Dies the Fire Read Online Free PDF

are you doing, mister?”
    â€œFuck-all,” he said, but nodded approval; his face was running with sweat and soot; he was a middle-aged man with a jowly face and a thick body.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?”
    â€œOur trucks won’t work, our portable pumps won’t work, and the pressure is off in the mains! Died down to a trickle while we manhandled a hose down here and got it hitched. The pumping stations that lift from the Taylor treatment plant on the river are down and the reservoirs’ve all drained. We can’t even blow fire lanes—our dynamite won’t explode! So now what we’re doing is making sure everyone’s out of the way of a fire we can’t stop. Lady, this area’s going to fry, and soon.”
    Juniper looked up at the flames; they were nearer now, frighteningly so—she’d lost track in the endless work.
    â€œWe’ve got to get these people out of here!” she said. “A lot of them can’t walk any farther.”
    â€œYeah,” the fireman said. “We’ll have to carry them out—the hospital’s got an emergency aid station set up on the campus. We’re using runners and people on bicycles to coordinate. Hey, Tony!”
    A policeman stood not far away, writing on a pad; he handed it to a boy standing astride a bike, and the teenager sped off, weaving between cars and clots of people.
    â€œEd?” the policeman said; he looked as tired and desperate as the firefighter.
    â€œWe’ve got to move these injured over to the aid station.”
    The policeman nodded twice, once to the fireman and once to her, touching a hand to his cap. Then he turned and started shouting for volunteers; dozens came forward. The walking wounded started off westward into the darkened streets, most of them with a helper on either side.
    â€œThese mattresses will do for stretchers,” Dennis said; he’d gotten them out of nearby houses and inns. “Or better still, cut off the top covers and the handles and use them that way. Hey—you, you, you—four men to a mattress. Walk careful, walk in step!”
    The firefighters helped organize, then carried off the last of the worst-wounded themselves. Juniper took a long shuddering breath through a mouth dry as mummy dust. Dennis handed her a plastic bottle with a little water left in it, and she forced herself not to gulp it all down. Instead she took a single mouthful and handed it on to Eilir; the girl looked haunted, but she was steady save for a quiver in the hands now and then.
    Goddess, she’s a good kid, Juniper thought, and hugged her.
    It was about time to get out themselves; the fires were burning westward despite a wind off the Coast Range—and thank the Goddess for that, because if it had been blowing from the east half the city would be gone by now, instead of just a quarter.
    Shouts came from across the street, and a sound of shattering glass. The musician looked up sharply. Half a dozen young men—teens or early twenties—had thrown a trash container through a storefront window; they were scooping jewelry out of the trays within, reaching through the coarse mesh of the metal screen inside the glass.
    The policeman cursed with savage weariness and drew his pistol; Juniper’s stomach clenched, but they had to have order or things would be even worse than they were.
    I hope he doesn’t have to shoot anyone, she thought.
    Most of the looters scattered, laughing as they ran, but one of them threw something at the approaching policeman. Juniper could see the looter clearly, down to the acne scars and bristle-cut black hair and the glint of narrow blue eyes. He wore baggy black sweats and ankle-high trainers, and a broad belt that glittered—made from chain mesh. Gold hoops dangled from both ears.
    â€œClear out, goddamnit!” the cop shouted hoarsely, and raised the pistol to fire in the air. “I’m not