Naomi took a bathroom break—she seemed to need to pee all the time now, especially when the baby decided to dance on her bladder—then washed her hands and splashed cold water on her face. When there was no sign of tears, she walked back out to where the children and counselors stood together. “They’ve set this space apart just for us, kids. Isn’t that wonderful? There’s water over there. Let’s make a line. Everyone get a bottle of water, and then we’re going to have some circle time.”
They would talk through what had just happened, let the kids share their experiences, see how they were coping, and then—
“Naomi?”
Naomi turned to see Winona and Kat standing just inside the door, Kat’s kids around her, all of them looking shaken.
Winona hurried over to Naomi, hugged her. “I’m so glad you and the baby are okay.”
Words spilled out of Naomi. “One of the boys hid. I didn’t know. I thought we had them all. I did a headcount, but it must have been wrong. Or maybe he hid afterward, and I didn’t see him go. Chaska and Grandpa stayed behind with—”
“I heard.” Winona stepped back. “We need to pray and stay strong.”
Winona was right. Fear and tears wouldn’t change anything.
“I had to evacuate all of the animals,” Winona said.
“Shota, too?”
Win nodded.
“How did you manage that?”
“I had lots of help. I need to go check on him now, but I wanted to let you know that I’m here.” She took Naomi’s hand, gave it a squeeze, and turned to go.
Kat stepped forward. “I thought we’d stay with you for now—if you don’t mind.”
Naomi saw the same fear in Kat’s eyes that she was feeling.
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
Joaquin raised his head,opened his eyes, coughed. As his panic subsided, the pieces came together—the quiet, dissipating heat, pain.
The fire. It had passed.
He was still alive—burned but alive.
Madre de Dios.
That was as close to hell as Joaquin had ever been or ever hoped to be. He didn’t know if he’d been in this shelter for a minute or an hour, but never in his life had he been more uncomfortable, more terrified—or more certain that he was going to die.
From beyond the walls of his shelter came a crinkling sound.
Someone coughed. “Ramir—”
More coughing.
“Ramirez!” It was Silver.
He and Hawke had saved Joaquin’s life. If not for their quick action and encouragement, Joaquin would never have made it through this.
Someone peeled back the edge of his shelter.
“You still with me?” Silver looked down at him, blisters on his face, his skin red. “You’re a bit toasted. How’s your breathing?”
Joaquin coughed, nodded.
Silver moved on to the pilot. “Come on out, buddy. We’re safe now.”