Chapter 24 - Crossfire and Concrete
"Don't shoot! I'm the homeowner!" I shouted, keeping my palms flat and open in the bright glare of the officers' flashlights. Behind me, Sarah pressed herself flat against the concrete wall, her hands raised defensively above her head.
"Step away from the exit slowly, hands behind your head!" the lead officer barked, his stance rigid and unwavering.
"Look at the driveway!" I yelled over the hum of the cruiser engines. "Marcus Henderson is out front with an accelerant! He’s trying to burn the house down with my son asleep upstairs!"
The two officers exchanged a quick, sharp glance. One of them kept his weapon trained on me while the other pressed his shoulder mic to his collar, barking for backup to sweep the perimeter of the property.
"On your knees, sir. Do it now," the officer commanded, refusing to lower his weapon until the situation was verified.
I didn't have time to argue. Every second wasted here gave Marcus more time to carry out whatever destructive finale he had planned. As I slowly dropped to my knees on the cold concrete of the bulkhead steps, a sudden, blinding flash of orange light erupted from the front of the house, accompanied by a dull, concussive *whoosh* that shook the ground beneath us.
Flames.
The front porch overhang had caught. The thick timber support pillars, treated with a fresh coat of decorative stain that hadn't fully cured, greedily drank in the gasoline Marcus had thrown across the entrance.
"My son!" I screamed, lunging forward past the officer's line of sight.
The police officer, realizing the gravity of the situation, didn't try to cuff me. Instead, he spun around, his radio screeching with urgent calls for fire department dispatch as he sprinted around the side of the house toward the front lawn.
I scrambled up the bulkhead stairs and tore around the western side of the structure, ignoring the smoke beginning to billow toward the second-floor windows. The front porch was a wall of flickering orange heat. Through the smoke, I could see Marcus standing near the property line, watching the flames with a vacant, glazed expression, holding the empty red gas can loosely in his hand like a child holding a broken toy.
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Before the police could even reach him, I vaulted the burning perimeter railing, my eyes locked on the front door. Billy was still inside.
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