had been Derek’s roommate back at A&M and Derek had been in the next room when she was born. He didn’t have a kid of his own, but he figured the way he felt about Juniper was how most parents felt about their own children.

As Derek climbed over Gopher Hill, the Chevy’s engine roared and the suspension creaked. The Hall’s place came into view over the crest.

Derek’s breath caught in his chest.

Pillars of flame leapt from the roof of the two-story colonial. Smoke spilled out of blown-out windows. The once-red brick had been charred black around the edges of the doors. Embers flew onto the lawn and were quickly quenched by the morning dew. At the edge of the yard, three horses stamped their hooves nervously. A black clump stood behind the house at the back of the pasture. It looked like the cows had retreated to a safe distance. Skittish creatures.

Mr. and Mrs. Reilly stood in the lawn in their pajamas, hypnotized by the blaze. Mrs. Reilly’s figure trembled with what Derek thought were sobs. Next to Mr. Reilly was an overturned bucket and the empty husk of a fire extinguisher. Derek only knew that much because of the foam that decorated the brick by the front door in spastic patterns. By the looks of it, not a single drop had actually landed on the fire.

Mr. Reilly waved and pointed to the center of the lawn for Derek to park. It irritated him that Mr. Reilly really thought he was helping. Maybe he was just on edge, but Derek knew how to put out a fire and didn’t appreciate the direction from the inexperienced dairy farmer. Derek jerked the wheel and drove his truck into the spot where Mr. Reilly had pointed. Despite his desire to ignore the man out of irritation, the lawn was the best spot for Derek to set up.

He grabbed the walkie-talkie and clipped it to his belt. He jumped out of the truck and grabbed his gear from the backseat. Behind the truck were two parallel lines of torn up dirt and grass. Ila Hall took pride in keeping her yard pristine, but it was an emergency. Still, Derek felt guilty about ruining her landscaping work.

“There y’are!” Mr. Reilly yelled.

“Here I am.” Derek’s voice was shaky. Sweat dripped down the side of his face. “You guys ok?”

“Fine,” Mr. Reilly gestured toward the pail at his feet. “Tried throwing some buckets of water on the edges, but the fire got too big. Almost burnt…”

“I’m just terrified for them.” Mrs. Reilly interrupted between sobs and pointed to the house.

“Hopefully, they just aren’t home.” Derek wasn’t sure he believed that himself. “As for you, Jim, if you still want to help,” Derek clasped the front of his bright orange coat, “the truck should be pulling up any second. Help ‘em with the hose.”

“Got it, Kitsch.” Mr. Reilly ran out toward the edge of the road.

“I’m going in.” Derek donned his oxygen mask.

“Be careful!” Mrs. Reilly yelled after him.

“I always am.”

Derek climbed the Hall’s old porch and the heat hit him square in the chest. The front door had fallen from its hinges and the doorway gaped like the maw of a dragon preparing to spit flame. Above him, the wood awning creaked, and smoldering chips of paint drifted past his face.

For Juniper.

Payne Spiva (c) 2024