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Juliette

O h God. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was my worst nightmare, and nothing was going right. I couldn’t do anything right.

The instant Dylan pulled away from me, I reached into my pocket for my phone to call 911. Empty. Every pocket empty. I screamed for Dylan, but he was already at the house, pulling the door shut behind him.

I sprinted to the car and yanked the door, but it didn’t budge. I raced around, trying every door. Locked. Both our phones sat in the console, mocking me.

Damn Dylan and his compulsive door locking!

“Help! Fire!” I screamed, running to the house next door. Banged on their door. Their window. Screamed. No answer. I ran to the next house. Banged. Screamed. Begged. No answer at that house or the next or the next after that. No one was coming to help. Someone had to be home! Shooting a look at the next house down, I gave up on it, praying it wasn’t the wrong decision.

I ran back to the car. Searched for a big rock. How were there no rocks? God, give me any damn rock. I found a small rock, banged on the window as hard as I could, again and again, but it didn’t crack even a little. God, I needed that phone! I was wasting too much time. Smoke was coming out through the window, and I was no closer to getting help.

I had to run. I ran like I’d never run before. My lungs burned, my ankle throbbed, but I pushed on. I fell up a curb, scrambled to keep going, ignoring the pain shooting through my knees, my ankle. I had to run faster. I tripped again. Shit! It was too hard to see through my tears. I was too slow.

Fuck. An intersection. Left, right, or straight? How could I not know? If I was wrong, Dylan could die. I chose left, praying. Dylan couldn’t die because I had a shitty sense of direction. My ankle gave out and I almost fell again, but I kept running. Well, half ran, half limped as fast as I could. It wasn’t fast enough.

Shit! This wasn’t it! I’d gone the wrong way. Dammit! Heart pounding, muscles aching, tears blinding me, I spun around and kept running. I’m sorry, Dylan. Please be okay.

There! The red brick building of the firehouse was just ahead. Boosted by the sight, I surged toward it, and then I was bursting through the door. “Fire! Help!”

Someone grabbed my shoulders and said something. I blinked away the tears and saw Chief’s worried face.

“Juliette, what’s wrong?” Chief asked.

Taco, Moose, Penelope, and other people I didn’t know were right behind him. “What’s wrong?”

“Dylan! Fire!” I gulped in lungfuls of air. “He needs help.”

“Where?”

“Second street. 500 Second street.”

“Are you okay?” Taco asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. Go! It’s been too long! Please!”

“We’ll go get him,” Penelope said. “Stay here and we’ll bring him back with us soon.” Then they were running to the bay, and sirens filled the air.

I fell to my knees, my throbbing ankle and shaking legs unable to hold me up. I prayed harder than I’d ever prayed before. Please God, let Dylan be okay. Let the woman and her baby be okay. Please God, don’t let them die because of me.