Firehome - Kevan Smith

CRASH – shattering glass.

“Yahooooo” with gleeful laughter – from the street.  Is this a dream?

Rushing to the bedroom door, smelling smoke.

I open and stumble into the hallway of smoke billowing up the high ceiling, the walls are a low orange glow.  To my left, there is fire under the back door.  It licks at the floor gap, five fingers of flame trying to grab a hold. 

“Water – Fuck – Water”.  I rush to the bathroom, upend the bin and jam it under the bath taps.  Half full, I almost jump out of the tub as both hands grasp the bin.  I fling it under the door.  The fingers disappear.

“Gotcha, you bastard”.

Only then, I see the yellow-red ferocity through the broken window, the whole downstairs is engulfed.  The fingers, now much larger, grasp under the door again.

My brain spits ‘that’s what I heard crash, this is not a dream, this is flaming death bursting into my house, my home, my world’.  The dining room is fully aglow from the orange inferno raging in the laundry.  The laundry that is Deli’s room.  I know he is away this evening at the girlfriends.

“Thank Godfrey for that”.  My son!  Must wake Lock, get him and the dogs out.

Bending low so smoke won’t consume, I race slipperfoot up the hall.

“LOCK, LOCK fire, fire, we have fire. Deli’s room is gone.  Grab the dogs!  Out the front!  I’ll get the hose”.  Great that, for the first time ever, he wakes immediately and, like a Friday night drunk, shoves a large Staffy under each arm and stumbles out front.  Great, they don’t squirm and carry like baby bundles.  Great that he’s strong and agile.  Thank someone again.

I race around the front of house shouting at my neighbour, Nigel, to call the Fire Brigade.  His “have done” trails behind me as I almost break the side gate getting to the backyard. 

Hose, hose, pull slowly, get a lot, keep pulling, turn it on.  Aim at the gutter, the beast has the room, can’t save it.  Stop it, aim at the gutter.  Stop it.!!  STOP Consuming my home.  You fucking bastard!  Stop it…..  Ten paces away it turns the water into mist before it even touches the beast.  I turn my face away and change arms so not to be burnt by the sheer heat.  Even the Coke Ovens wasn’t this hot.  The smoke sears my eyes as I see the mist steam off the gutter.  The BBQ is alight!  I move quickly behind the house in case the bottle becomes a grenade.  Only a green flame and a small pop, I move back to confront the beast, knowing I can not win but must try.  The beast is eating the walls.