“Shit,” I hiss under my breath when we roll up on scene. “This doesn’t look good.”

We got the call for a first-alarm fire less than ten minutes ago. We’ve been called to this address several times—three times this year already—and it’s always a false alarm. Usually some punk who thought it would be funny to pull the alarm. But not tonight. Tonight there are flames shooting out the windows, and I’m instantly on high alert when I see a number of kids huddled around crying. My crew piles out of the three trucks while Chief doles out orders.

I’m wrapping blankets around a group of kids while other members of my crew prepare to fight the fire when I hear the chief ask someone if everyone made it out. Pushing to my feet, I turn toward him. He’s talking with a young woman who can’t be but a couple of years older than me.

“I…I think so,” she stammers, looking around. “Some of the classes came out the back door, so maybe check back there to be sure.”

“I’m on it.”

Chief gives me the nod, and I weave my way through the young bodies toward the back of the house. Kids are milling around, crying. Maybe fifty or sixty of them, if I had to guess. They’re all lucky they got out when they did, because this fire is raging, and the scene in front of me could’ve been much, much worse.

I find the first adult, a middle-aged man. There’s a phone pressed to his ear, but he hands it off to one of his students when I approach.

“Are all of your kids accounted for?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “All of my kids made it out.”

“Great.” I clap a hand to his shoulder before I turn to check the next group of kids.

“Wait!”

I turn to the right. A young girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen, is standing next to a group of kids. She shakes her head frantically, tears streaming down her face.

“Their teacher,” she cries, motioning toward the group of kids huddled around her. “She went back in.”

I close the distance between us. Everyone is running on high emotions, so I speak in a clear, steady voice. “Who is the teacher?”

“Claire Daniels,” a little blonde girl says, looking up at me.

Shit!

My heart races in my chest as I squat down in front of the little girl. I put myself at her eye level and do my best to stay calm, though everything inside of me is screaming to run into that damn building and save Claire.

“Do you know why she went back in?” Claire is a smart girl—level headed—and there’s no way she’d run into a burning building unless she felt she had a damn good reason, not after what happened to her father.

Her tiny head bobs. “Because she only counted eight of us, and there should’ve been ten.”

I look at the group of kids, doing a quick count of my own, and sure enough, there are only eight. “Do you know who’s missing?”

The little girl looks around at the other kids in her group as they watch the house go up in flames, and she nods. “Troy and Marcus. They’re twins. They went to the bathroom before the fire alarm went off.”

“Which way did she go in?”

The high school girl points to the back door. “Just a couple of minutes ago.”

Smoke curls from the back door. This fire is escalating fast. There’s no way Claire will make it out of there with two boys on her own.

Not alive anyway.

I hear the little girl burst into tears when I turn away. Chief is standing with a group of kids, but he steps away when I walk up.

“Three people are missing, a teacher and two boys. She couldn’t find them after evacuation, so she went back in for them.”

His jaw clenches as he looks at the charred house, no doubt thinking the same thing that’s racing through my mind. I’m tempted to run in whether he likes it or not, but I’m not stupid, and I know if I want to get Claire out of there alive, I’ve got to keep a clear mind.

“We don’t have much time,” I urge.

“The structure is unstable. It isn’t safe.” Chief’s words are clear, yet I hear the but in the tone of his voice.

“I know, sir. We can go in through the back. It doesn’t look as engulfed.”

His eyes are hard, but he nods. “In and out, Trevor. Take Mikey with you.”

Mikey and I suit up while Chief shouts out directions to the rest of the crew.

Mikey and I grab a hose. Together we run along the house, breach the back entrance, and move through the building as quickly as we can. Thick black smoke hangs in the air, and if it weren’t for our breathing apparatus, we’d never make it.

My chest constricts at the thought of Claire and those two boys sitting somewhere in here, struggling to breathe while they wait for us to find them.

Hold on, Claire. I’m going to get you out.

I swallow hard, pushing the fear away as we inch through the house. My mind keeps reverting back to the kiss Claire and I shared, but I shove the thoughts away because my main focus—my only focus—is getting her and those boys out of here.

Mikey stops at the first classroom, but I wave him on. “To the bathroom,” I yell. My voice is muffled by the mask, but he nods, and we move forward, examining each door until we find one labeled Boys.

I reach for my ax, prepared to knock the door down if it’s locked, but when Mikey pushes, it opens. He pushes again, but something causes the door to jam. Mikey gives the door a solid shove, dislodging a dark chunk of material. A sweater or jacket maybe, and I just know Claire put it there.

Good girl.

Flames ripple along the ceiling. I tap Mikey’s shoulder, motioning for him to take the hose and douse the ceiling, covering me as I search the bathroom. Even in turnouts, the heat is hot, and I pray Claire and the boys haven’t passed out.

I cut my way through the heavy smoke until I can see them. Claire has the boys tucked in the back corner of the room. They’re facing away from me. She’s huddled over them, shielding their bodies as best she can, and the tightness in my chest eases just a fraction.

“Claire!” I yell, moving toward them.

Her head whips around, an iota of relief in her terrified gaze.

She opens her mouth, but all that comes out is a strangled cough. Pointing to the boys, she slides out of the way. One of the boys is unconscious, lying in a ball on the ground. The other peels his eyes open to look up at me, and I know he isn’t far behind the other.

Mikey steps up and checks the boys’ pulses while I pull out the extra oxygen masks. We place them over the boys and hand one to Claire. She situates it on her face and takes a few hits of oxygen.

I pull it away, allowing her time to cough before guiding it back to her mouth. “Slow, deep breaths,” I instruct. “We’re going to get you guys out of here.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, tears falling down her face, and I fight every instinct I have to keep from pulling her into my arms. Right now she doesn’t need affection or comfort, she needs to survive, and I’m ninety-nine-percent certain she has no idea who I am with my mask and gear on, which is probably a good thing. We both need to stay focused.

Mikey grabs the boy who’s still awake, and I grab the other. “Are you okay to move?” I speak loudly so she can hear me through the mask, and she nods.

We turn toward the door, but the smoke is heavy, cutting our visibility to nothing. Mikey looks at me, and we lower ourselves to the floor, each of us cradling a boy against our side. Claire follows suit without guidance.

“I’ll go first. Claire, you stay between me and Mikey.” I grab onto the hose, motioning for her to do the same.

Slowly, we move along the wall and out of the bathroom. With the young boy tucked under my arm, I keep moving forward, knowing Mikey is behind Claire.

Every few seconds Claire coughs, but when I look back, she gives me a thumbs up. Debris is falling around us, but we eventually make it down the long hallway, and when the back door becomes visible, with specks of sunlight slicing through the dark clouds, I send up a silent prayer.

I can’t see my fellow firefighters, but I know they’re out there, keeping the flames at bay while we make the rescue.

“Almost there,” I yell.

The closer we get to the back door, the better my visibility gets, and when the roar of the fire starts to die, I make a split-second decision to get us the hell out of here. Pushing to our feet, Mikey and I stand up. I reach down for Claire to help her up, but she doesn’t move.

“Can you stand?”

She coughs, shaking her head. She blinks up at me, her lids sluggish, and I know she’s running out of time.

I pass my boy off to Mikey. He hoists them both, making sure he has a good grip, and then he runs, following the hose out of the house.

I scoop Claire off the floor, and with her limp body in my arms, I make a mad dash for the back door.

A loud crack resonates through the air. My crew is yelling, waving at us through the doorway, and I keep plowing forward as I hear it again—another snap followed by a pop. I look up as the ceiling crumples, and I have just enough time to curl my body around Claire’s, acting as a human shield against the falling debris, before it hits.

Chunks of the ceiling land on top of us with enough force to steal my breath. My body crumples over Claire’s. My vision blurs, everything around me going black. I blink rapidly, struggling to stay awake, but it’s too much. With a ragged breath, I press my mask to Claire’s forehead, offering a silent apology for failing her yet again.