He was walking home when they passed him. The red and white saviors shortened his breath. The sound of their screeching tires, restless engines, and fierce horns rang through the street and suddenly vanished round an unnamed road. Off to save some weary soul from a burning building, he imagined. Arson’s conscience screamed for him to head home, but tonight, intrigue lured him on. He hustled toward the sound and tried to keep up, staying close behind the sirens and the dim glow their flashing lights sent out into the darkness. He wanted to be there when it happened: the triumphant salvation of a helpless victim. Wanted to watch as some brave soul dragged a barely breathing, soot-covered person out of a fiery grave. At last he quit running. Distorted shouts and screams muffled the echo of each siren. Loud, unforgiving groans offered up to the dark. The screams came from inside the house. Firemen raced in, some gripping axes, others wrapping their gloved hands around an almost uncontrollable hose as it showered the flames.
