Dies the Fire Read Online Free PDF Page A

something,” she said, pushing aside the thought, and led them clattering down the stairs again.
    And we can only do it here. Think about the rest later.
    â€œPeople!” she said over the crowd’s murmur, and waved her hands. “People, there’s a plane crashed right downtown, and a fire burning out of control. And it looks like all the emergency services are out. They’re going to need all the help they can get. Let’s get what we can scrape up and go!”
    Most of them followed her, Dennis swearing quietly, a bucket in one hand and a fire ax over the other shoulder; Juniper snatched up a kerosene lantern. Eilir carried the restaurant’s first-aid kit in both arms, and others had snatched up towels and stacks of cloth napkins and bottles of booze for disinfectants.
    She needed the lantern less and less as they got closer to the crash site. Buildings were burning across a swath of the town’s riverside quarter, ending—she hadn’t gotten her wish, and the fire covered the Squirrel’s site. Heat beat at them, and towers of sparks were pouring upward from the old Victorians and warehouses.
    If the plane was out of Portland, it would have been carrying a lot of fuel. . . .
    The streets were clogged with people moving westward away from the fire, many of them hurt, and they were blocked with stopped autos and trucks and buses too. Ruddy firelight beat at her face, with heat and the sour-harsh smell of things not meant to burn.
    â€œ OK,” she said, looking at the . . . refugees, she thought. Refugees, right here in America!
    First aid could make the difference between life and death, stopping bleeding and stabilizing people until real doctors or at least paramedics got there.
    â€œWe’re not going to do any good trying to stop that fire by hitting it with wet blankets. Let’s help the injured.”
    She looked around. There was a clear stretch of sidewalk in front of a hardware store where a delivery truck had rammed into the next building down; its body slanted people out into the road like a wedge.
    â€œWe’ll set up here. Dennis, see if there’s any bedding anywhere around here, and a pharmacy—and anyplace selling bottled water.”
    He lumbered off, followed by some of his customers. The others started shouting and waving to attract attention, and then guiding the injured towards her. Juniper’s stomach clenched as she saw them: this was serious, there were bleeding slashes from shattered glass, and people whose clothes were still smoldering. Her head turned desperately, as if help could be found. . . .
    Nobody’s going to benefit if you start crying, she thought sternly, and traced the pentacle in the air again—the Summoning form this time, all she had time for. Brigid, Goddess of Healing, help me now!
    â€œYou,” she said aloud; a young man had pushed a bicycle along as they came. “You ride over to the hospital, and tell them what we’re doing. Get help if they can spare it. Hurry!”
    He did, dashing off. The first-aid kit was empty within minutes; Dennis came back, with a file of helpers carrying mattresses, sheets, blankets, and cardboard boxes full of Ozonenal, painkillers and whatever else looked useful from the plunder of a fair-sized dispensary; a pharmacist in an old-fashioned white coat came with him.
    â€œLet’s get to work,” Juniper said, giving Dennis a quick hug.
    The best part of an hour later, she paused and looked up in the midst of ripping up volunteered shirts for bandages. The fireman approaching was incredibly reassuring in his rubbers and boots and helmet, an ax in his hand; half a dozen others were following him, two carrying someone else on a stretcher.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” he asked, pausing; the others filed on past him.
    Juniper bristled a little and waved at the injured people lying in rows on the sidewalk. “Trying to help!” she snapped. “What