Where There's Smoke, There's Fire

Chapter 3

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed in my room.

I won't burn to death!

At least two sets of feet pounded on the wooded floor near the narrow hallway which attached my room to the rest of the house. With the smoke hurting my eyes I want to keep them closed but my door creaked and a sliver of light penetrated my eyelids. I forced them to open a fraction as I waved my free hand over my head.

A muffled voice said, "Stop. Is the door hot? There's smoke coming out of the room. Let's figure out where the smoke is coming from before we open the door."

Thump. More footsteps echoed and seconds later, a deep voice yelled, "Dude, wait for us."

A guy who barely fit through the door stepped into my room, his boots resounding against the ceramic tiled floor.

A loud beep went off.

The kitchen's smoke alarm sounded louder than the fire department's sirens.

"What are you doing? Don't, don't loosen your mask! You're one crazy dude!" The guy's voice tone went from questioning to incredulous to totally upset.

I raised the arm holding the phone above my head. I wouldn't let go of my lifeline and tried to shout "here" but it probably came out like a whisper.

Several seconds later, the huge guy lifted me up without breathing heavy. This guy must work out for hours. He held me against his chest, closer than I had ever been to a guy besides my dad and brothers but somehow I didn't feel creeped out.

He covered my nose, mouth, and most of my face with his mask right before he coughed. It sounded so loud that my neighbors probably heard it. Yikes, is he inhaling too much smoke?

I opened my eyes as he stepped out of my room. The smoke covered hallway didn't stop the firefighter nor did the beeping alarm, which had started to beep its annoying reminder that smoke had reached the eleven-foot ceiling.

My rescuer carried me like a water noodle through the kitchen, and out the side door before setting me down on the small, hard surface of our driveway.

Safe!

The cool afternoon breeze touched my arms. I coughed into the mask. The hacking cough expelled the disgusting junk weighing down in my lungs. I hoped no one could see the dark spots of black spit plastered on the mask.

Outside and safe.

Thank you, God!

He didn't stop coughing as he turned and dropped to his knees. A slight tug prompted me to untangle the hose and avoid the mask from being ripped off. Somehow the humongous mask all a skewed, still managed to provide clean oxygen. I lifted my hand to my face.

It became a useless act as I hacked away.

"The paramedics are here." A man's voice shouted but I couldn't tell from where.

Someone switched the full mask for a smaller one, which covered just my nose and mouth, but the uncomfortable sensation of the green tentacles latched onto my lower face didn't disappear.

The desire to tear off my face came and went, while my hands wanted to rubs my burning eyes.

In the brief seconds of relief between coughing and sensing the awful mask, I worried that anyone who saw me would assume I needed plastic surgery to remove the mask.

Especially not Daniel. It'd be so embarrassing that I would probably die on the spot.

My rescuer continued to cough, a much rougher cough than mine.