“Urine my way.”
Shipley gave him a tight smile. “Good one.”
Marcus headed for the closest stall.
“Keep the door open,” Shipley said.
“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.” Marcus glanced over his shoulder. “Wanna watch?”
Shipley’s face turned beet red, and he shifted uncomfortably. “Hurry it up.”
Marcus had to go, but he held it in and whistled one of Ryan’s favorite songs. This is the song that never ends… It was from a TV show his son had watched when Ryan was a preschooler. The song was a never-ending loop. Fun for kids, but irritating as hell to adults.
It had the same effect on Shipley.
“Jesus Christ, what’s that garbage you’re whistling?”
Instead of answering, Marcus continued whistling and finally filled the cup halfway. As an added bonus, he splashed a little on the side.
What’s a little urine between friends?
“Hurry up. And can you quit with the whistling?”
“I could,” Marcus said, “but then I’d have to kill you.”
“Ha ha. Very funny. You done?”
“What, this little pissing contest? Yeah. I think I won.”
Shipley’s mouth was pinched tighter than a Scotsman’s wallet. “Pass it to me.”
Marcus planted the cup in Shipley’s palm. The man’s eyes flared when he realized the cup was wet. Shipley used his fingertips to pick the cup up by the lid. He set it on the counter, washed his hands thoroughly, then picked up the cup with a piece of paper towel.
“Same time next week?” Marcus asked innocently.
Shipley clenched his jaw but said nothing.
Marcus smiled. “Nice doin’ business with ya.”
The fury that raged in Shipley left no doubt in Marcus’s mind that his supervisor was imagining various methods of tortuous payback. He’d better watch his back.
Shipley exited the washroom, leaving Marcus alone and somewhat dissatisfied. He washed his hands, stared at his reflection for a few minutes and tried to ignore the twinge of fear.
He enjoyed goading Pete Shipley, but one day he’d go too far. And where would that leave him? Without a job. With no one to be accountable to except maybe Leo. Without a life… or a reason to keep living.
Marcus shook his head. “Enough of that.”
He leaned in close, noting the bags under his eyes had deepened. There were craters in the craters, and no amount of Prep H would change that fact. He needed to sleep.
“No rest for the wicked,” he reminded his reflection.
Then he went back to work.
Ten minutes later, all hell broke loose.
While Marcus finished dispatching emergency crews to the scene of an overturned oil truck, Leo was handling a fire.
“Okay, ma’am,” he heard Leo say. “What’s the address of the fire?” There was a pause. “An apartment building? Is anybody inside?”
Marcus flew into dispatch mode, connecting to the fire department, while the casuals contacted Ambulance and Police. All the while, Leo kept the caller on the line, relaying information to Marcus and Shipley as it came in.
The call was a bad one―a gas fire in a large four-story apartment building in downtown Hinton. The building was engulfed in flames, and an unknown number of people were trapped inside. Others, visibly wounded and in shock, sat in the grass across the street and watched their lives as they knew it go up in flames.
“There’s one fire truck in the immediate area,” Marcus said to Shipley, who was hanging over his shoulder.
“How many of ours are available?”
“Edson is down to two trucks. The others were sent to the overturned rig between here and Hinton.”
“And one was sent to a barn fire over an hour ago,” Leo interjected, one hand muffling the microphone of his headset.
Shipley stood with hands on hips. “Fine. Taylor, send both our trucks.”
A shiver teased Marcus’s spine. “Maybe we should hold one back in case we have another emergency.”
“Things’ll slow down after this.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Well, aren’t you little Miss Doom-and-Gloom.”
“I have a feeling―”
“A feeling?” Shipley snorted with derision. “You want me to make a call on a feeling?” His eyes narrowed. “What are you on, Taylor? You should know by now that we’re not Edmonton. We rarely see this much action in one night. I think we’ve filled our quota.”
Marcus opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. Shipley was his supervisor, and that trumped a weird premonitory feeling, something he’d never experienced before, though he did see ghosts. Jane. Ryan. The children in the woods in Cadomin. He’d first seen them a few days before his wife and son had been killed. He’d never told a soul about those kids. Not even Leo.
“You still with us, Taylor?”
Marcus blinked back the memory of pale faces staring at him through the cabin window. “Yeah. I’m on this.”
He relayed the address of the fire to the station in Edson, then connected to EMS. Seconds later, two ambulances were on their way. A third was being sent from Edmonton.
“There are two STARS helicopters on standby to take the most critical burn victims to the U of A Hospital,” Leo stated.
A niggling sensation crawled over Marcus’s skin.
Leo frowned. “You okay?”
“I think I’ve had too much coffee.”
Whatever it was, it burned in the pit of his stomach and began rising in his throat until he thought he’d puke.
“I need to step out,” he said, flagging down one of the casuals. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
“Where you going?” Shipley demanded.
“Break room. I need some water.”
His supervisor eyed him with suspicion. “Long as that’s all you’re drinking.”
“Wanna test me for that too?” Marcus snapped. “Fine. Go ahead.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Well, don’t.”
Marcus stalked off in search of a clean glass.
Chapter Twelve
Rebecca first became aware of the drumming. It filtered through her consciousness, sounding an alert in her brain like a blaring home security alarm. Except there was no sound, merely a growing sense of danger.
Wherever she was, it was dark. And cold.
Something pressed against her chest. It was difficult to breathe. She tried to open her eyes, but something wet dripped into them. She groaned and fire coursed through her chest, making it hard to breathe.
What happened?
Was she ill? Did she have the flu?
The pressure on her chest eased off a bit, and she raised her head, blinking back the wetness. She tried to wipe away the… sweat? A knife-sharp ache rippled through the fingers of her right hand. She glanced down, but she couldn’t see a thing. She tried to flex her hand and almost passed out. At least two fingers were broken.
She moaned. Where am I?
It took a few minutes before reality hit her.
She was in the car. The faint light in front came from lights on the half-obscured dashboard, which she could now make out. Still, it wasn’t bright enough to take a full inventory of the damage. She reached for the interior light and turned it on. Her eyes skimmed across the dashboard and windshield. Both were intact.
She gasped. I was in an accident.
Then it hit her. She hadn’t been alone.
“Colton?” she cried out. “Ella?”
There was no reply. Had they been thrown out of the car?
Oh God…
“Colton! Answer me!”