the porch. All right, she was only nine, but she'd already had some basic first aid training in Girl Scouts. "Millie! With me! Ride in back and watch Dad!"
It couldn't have been half a minute before they were lined up behind the two lead riders and moving out, with John Stewart in the truck falling in behind her and the other two horsemen covering the rear.
Her next thought was to get some help on the way—maybe somebody had called on the phone, maybe nobody had had time yet, and maybe the wires had been cut. She switched on the CB rig and spun the knob around to channel 9. John was already talking to Grantville Dispatch.
The only thing left to do was drive. She felt like she was made of ice. Your husband needs you. Don't screw it up. Have your jitters later.
It was as long a ten minutes as she'd ever spent. She didn't even take notice of who the two orderlies and the triage nurse were, when they popped the rear door and whisked Al away on a gurney to the waiting surgery team. By the time she parked and came inside, there were no call bells ringing or people hurrying through the halls.
There was no point in bothering anybody for answers, and anyway, she'd already seen the wound, and she knew her staff. It was nothing a competent surgeon couldn't fix. She came to a stop, took a long, deep breath, looked down at Millie, and squeezed her hand. "You did fine. Our job's done. Let's go get a cup of hot chocolate, okay?"
Millie looked back at her with tears in her eyes. "Okay, Mom."
****
Engine 2 was the first unit to arrive. As the truck pulled to a stop, Heinrich Dürfelder jumped out and began evaluating the situation. Typical nineteenth-century American stud-and-clapboard construction. Two of his men started stretching a hose without waiting for orders. Standard protocol.
The man with the broken leg wasn't his problem. The ambulance was no more than two minutes behind him.
The other prisoner wasn't his problem. The police would be along, as soon as they got done chasing a suspect who had emerged from the woods down along Carberry Road.
The few flames flickering fitfully on what looked like bare ground, a short distance from the stairs, were his problem. Underground gas leak? There was gas all over the Ring, even this close to the wall.
A middle-aged woman bustled up to him and pointed to the front porch. "A kerosene lantern fell there and broke. Sister Green drove the burning kerosene away with a garden hose. Everyone is out of the house."
" Danke sehr. " That made things much clearer. He moved in for a closer look. Some of the deck boards were badly charred, and there was a large patch of scorched and blistered paint on the front of the house. There was lumber piled underneath. He called over his shoulder, "Get that wood out from under the porch. Then we'll overhaul and inspect."
The firefighters laid down the hose, since it wasn't immediately needed, and began pulling out boards. Some of the men and boys standing nearby came to help. Heinrich told them, "Don't stack the boards. Lay them flat, at least thirty feet from any building." He wasn't sure what foot these people used, and added, "Ten meters."
He went up on the porch and started feeling the house wall. It wasn't hot anywhere, other than some warmth where the paint was damaged. Probably no fire in the hidden spaces, then. He went inside, and was gratified to find the room almost empty. He started feeling the inside walls for heat.
When he came out, the ambulance and the police were there. His crew was ripping off the damaged deck boards. Mario reported from under the porch, "I don't feel anything hot along the sill, lieutenant."
"Good." Heinrich started throwing the debris away from the building. After a few more minutes, the understructure was exposed. It looked all right, except for two joists so heavily burned in mid-span that they crumbled at his touch. The woman who'd reported to him earlier was watching from a few feet away. He turned to her and
It couldn't have been half a minute before they were lined up behind the two lead riders and moving out, with John Stewart in the truck falling in behind her and the other two horsemen covering the rear.
Her next thought was to get some help on the way—maybe somebody had called on the phone, maybe nobody had had time yet, and maybe the wires had been cut. She switched on the CB rig and spun the knob around to channel 9. John was already talking to Grantville Dispatch.
The only thing left to do was drive. She felt like she was made of ice. Your husband needs you. Don't screw it up. Have your jitters later.
It was as long a ten minutes as she'd ever spent. She didn't even take notice of who the two orderlies and the triage nurse were, when they popped the rear door and whisked Al away on a gurney to the waiting surgery team. By the time she parked and came inside, there were no call bells ringing or people hurrying through the halls.
There was no point in bothering anybody for answers, and anyway, she'd already seen the wound, and she knew her staff. It was nothing a competent surgeon couldn't fix. She came to a stop, took a long, deep breath, looked down at Millie, and squeezed her hand. "You did fine. Our job's done. Let's go get a cup of hot chocolate, okay?"
Millie looked back at her with tears in her eyes. "Okay, Mom."
****
Engine 2 was the first unit to arrive. As the truck pulled to a stop, Heinrich Dürfelder jumped out and began evaluating the situation. Typical nineteenth-century American stud-and-clapboard construction. Two of his men started stretching a hose without waiting for orders. Standard protocol.
The man with the broken leg wasn't his problem. The ambulance was no more than two minutes behind him.
The other prisoner wasn't his problem. The police would be along, as soon as they got done chasing a suspect who had emerged from the woods down along Carberry Road.
The few flames flickering fitfully on what looked like bare ground, a short distance from the stairs, were his problem. Underground gas leak? There was gas all over the Ring, even this close to the wall.
A middle-aged woman bustled up to him and pointed to the front porch. "A kerosene lantern fell there and broke. Sister Green drove the burning kerosene away with a garden hose. Everyone is out of the house."
" Danke sehr. " That made things much clearer. He moved in for a closer look. Some of the deck boards were badly charred, and there was a large patch of scorched and blistered paint on the front of the house. There was lumber piled underneath. He called over his shoulder, "Get that wood out from under the porch. Then we'll overhaul and inspect."
The firefighters laid down the hose, since it wasn't immediately needed, and began pulling out boards. Some of the men and boys standing nearby came to help. Heinrich told them, "Don't stack the boards. Lay them flat, at least thirty feet from any building." He wasn't sure what foot these people used, and added, "Ten meters."
He went up on the porch and started feeling the house wall. It wasn't hot anywhere, other than some warmth where the paint was damaged. Probably no fire in the hidden spaces, then. He went inside, and was gratified to find the room almost empty. He started feeling the inside walls for heat.
When he came out, the ambulance and the police were there. His crew was ripping off the damaged deck boards. Mario reported from under the porch, "I don't feel anything hot along the sill, lieutenant."
"Good." Heinrich started throwing the debris away from the building. After a few more minutes, the understructure was exposed. It looked all right, except for two joists so heavily burned in mid-span that they crumbled at his touch. The woman who'd reported to him earlier was watching from a few feet away. He turned to her and
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