knob, but it wasn’t hot to touch. That was his first good sign. There was therefore only smoke hard against the door. There was nothing to do now but…
He took a deep, smoke-filled breath, opened the door and forced his eyes to see. The curtains across the window were blazing, and the bed against the far wall was well alight. Outside, Helmut raised his hose and he was hit in the face by a jet of water.
Thank God for Helmut. The water wouldn’t put the fire out, but it helped keep him alive. The soggy sweater across his face made breathing possible—just—and he kept his face in that direction until the sweater was completely soaked.
Then he took another breath and somehow managed to make his voice work.
‘Kids, where are you?’
‘H-here…’ The muffled gasp came from the side of the room away from the window—low down. A piece of burning curtain landed in his hair. He thrust it away, unconscious of the pain, and groped under the second bed.
‘Grab hold,’ he managed, and small hands reached out and gripped his arms. As he counted contact hands—four!—he could have sobbed in relief.
There was no time for sobbing. Now what? Somehow he had to get them back through the house, and the smoke was building every minute.
‘T-Tigger,’ one of the children was saying, and the kid was pulling away.
‘What?’
‘Tigger.’
Matt found his hands full of sodden fur as the thing was thrust at him. A toy? Good grief! He shoved it down his shirt and grabbed a blanket.
‘Wait.’ His voice came out as a hoarse croak. More of Helmut’s water hit the blanket, but not enough. He held it up and let it soak, and then threw the cloth over the boys’ heads.
‘We’re crawling out of the room,’ he croaked. He had them cradled against him, but he pushed them towards the door. ‘You crawl first. If I stop, then you keep going. That’s an order. Now!’
And he shoved them forward out of that burning room, along the passage, into the kitchen and the hall beyond.
‘Henry… William…’
Erin met them in the hall. Like Matt, she’d wrapped her sweater over her head. She’d come in as far as she dared and was waiting, crouched at the kitchen door. As they crawled from the passage, she hauled them into her arms and tugged them outside.
Matt followed. He crawled four feet from the front door and collapsed unconscious onto the porch.
The most beautiful pair of blue eyes was gazing down into his.
‘Do you think he’ll live?’
There was something over his mouth and nose—something plastic and hard, and he tried to push it away.
‘Keep it there, Matt.’ He recognised the voice—Rob McDonald, the local police sergeant. ‘You’ve got a lungful of smoke and we’re giving you oxygen. Yes, Erin, if he’s capable of fighting off a mask, then I reckon he’ll live.’
Matt thought that through, and it seemed to make sense. The gorgeous eyes were still looking at him. It was funny how he’d never noticed them before. Erin was grimy and smoke-stained and still looking frazzled, but suddenly he thought she looked the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Just like that butterfly at the fête, he thought dazedly. Gorgeous!
Life was gorgeous!
If she hadn’t come in to find them, he never would have got the boys out, he acknowledged. It had taken all his strength just to crawl those last few yards and he couldn’t have propelled the twins any further.
‘The twins?’ It was a muffled whisper under the mask, but Erin knew what he was saying.
‘They’re scared out of their wits but they’re fine. I need to go back to them. If you’re sure you’re okay…’
‘He’s tough,’ Rob growled. ‘The ambulance boys are just bringing the stretcher across.’
That roused him. Hell, no. He didn’t need a stretcher. He pushed the mask away, coughed and coughed again, and finally managed to sit up. Rob stayed by his side, uneasy.
‘They told me to hold the mask over your face. Do you mind not getting me into trouble?’
‘I don’t need it.’ Matt coughed again, grabbed the mask and took two deep breaths to prove it. The improvement was immediate.
Then he took a look around, and was astounded by what he saw.
People were everywhere. The fire engine was parked almost beside him; there were men running, hoses uncoiling; the police car was there with its blue light flashing…
Half of Bay Beach was here, he thought dazedly, and then he turned to the house.
Helmut’s hose hadn’t been enough. The house was well alight and they’d be lucky to save anything. The bedroom where the twins had come from was now a charred shell, and the rest of the house was roofless and smouldering. There was little for the fire-fighters to do but to play their hoses over the ruin to stop sparks causing trouble elsewhere.
Matt looked at the charred remains of the twins’ bedroom, and a shudder ran though his entire body. He’d been in there. The twins had been in there!
The man beside him saw what he was seeing and guessed his thoughts. ‘You got the kids out,’ Rob said in a voice that was none too steady. His big policeman’s hand came down and grasped Matt’s shoulder. ‘I don’t know how you did it, mate, but you did. You’re a bloody hero.’
‘I don’t know how I did it either,’ Matt said. He gulped in two more takes of oxygen and focussed some more.
There was something heavy and soggy in his shirt and he suddenly remembered the kids’ toy. Or whatever it was. He peered down his shirt in the combined firelight and floodlights, and was relieved to see a pair of grimy glass eyes staring up at him.
It was just a toy, then. Great! For a minute there he’d thought maybe it was an unconscious pet, and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on a dog or cat didn’t really appeal.
Back to important stuff.
‘The kids…they really are okay?’
‘They really are okay. Thanks to you.’ Rob looked up as the ambulance officers approached and he gave them an apologetic grin. ‘He’s giving me trouble.’
‘He would.’ The ambulance officers were locals and they were mates of both Rob and Matt. Their smiles were wide as houses.
In truth as they’d rounded the bend and seen the fire their stomachs had tightened in horror. Fire casualties were awful, and kids were the worst. Now, they were having trouble containing their delight that their only patient was a stroppy mate—a mate who looked like he had every intention of making it to old age.
‘Let’s get you loaded up and off to hospital,’ they said cheerfully. ‘Hey, we hear Nick Daniels is in there without his appendix.
