It took several seconds for her brain to catch up, sorting through the questions of where she was and what was the source of the danger. Her room was dark and in the aftermath of the blast the only sound was the rumbling of thunder. For a moment she thought that might have been all that had awakened her, but then the scent of smoke came again. It drifted in through the open French door, carried on a strong cold breeze that heralded the coming storm.
Grabbing her robe and throwing it on hastily, she rushed to the open door and looked out across the gallery and across the yard. A ball of orange glowed in the distance, and flames licked up the side of the machine shed. Shouts cut through the silence and men arrived at the scene, their shapes silhouetted against the brightness of the fire.
Serena whirled toward the bed, suddenly thinking of Lucky, but he was gone. His absence struck her like a physical blow, but there was no time to contemplate where he had disappeared to, or when or why.
She grabbed clothes out of the wardrobe without looking and jerked them on, not bothering with underwear. She stepped into her tattered espadrilles and ran out onto the gallery, down the steps, and across the garden, flying as fast as her legs would take her toward the building that was already engulfed in flames.
Workers were directing hoses at the conflagration by the time she got there, but to no avail. Fire was devouring the building. James Arnaud rushed back and forth between the workers, shouting to be heard above the roar, telling them to concentrate on wetting down the part of the enormous old wooden shed that wasn't already ablaze.
«What happened?» Serena yelled, grabbing his arm and his attention as he paced past her.
«Hell if I know,» he snapped, his thick dark brows set in a V over furious eyes. «I heard the blast and came running. It was probably lightning. All I know is we've got most of our equipment in there and we're gonna lose it all if we don't get this fire put out!»
«Has anyone called the fire department?»
«They're on the way and they'd better get here fast. We might as well piss on this building for all the good we're doing.»
He shrugged her off then and went to help with the seemingly futile business of dousing the shed. Serena stood back helplessly, watching, squinting into the brilliance of the flames, the heat searing her cheeks even from a distance.
Above them the sky lit up with a network of white lines, and thunder boomed like cannon fire. Thick, rolling storm clouds were illuminated in the fluorescent glow of the lightning, black and swollen like enormous sponges.
«Come on, rain,» she shouted.
Mason came running from the house in pajamas and a robe, his thin brown hair standing up, his glasses askew. He wore a pair of polished oxfords but no socks.
«My God, this is terrible!» he said, tugging on the belt of his robe. He stared up at the blaze, the flames reflecting eerily in the lenses of his glasses. «I've called the fire department. They're on their way.»
«I was just praying for rain,» Serena said. Fat drops splashed down on them from above and she turned her face up to the heavens.
Mason stared at the fire as it consumed the huge shed like an angry, voracious beast, devouring the walls, lapping at the heavy equipment within. «All that machinery. I hope to heaven Gifford's insurance is up-to-date.»
The rain began to fall harder. In the distance came the sound of sirens.
Mason took Serena by the arm. «We ought to get out of the way. There's nothing we can do here.»
She reluctantly backed away from the heat, feeling helpless as she thought of Gifford. She felt as if she were failing him somehow. It was absurd, she knew, but that didn't stop the old feelings of inadequacy from surfacing. Somehow she should have been able to prevent this. She should have been able to stop the destruction.
The rain came beating down now, cold and hard, soaking through the silk blouse she'd grabbed at random, matting her hair against her head, blurring her vision. Still the flames leapt into the night sky, roaring and crackling, mocking mother nature's efforts to put them out. There came a splintering sound and part of the roof caved in, sending a cloud of orange sparks billowing upward. Mason pulled harder on Serena's arm.
«Serena, come on!» he yelled urgently. «There's nothing we can do. It's not safe here!»
He dragged her back a few more steps. Lightning lashed across the sky. Thunder exploded in a deafening blast. The wind picked up, shaking the trees and bending the tongues of flame that shot up from the burning building. The rain came harder in a fierce downpour, finally shrinking the fire, tamping it down. The first of the fire trucks roared up die driveway. Mason pulled Serena back another few steps.
«Let's go!»
They hadn't taken three steps toward the house when the second explosion came. In the periphery of her vision Serena saw the ball of flame burst through the ravaged wall of the building. From that point on what took only a split second in reality registered in her brain in slow motion-men running, fire rolling outward, lumber and shrapnel hurling in every direction.
She later remembered opening her mouth to scream, but not hearing anything. The invisible force of the explosion hit her in the back and flung her to the ground like a rag doll with Mason right beside her. She hit the ground with a bone-jarring bounce, gravel and crushed shell digging into her skin. Then everything went blessedly black.
«Total loss,» the claims adjuster said with the gravity of one imparting the death of a loved one. He stood in the doorway of the dining room, cupboard in hand, a small, apologetic man of forty-five with receding dark hair and eyes like a spaniel. There was soot on his hands and forearms and one big smudge of it across his high forehead.
He had arrived practically on the heels of the fire department, along with the neighbors. A fire was a major event in these parts, an occasion for people to gather and gawk and offer support to those who had suffered a loss. There was no two-week wait for the insurance man because chances were he would be standing there watching as the last of the rafters fell into the ashes.
«A total loss,» he repeated morosely. «The building and everything in it. It's still smoldering in places.»
«Cool!» John Mason exclaimed, scrambling down from his seat. «I'm gonna go see it!»
Shelby scowled at her son. «You most certainly are not. You stay away from there, John Mason. Just look what happened to your father and your aunt Serena!»
Serena sent her nephew a meaningful look. She sat in her chair, still trembling, her ears ringing, pain biting into her body in various places. There were cuts and scrapes on her hands, knees, chin. Her cheeks and forehead wore a dark blush from the heat of the fire. She had yet to make it to the shower, and her hair hung like damp strings around her head. She still wore her ruined fucksia silk blouse and red slacks.
All in all, she didn't make a pretty picture, and Mason had fared little better. She looked over at her brother-in-law as he sat staring down into his coffee cup with a vacant expression. His fine hair stood up in little shocks around his head. His robe was torn and dirty. There was a cut on his left cheekbone that stood out like a line of red ink against his ashen skin.
Serena imagined they both looked as if they had been mugged and left for dead, but they had to count themselves lucky. Two of the men who had been struggling to fight the blaze were now in the hospital, seriously injured by flying debris from the second explosion.
«Gifford had his insurance paid up, didn't he, Mr. York?» she asked, unsure whether she was whispering or shouting. She felt as if she were wearing cups over her ears.
York regarded her with his spaniel's eyes, looking like he was afraid she might call him a bad dog and send him away. «Yes,» he said hesitantly. «The premiums were paid up. There's no problem with that at all.»