Page 26 of Till The Cows Come Home

Chapter Twenty-Three

Miles

I bolted upright to the sound of Sage’s screams, my feet hitting the floor before my brain understood what was happening.

It took a few moments to process, and only when my brain accepted there was no physical harm to Sage did I notice the inferno blazing amongst the darkness outside.

Time stood still as I took in Sage’s face, desperately searching it for information as the silhouettes of flames danced along the walls behind us.

When the silence became deafening, she broke her gaze, disappearing from my room without a word.

She was pulling on her boots and as I bent to don my own next to her, not bothering to tie my own laces, she sprinted out of the threshold without me.

“Sage!” I screamed, panic saturating my voice.

I popped my phone on speaker, sliding it into my chest pocket before running after her, my long strides catching up with her as she was about to run into the burning barn.

Not a thought about her own safety, not a moment spent to strategize, not a second to mourn the things she would leave behind.

I commended her commitment and could mirror her love for the things at stake, but the only tangible emotion I had was anger.

“Let go of me!” she screamed as I grabbed her arm, pulling her towards me as debris began to fall. Fear flickered across her eyes as the structure crumpled into where she had been standing moments ago.

“No Sage! Look around you. You can’t be the hero right now.”

“We can’t leave them,” she yelled back, her voice cracking into small sobs, and as I followed her gaze, the heartbreaking realization of the situation hit me square in the face.

They were trapped.

Each exit of the barn was secured with a simple metal gate, but it was enough to block the escape of every living thing inside the barn.

Attempting to think with Sage struggling in my grasp was impossible, and I begged my brain to reason as I scoured the outlining property for a way to minimize the damage.

I would take anything if it meant I didn’t lose everything, and I rejoiced when my gaze fell on the woodpile.

“We’re not. I’m going to try to open the gate so they have a chance to make it to the pasture, but you need?—”

Before I had a chance to finish she interrupted me.

“Don’t tell me?—”

“No Sage,” I continued, “I know you can do a lot of things. I know you can hold your own, but you can’t do this.

I’m going to have to break the gate lock from the outside.

You’re physically not tall enough to reach over the gate without touching it.

I may not even be. And I imagine it's searing hot. I need you to stay here. I need you to talk to them. I’m not asking you to do nothing, I’m asking you to do what you can. ”

I pulled the muffled voice from my pocket, holding it out for her to take.

“Hello?” the woman called out. “Is there an emergency?”

“Fire,” she stuttered, taking the phone from me, some of the shock from the morning undoubtedly settling in. “Baker Farm is on fire.”

When I was confident that she’d stay put, I grabbed the hatchet from the woodpile, taking off into a run towards the gate that led to the pasture.

My heart dropped when I approached the blocked exit, the scene paralyzing me with sorrow.

The cows were huddled at the gate, bellowing with terror as the flames crackled above them.

, and as I tapped at the thick chain that was holding the gate shut, my previous assumption proved to be correct.

It was scorching hot.

I frantically began swinging the hatchet, attempting to bust the links free.

The smoke clouded my vision, though, and I hissed as my underarm grazed the top of the gate.

Still, I swung over and over, silently pleading to anyone who would listen.

I wouldn’t recover if I had to watch the consequences of my failure, and I think the powers that be knew that because with a final swing I made contact, snapping the chain free.

Stepping back, I watched as the cows pushed the gate open, many cringing as their hides made contact with the surrounding debris.

But they kept going despite the pain, grateful to be freed, and I jumped out of the way as they began filing into the pasture, doing my best not to be trampled.

The relief that coursed through me as I watched them shuffle out of the barn was quickly replaced with grief as I registered the reduced numbers.

It was hard to tell what percentage of the herd had exited, every crumble of the structure causing them to retreat to where they were comfortable, which was inside.

I counted and recounted before realizing an entire group was missing .

“No, no, no,” I pleaded, realizing the calves were still locked in their pen.

They were due to move into the free stall with the older girls in a few weeks and I cursed at the poor timing, frustration coursing through my veins as my brain attempted to make sense of the unfairness.

I smacked hind ends, sending the herd as far from the barn as I could, and when I was sure they wouldn’t venture back into danger, I shrugged off my flannel, ripping a sleeve to use as a makeshift mask.

Moving as quickly as I could through the freed gate, I deeply inhaled, sucking in a reserve of fresh air before entering the smoke.

As soon as I crossed the threshold, my senses were overwhelmed, a darkness overtaking the light I’d come from just moments ago.

Navigating on muscle memory alone, I crept through the darkness, hoping that I hadn’t been disoriented.

Soft moos began to echo into my ears, signaling I had to be close, so I slowed, focusing on the sounds to guide me the rest of the way.

I reached out, finally feeling the dry noses of the babies crowded at the gate.

The smoke made it impossible for me to stand at my full height, so I decided instead to lie on my back, using my feet as a battering ram against the wooden gate until it popped open.

The calves began funneling out, their size allowing them to navigate almost completely under the cloud of smoke, and I watched helplessly as they disappeared, silently praying that they'd find their way.

My hand blindly ushered the tiny bodies along until only one remained. I tapped her behind, attempting to guide her out, but when she struggled against my touch, I realized something was wrong.

“Come on, sweetheart,” I mumbled, the words barely escaping my soot filled throat.

Gliding my hands down her body, I felt the hoof that had wedged itself between the slats of the stall, hindering her escape. I pushed with one hand while pulling with the other, popping it free, and I silently celebrated when she trotted away from me.

The extra time had cost me, and I fought the urge to lie down and rest. The fresh air waited just a few yards away, and I fantasized about it filling my lungs as I forced myself into a crawl.

After a few feet, though, I could feel my body slow and rested my head between my knees, clutching at the breath I just couldn’t seem to take.

My lungs refused to fill, and after a few moments, a numbness spread through me, easing the discomfort until eventually I felt nothing at all.