Page 240 of Track of Courage

As he got closer, he noted the open back door—maybe why the entire barn hadn’t gone inferno when he opened the front door, despite the woosh of air.

Woolly Bully circled, frantic in its stall. Dawson reached for the metal latch.

The gate opened, and the llama burst through, slamming the gate on Dawson’s body, his legs.

Pain shattered through his knee. He stumbled, tripping, and slammed into the dirt.

He landed on abody. What—? He turned, and in the light—half in the next stall—Donald lay unconscious, blood pooled around his head. No, no—

Please,just unconscious.

“Donald!” Dawson scrambled to his feet, the flames overhead dropping in small sizzles. “Donald!”

The guy wasn’t so big that Dawson couldn’t carry him, a different day, a different time. But now...

C’mon,God. Be on my side.

He rolled Donald over, spotted a terrible gash, then hauled him up under his shoulders and wrestled him out of the stall.

“Help!”

The fire ate his words, his knee buckled, and he fell, Donald half on him.

He struggled out from under him. “C’mon!” Finding his feet, he kept pulling—a fiery drip nearly hit him, sizzled in the dirt—

Don’t. Look. Up.

“Don!” The shout came from behind him, and in a moment, Griffin and another man were there, lifting Donald’s legs, two more on each arm, and Dawson let go to allow them to shuttle him out of the building.

He stumbled after them, out into the frigid night, sweating, coughing, bending over to grab his knee.

His gut clenched, the world shaking around him. He breathed out, hard.

River caught up to them, following the men into the lodge.

Dawson spit on the ground—black—then wiped his face. His hand trembled. He fisted it, stood up.

Around the yard, community members herded the animals into storage garages and even houses, the biting wind turning the world brutally silent, save the fire and the wind.

Shouting erupted, and a small cadre of men—maybe women too—emerged from a storage building. A couple men held a pump between them, running hard in the blizzard toward the lake. Others carried hoses.

Clearly, they had a drill. A plan.

He stood back as the group with the hoses made quick workof setting up the pump, plunging the hoses into the lake, right at the open source where he’d gone in, then attaching the pieces and rolling the hoses out to the barn.

Less than a minute later, water sprayed the barn.

The spectacle stopped him a moment, the splash of the water landing over him, pellets of ice, the mist glistening against the fire, caught in a swirl of blizzard winds, snow peppering the air. Sparks shifted onto the street, the crackle and snap of the flames against the roar of the wind.

The entire village could have burned.

If it weren’t for Caspian...

Sweat layered his back, and his knees wanted to buckle again, but he managed to head over to the lodge, grip the railing, haul himself inside.

They’d cleared a table, set Donald on it, and River had him on his side as he coughed hard.

Abe looked over at Dawson, left his spot at the table. “How’d you know?” He advanced, almost angry, and Dawson held up his hands.