Page 2 of Striking the Match (Redwood Bay Fire #3)

Gasping, we resurface and I switch around so I’m on my back.

I can’t see shit now, and that’s less than ideal.

But if I stay on my front, the cat will be under the water.

The rain pounds onto my face, making it harder to breathe.

But I’ve got them. I realize they’re not as small as I assumed.

For a cat, they’re actually quite a beast.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I gasp as the cat wails in my face, their belly pressed against my chest. I wince, trying to ignore the sting of their claws through my T-shirt.

It’s worth it, though, as I hug them against me and realize they’ve stopped trying to resist. Do they understand I’m trying to help? I hope so.

With the not-so-small kitty safely anchored to me, I twist my head, trying to see what’s coming up ahead of us.

The banks have gotten much steeper here so even if the rain hadn’t made them slippery, it would be hard for me to get us out.

I don’t fancy our chances any better farther down the river, though, so when I see another large clump of reeds, I kick my legs and aim us in that direction.

They only slow us down, however, not stopping us moving completely.

I curse as my free hand flails around, hoping to chance on another root or anything sturdier that I can cling to.

I’m not sure if I would call it luck, but I do wrap my hand around something solid but also sharp and rusty.

I yelp as it cuts into my skin, but we’re suddenly anchored.

Breathing heavily, I peer through the rushing water and just make out the shape of an old, contorted bike frame. “It’ll have to do,” I tell my new companion, glad that thanks to work, my shots are up to date.

Those bright blue eyes stare up at me, surrounded by bedraggled orange fur, and they let out a pitiful meow that sounds more like a howl.

“I know, baby, I know,” I tell them, looking frantically around for anything to help us out of this predicament.

Being stationary isn’t good enough. I need to haul us out of the damn water so we can get warm and dry. We’re both probably going to need some medical attention as well, but one thing at a time.

First things first—how do we scale the bank?

I blink against the rain and suddenly realize we’re not as alone as I previously assumed.

There are people on the side of the freeway looking down at us and some more at the top of the bank on both sides.

Some are waving at us. Some are shouting things I can’t hear—I assume they’re speaking as their mouths are moving, or they have their hands cupped either side of their faces.

Quite a few people are filming us, because that’s the age we live in now.

And a couple are talking on their phones.

A siren blasts through the air.

I grimace, not sure if I’m happy they called for help or not. The last thing I want to do is make a fuss. I can handle myself. But even as I glance around me again, I appreciate that’s not exactly true. Unless we get a hand, we’re not going to be escaping this torrent any time soon.

Obviously, my team isn’t on shift, but I know a few of the guys on the second and third watches, so maybe it’ll be okay.

However, when the engine screeches to a halt at the top of the bank, I can see by the One-Two-Two plastered on the side that it’s one of the San Clemente rigs, not the One-Thirteen from Redwood Bay.

“Hold on, son!” the first firefighter yells down at me. “We’re coming!”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I try and tell them, frustrated I need help at all. I should have been able to do this by myself. But another few guys have appeared, already throwing ropes down to reach me and the orange kitty.

“Don’t panic, kid!” the next one yells as he prepares to scale the bank.

I sigh. “I’m a firefighter, too, I’m?—”

“If you struggle, you might get loose, and the current will pull you under!” the man I assume to be their captain calls out to me. “Just stay there and wait for us!”

I grit my teeth, wondering if my team are this thoughtlessly patronizing to the folks we usually rescue. To be fair, without training, I wouldn’t blame anyone for freaking out in this situation. But I’m mostly just cold, wet, and my hand is hurting like a bitch.

Then I glance down at my new friend and remember why I jumped into a swollen river in the first place.

“I’ve got a cat here,” I tell the team as they approach. “It was drowning.”

“You saved it?” one of the other guys asks, craning his neck as he gets closer. “Aw! Good job, buddy!”

“It’s best to leave these sort of things to the professionals, though,” the captain says sternly as they start throwing webbing around me to haul my drenched ass out of here.

“No, I’m also a—” I start to bite out, then I deflate.

What’s the point? I did jump in here without backup and got both myself and this poor cat stuck. I’m always so determined to prove I can do everything on my own that I didn’t stop to think. It could have gotten me into real trouble if those passersby hadn’t called 911.

“Thank you,” I say meekly. Now I’m more secure, I peel my hand off the bicycle, wincing at the gash across my palm.

“Our medics will get that seen to, don’t worry,” another firefighter assures me like I’m a frightened little kid.

I’m too tired to even get riled up about it, much like the ginger beast that’s curled up inside my hoodie still, wide blue eyes darting around as we begin our ascent.

I hope someone has a box or something up there I can use to keep my new friend contained.

I don’t know if they’re a stray or someone’s pet, but I know I’m personally going to get them to a vet before I go anywhere to get my hand seen to.

A cheer goes up as we make it back onto stable ground, and my fractious mood softens as I appreciate that all these people stuck around to make sure we were okay. Well, that I was okay, I guess. They almost certainly wouldn’t have been able to see the cat from how far away they were.

It’s important to me they know how valuable them calling for help was. Also…okay, yeah, there’s a part of me that needs to prove I’m not a dumbass who got himself in trouble for no reason.

So as soon as I’m steady on my feet, I wave at the nearby gaggle of onlookers who have stayed out in the rain to make sure this little saga had a happy ending.

I hug the ginger cat to my chest, praying they won’t bolt, then use my bloody hand to peel back the hoodie so the small crowd can see my new friend.

One of the people recording on her phone gasps. “The firefighters saved that cat!” she cries. The gaggle cheers again and a couple of the One-Two-Two guys wave and bow in appreciation.

“Just doing our jobs, folks,” one of them says, not sounding humble at all.

I look down at the kitty and chuckle ruefully. “Typical,” I tell them.

The cat hisses at me and wriggles, apparently trying to make a run for it.

I’m not sure why I expected anything less.