Free All the Wrong Moves by Merline Lovelace

turned off on the spur that led to our site. I was humming along with Travis Tritt when I spotted the flashing red lights in my rearview mirror. Cursing, I glanced at the speedometer and saw I was only going twenty miles over the limit. Hardly worth worrying about out here in Nowhere Land.
    Still cursing, I slowed down and pulled over. Moments later, the Dry Springs Volunteer Fire Department’s only pumper roared by. The wash made my Bronco shimmy and rattle like an old tin cup.
    I got a weird feeling as I watched the fire engine zoom over a small rise. It looked like it was headed straight for my site.
    I shoved the Bronco into gear, stomped on the gas pedal and dug in my breast pocket for my cell phone. I was stabbing frantically at the speed dial button when I topped the rise and spotted the red glow lighting the night sky.

CHAPTER SIX
    I reached O’Reilly after three frantic tries and shrieked into my cell phone.
    “ Dennis! What’s going on?”
    “The lab’s on fire!”
    “No one’s in there, are they!”
    “No.”
    His reply shoved my heart back down my throat and into my chest.
    “What about the lab’s W-K unit?” I asked when I could breathe again. “Did it kick on?”
    “Don’t know.”
    With all our expensive test equipment, the CHUs we used as a lab had been rigged with a waterless fire suppression system that was supposed to be kind to the environment as well as our computers and electronic media. We’d never had occasion to test it before.
    “Gotta go,” O’Reilly gasped, sounding close to hyperventilation. “The fire truck just pulled up.”
    “I’m right behind it.”
    Mere moments later I brought the Bronc to a screeching halt a safe distance from the pumper. I scrambled out, my horrified gaze on the flames leaping from the lab. Obviously, our handy-dandy, environmentally friendly fire suppression system had failed its first test.
    While the DSFD volunteers un-snaked their hoses with Sergeant Cassidy’s able assistance, I raced over to the rest of my huddled squad. Pen was in the faded Stanford University T-shirt she wore to sleep in. Poor Rocky was shaking and twitching almost uncontrollably. Dennis’s frizzy hair stood straight up. Below that orange crown, he was naked except for his black-rimmed glasses and a pair of boxers. I’d never seen his pudgy, milk-white torso before and sincerely hoped I never would again.
    “How did it start?”
    “No idea.” He shoved his glasses up on the bridge of his nose with a forefinger. “Rock and I had hit the sack. Pen, too. Noel was still working out. He’s the one who spotted the flames and sounded the alarm.”
    We all jumped as an arc of water slammed into the metal-sided CHU. With sledgehammer force, it shattered the unit’s one window. To vent the flames, I learned later. At the moment, though, it was all I could do not to groan at the thought of the expensive equipment inside getting doused.
    While we watched, stunned, another emergency vehicle came careening down the spur road, its lights flashing and siren screaming. The siren cut off and the black-and-white pulled up a moment later. A tall, lanky individual in jeans and a tan shirt with one tail hanging out emerged. As he crammed on his straw Stetson, I recognized Deputy Dawg from our previous meeting.
    “Lieutenant.”
    I couldn’t remember his name so I acknowledged his greeting with a nod. His gaze skimmed over my companions, widening a little when it hit O’Reilly before returning to me.
    “Everyone accounted for?”
    “Yes.”
    His relief was patently obvious. Apparently Deputy Dawg didn’t like getting up close and personal with corpses any more than I did.
    It seemed like an hour but was probably only about ten or fifteen minutes until the DSFD doused the leaping flames and the fire sizzled out. I was staring in dismay at the blackened exterior shell of our lab when one of the volunteer firefighters approached. He pushed his helmet to the back of his head and squinted