Firebaby
Chapter 4
"Slow down Dustin, you're speeding," Mike said. "If a regular cop pulls us over, the agents will find out where we are right away."
"What if the regular cops are working for the agents?" Dustin countered, though he did ease up on the gas pedal. "This is bad," he said after a minute. "Real bad."
"Tell me again, slowly," Mike said.
"They were agents," Dustin said, trying to slow down his racing thoughts. "Had to be. Two men in black suits in a black car with a license plate from who-knows-where... and they were spying on the house, Mike."
"This doesn't make sense," Mike said. "Hawkins Lab got shut down. Why would they come after El again after all this time?"
"I don't think it's El they're after," Dustin said, glancing into the rear view mirror at El, who was again talking and humming to Allie.
"But why?" Mike moaned.
"The government wants weapons, Mike," Dustin told him.
"You're speeding again," Mike reminded him.
"What are we going to do?" Dustin asked, again dropping to somewhere close to the speed limit.
"I don't know," Mike said.
Dustin again looked into the rear view mirror, but El seemed occupied with the task of keeping the baby calm.
"I've got it," Dustin said. "What about Will's house?"
"But he lives all the way in Chicago," Mike protested.
"All the better," Dustin said. "It's far away from here, where the agents know to look for us, and it's got way more places to hide."
Mike considered it for a minute. "How do we get there without being caught?" He asked.
"We take the back roads," Dustin said. "It'll be easier to see if we're being followed. Unless..." he craned his neck in front of the steering wheel to check for helicopters.
"This has to be some kind of mistake," Mike said. "Where were they for the last ten years?"
"Watching," Dustin told him. "They probably didn't know what little Allie could do until a few days ago."
"Dustin slow DOWN," Mike said. Dustin looked at the speedometer and immediately let up on the pedal. He tried to take a calming breath and flexed his fingers open and closed on the steering wheel to relieve the tension, but it didn't help.
"Maybe we should stick to roads that have at least some tree cover," Dustin suggested, "just in case they do bring a helicopter."
"I don't see how we can make it all the way to Chicago without being seen," Mike said.
"Maybe we can lose them IN Chicago," Dustin said. "More cars to hide behind. We could disappear in a crowd."
"I don't think it's that easy," Mike said.
"Maybe we ditch the car," Dustin thought out loud. "We go in the front door of some public place, abandon the car, and come out the back door. They'll never expect that. Then we pick up a new car and drive off."
"How are we going to pick up a new car?" Mike demanded.
"Steal one?" Dustin asked, both Mike and himself.
"Do you know how to steal a car? Because I don't," Mike said tersely.
"Maybe we could pay some gangsters to create a distraction," Dustin said thoughtfully. "A distraction to keep the agents busy while we slip away. There's probably a lot of gangsters in Chicago."
Mike shook his head in annoyance.
Dustin's eyes snapped up to see flashing lights in the rear view mirror.
"Dustin!" Mike yelled, looking down at the speedometer again.
"Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod," Dustin said, his eyes locked on the rear view mirror. Instinctively, his foot pressed even harder on the gas pedal.
"What are you doing?" Mike demanded. "We can't outrun them."
"Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod," Dustin repeated, though he somehow kept control of his instinct to slam his foot down and, hopefully, rocket away to safety. Maybe he could get off the road and lose them in the trees, he wondered.
"Dustin, just pull over," Mike said. "It's probably not even the agents. It's just a normal cop who saw us speeding. It we're really lucky, we can just take the ticket and leave."
"How do you know he doesn't work for the agents?" Dustin demanded, his foot poised over the brake pedal but somehow unable to touch it.
"How do you think it'll turn out if we end up in a high speed car chase?" Mike demanded.
Dustin glanced at El in the rear view mirror again. "El, can you get a reading on that guy?" He asked her. "Is he an agent?"
She turned around in the back seat and looked, but didn't answer.
"It doesn't work like that, Dustin," Mike said, annoyed.
"How do you know?" Dustin asked.
"Just pull over," Mike said. "It's probably just a normal county cop. We'll just tell him we weren't paying attention to the speed limit and that we're really sorry, and then he'll let us go."
"Or he'll call the agents," Dustin grumbled, but he had already started to slow down and pull to the side of the road. "I don't feel good about this," he said, for the record.
El was kneeling in the back seat now, staring intently out the rear window. Dustin finally brought the car to a full stop, and the police car pulled up behind him, those threateningly bright lights still flashing.
"Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod," Dustin said, pressing both hands against his forehead.
"Just stay calm," Mike said. "Act like everything's normal."
"El, seriously, if you sense anything, tell me now," Dustin said.
"Will you stop that?" Mike scolded him. "It doesn't work that way."
Dustin heard a car door slam, and he glanced back to see the officer approaching. With the strongest possible reservations, he rolled down his window. Cold sweat was breaking out all over his body. He felt like a zebra just sitting down and letting a hungry lion walk right up to it.
The officer removed his sunglasses and gazed down at Dustin with an unreadable expression. "Do you know what the speed limit is out here?" He asked.
"Uhh..." Dustin tried.
"Fifty five," the officer said impatiently. "Do you know how fast you were going?"
"Listen officer..." Dustin glanced at the man's badge, which read Tim Sivils, Roan County Sheriff's Department. "Officer Sivils. I can explain."
"It's my fault, officer," Mike said. "We're on the way to the airport. I had the departure time wrong, so we got going half an hour late, and I kept pushing him to go faster."
Dustin gulped nervously. That wasn't a very good lie. What if the cop asked to see the plane ticket that didn't exist?
Officer Sivils leaned down and peered inside the car, first at Mike, then at El and Allie in the back. Mike's face was as nervous and guilty as Dustin's. El's was, as usual, unreadable. The officer inspected their faces for a long time. Did his gaze linger too long on the baby, Dustin wondered? At long last, he said, "License and registration."
Dustin handed them over with shaking fingers.
"Anything in the car I should know about?" He asked.
"No." Dustin and Mike said together.
Staring at them like a woodland predator about to bite, the officer prowled back to his squad car.
"Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod," Dustin said as soon as they were alone.
"Try and stay calm," Mike hissed. "You're going to give us away.
"El, I need to know if this guy's an agent or not," Dustin said.
"He's not," Mike said. "He probably just thinks you look like you're hiding something."
"Me?" Dustin protested. "YOU look like you're hiding something. Hey, maybe we make a run for it now," he suggested.
"I'm telling you, no high speed car chase," Mike said. "Did you see what happened to Rodney King? We'd never make it."
"No, I mean, on foot," Dustin said. "We head into the forest," he pointed over Mike's shoulder at the thick trees lining the road. "We could lose him in there."
"You're out of your mind," Mike told him.
"Hey, is he taking longer than usual?" Dustin asked, watching the parked cop car in his rear view mirror. "How long does it take to write a ticket?"
El had again turned all the way around in the back seat and was watching intently out the window. Allie rested quietly in her arms, unaware of the danger they might or might not have been in.
"Look, he's coming now," Mike said. "See? We're in the clear."
"I don't feel good about this," Dustin said again. He watched the cop approach, and the slowness and casualness of his gait only served to keep Dustin in suspense even longer.
When he did finally reach Dustin's window, the officer held out the license and registration. "You don't have any points on your license, so I'm going to let you off with a warning," he said, though his eyes still roved over them like a tiger surveying a few stray sheep.
"Th-thanks officer," Dustin said. "I'll be more careful."
The radio clipped to his shoulder squawked, and the officer inclined his head to speak into it.
"Go for Sivils, over."
Dustin couldn't make out the response.
"Stand by," the cop said, and took a few steps away from their car.
Dustin looked over at Mike, feeling ice pour into his veins. "What's happening?" He asked.
"I don't know," Mike said impatiently. "It could be nothing. Maybe they're calling him away for something else."
"Right, right, that makes sense," Dustin said, trying to reassure himself. The cop had taken a few more steps away from their car in the course of his conversation with the voice on his radio. "Look," Dustin said. "He gave me back my driver's license, and he gave me a warning. Doesn't that mean we're free to go?"
"I don't think so," Mike said.
"But he's finished with us, technically," Dustin insisted. "He's not even in his car. If I take off right now-"
"No," Mike said. "We act natural, remember? As far as he knows, we're nobody special."
Dustin's heart stopped beating.
Mike might have kept talking, but Dustin couldn't hear him. His vision shrank to a small tunnel as he saw a lone black sedan pull up to park neatly behind the police car.
Too afraid to even speak, Dustin watched as the officer looked up from his conversation on the radio, and trudged back toward his car and the new arrival. If his heart had stopped before, it suddenly started up again, like a hammer inside his chest. He watched in cold and terrified silence as the officer approached the black sedan.
Two men in suits got out, slowly and casually, as if they were in control of the situation. One of them reached inside his suit jacket.
"We're dead," Dustin moaned.
The agent in the suit pulled his hand out and showed a badge to the officer. They continued to speak for what felt like hours, but might have been only seconds.
"What do we do, Mike?" Dustin asked. "We can't just sit here and let them take us. We run or we fight. At least right now there's only three of them. If we wait-" His voice stopped working as the officer turned and headed toward their car. The two agents remained with their black sedan, talking emotionlessly to each other.
"I'm going to make a run for it," Dustin said, his fingers fumbling over the ignition, though his hands didn't seem to want to obey.
The officer stopped even with Dustin's window. With one hand resting on his holster, he said "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the car."
Dustin's mouth went dry. His brain struggled between fight, flight, and shutting down. His eyes darted between the cop and the agents. What were their chances if they ran for it right-
Something exploded inside the car, shattering one of the windows and blasting the cop off his feet. Dustin felt the shockwave pass over him like a hurricane. He swung his head around in search of what had just happened. El leaned over his shoulder from the back seat and thrust the baby into Mike's arms.
"Stay here," she said.
Before Dustin could fully comprehend, she was already out of the car. The cop was trying to stand back up. El held one hand palm down, and the cop was pressed against the ground spread eagle as if the earth had turned into a magnet.
She turned her back on him and looked toward the two agents, who Dustin saw reach inside their suit jackets. With a flick of her hand, El sent them both flying ten feet into the air. Before they hit the ground, she flicked a finger, and their guns were torn out of their hands and sailed off somewhere into the trees. She swept a hand upward, and their black sedan kicked back onto its rear bumper and then toppled over to rest upside down in the ditch on the side of the road. With another gesture, she upended the police car, too. It's flashing lights crunched and shattered when it landed. She returned her attention to the cop, who was breathing as heavily as if one of those cars had fallen onto his chest. She waved her hand at his gun, which ripped itself out of his holster and flew off to join the others among the trees. Leaning over him and looking hard into his eyes, she said, "Please don't follow us. I don't want to hurt you." The cop wheezed and struggled to speak against the weight pressing on his lungs.
El slid back into the back seat of their car.
"Go, Dustin," she told him. His hands still fumbled with the ignition, but once he got it started, it felt great to floor the gas pedal and tear off down the country road. The wind ripped at Dustin's hair, both from his own window, which was still rolled down, and El's window, which no longer existed. He could see her face in the rear view mirror. It had been years and years since he'd seen her nose bleed, but he'd never been happier to see anything in his life.
Hopper dug through his white, paper Wendy's bag looking for his straw.
"Could she ID the guy if we brought him in?" Sam asked,barely interested in his own food.
"I don't think you'd get her inside a police station," Hopper said. "Not without handcuffs. You're missing the point, though."
"What am I missing?"
"That this guy, our arsonist, saved her from his own fire," Hopper told him.
"So I'm supposed to like him now?" Sam asked. "He's a real hero. He saved one girl, after he killed maybe a dozen others."
"But look at who he killed, and who he didn't," Hopper pointed out. "You were the one who said there was a connection between the warehouse fire and the one in the rich neighborhood. And then last night he went back inside the burning building to make sure she got out safe. It looks to me like he's going after a very specific group of people. Maybe they're all part of that same gang."
"Could be the Nortenas. So he's a vigilante, cleaning up the streets of Sacramento?" Sam scoffed.
Hopper chewed his burger as he considered. "Maybe. Or maybe they did something to him and he's got a grudge against them."
"Ok, so he's not indiscriminate," Sam said. "But it's still murder. We still have to find him and bring him in."
"Just how do you think that would go?" Hopper asked, his voice sharp for the first time. "Think about it. Let's say you corner this guy and surround him. You could line up twenty squad cars, even the whole SWAT team and tell this guy to come out with his hands in the air or you shoot. What do YOU think happens next?" When Sam didn't answer, Hopper answered for him. "He blows up the whole street? Every officer, plus the people in their houses for two blocks in every direction?"
In a calmer voice Hopper finished, "Maybe there's a better way. Maybe we can convince him to give it up."
"Look, I'm not saying you're wrong," Sam half apologized, "But how are we gonna do that? Ask him nicely?"
Hopper shrugged. "We have to find him first, or we can't ask him anything. But when we do, I think it'll go better for everyone if you don't approach him with your gun and handcuffs. We treat it like a hostage situation, with the whole city block as hostages."
Sam grimaced.
"Or like a terrorist with a bomb in his van," Hopper went on. "Like those crazies who drove a truck bomb into the World Trade Center."
Sam winced even harder.
"My point is, he's not a common criminal, so we'd better not act like he is, or it'll end badly," Hopper finished.
"And we're the only ones who know what the situation really is," Sam said darkly.
"I kind of like it that way," Hopper told him. "It's hard enough to convince YOU not to go in guns blazing. I'd hate to try to convince your chief the same thing."
"You're a persuasive guy," Sam said, finally lightening up. "Maybe you'd win him over."
"The chief always thinks they know best, no matter where you go," Hopper said. "That's how they hire chiefs, I think. You have to be cocky, condescending, full of yourself..."
"How did the boys in Hawkins ever put up with you?" Sam asked.
"I still ask myself that," Hopper told him.
Sam at last dug into his food. Hopper was so far ahead he'd almost finished.
"So those two officers who died in the warehouse fire," Hopper said, gently, "you had time to see their families yet? How are they holding up?"
Sam looked up from his food with a puzzled expression. "There weren't any officers in that warehouse fire."
Hopper wrinkled his forehead. "I thought you said-"
"No, Mark and Jeff died a few days before," Sam told him. "It wasn't related to this."
"Sorry, I thought... When you told me, I guess I just assumed," Hopper said.
"No," Sam said sadly. "It was a freak accident, really. They got sent to give the news to a family. Worst part of the job, when you have to tell a family that you've got their kid's body down at the city morgue. This was last... uh, Tuesday, I think. I wasn't even in that day. I had to drive all the way up to San Francisco to appear at this court case, an appeal for a guy I put in jail a year ago. So Mark and Jeff showed up at an apartment to give the bad news to a family, and they were inside when..." Sam dropped his food on the table and stared at Hopper with his mouth open. He swore at himself.
"What's wrong with me?" Sam said. "I've been so focused on this arsonist, I never even... Hop! They were inside, when they got caught in a house fire."
"What?"
"A house fire, that's what the report said," Sam said, his words coming out in a torrent. "I told you, I wasn't there. I cam back the next day, and I heard it from everybody else. The report was a house fire. Mark and Jeff just happened to be inside this apartment complex informing a family, and there was a fire. A few people, including them, never made it out."
Hopper swore, too.
"I can't believe I..."
"You don't know it was the same guy," Hopper warned him.
"What are the chances?" Sam said. "The day before I saw the Arsonist, Mark and Jeff die in a fire? What are the chances it's not the same guy?"
Hopper stared down at the table, his mind jumping to all kinds of conclusions.
"I just can't believe I-" Sam said again.
"We need to read that file," Hopper interrupted. "We need to know why those two cops were there. Who were they giving the news to. Who else lived in that apartment."
"Right," Sam said, his eyes drifting off as his own mind ran on ahead of him.
"You've got to talk to somebody down at the station," Hopper continued. "A friend who will do you a favor. Somebody who will get the file and let you read it without your chief knowing. If there's a connection, we need to find it."
"Yeah," Sam agreed, pushing his char back from the table and standing up. "There's a few people. I can get that file. Let's go."
Dustin set his cruise as exactly fifty five miles an hour so he wouldn't again draw the attention of any random cops who weren't already looking for them. Those two agents and their overturned car were miles behind him now, but he couldn't keep from checking the rear view mirror every few seconds. Each time, he fully expected to see a whole fleet of cars chasing them down.
"I still say Will's house is the best option," Dustin told them. "We'll have to ditch this car, though. It's marked."
"Marked?" Mike asked shortly.
"Yeah, you know, they know this car, and they'll pick it up wherever we go," Dustin explained.
"Why didn't you just say that?" Mike asked.
"It's easier to say we're marked," Dustin protested. He glanced into the back seat again, where El was talking and humming to the baby, who was blissfully unaware of their problems. "Hey, El, do you think you could steal us a car?"
"Dustin," Mike warned.
"I mean, just pop the locks from the outside so we can get in," Dustin said, more to Mike now that El. "I've seen in movies where they hotwire the ignition. It can't be that hard."
"I don't think you can just figure something like that out," Mike said, rolling his eyes. "Besides, if we steal a car, the police will come looking for it."
"You're right, we need something that isn't marked," Dustin said. Mike rolled his eyes again.
"How much cash do you have in the bank?" Dustin asked. "We'd have to find a small dealership, one that's willing to take cash upfront with no questions asked, otherwise we'll leave a paper trail that the agents can follow."
Mike shook his head in annoyance.
"But we'd better not walk into a bank, either," Dustin went on. "They have cameras inside. The agents might tap into those cameras. Maybe we pay a kid to take your card up to an ATM and then bring us the cash. That'll throw them off our trail at least for a little while."
"That's the worst plan I've ever heard, Dustin," Mike said.
"Well I don't hear you coming up with any ideas, Mr. Negative," Dustin tossed back.
Mike slumped forward and put his face in his hands.
"Let's go through our options, then," Dustin said. "Fact: we'll never make it all the way to Chicago in this car, because it's marked."
Mike shook his head, still in his hands.
"Option 1: we steal a car. Option 2: we buy a car. Option 3: we find someone who's willing to give us a ride. You've already ruled out option 1. Option 3 would put someone else in danger. You don't want to drag someone else in between us and the agents, do you?"
Mike didn't answer.
"So, the way I see it, that leaves option 2," Dustin went on. "We have to stop at a bank, get in and out before the agents realize we're there, and then find someone who will sell us a car on the spot. It's possible we'll have to deal with someone pretty shady. We should be prepared for that going in."
"This is insane," Mike groaned. "Why now? Why is this happening now?"
"I think that's pretty obvious," Dustin told him. "Hang on, I didn't think about trains. Maybe we can hop on a northbound train and get off when it stops in Chicago."
"I don't think trains work like that anymore," Mike complained.
"El could just float us on top of one when it slows down,"' Dustin continued uninterrupted. "And then we drop in through the top. It could work. We'd be totally untraceable on a train. It might be the safest option, unless El can just fly us all the way to Chicago. Wait..." He turned all the way around in his seat, taking his eyes off the road to look at El. "You can't fly us all the way to Chicago... can you?"
"Dustin!" Mike yelled.
Forty minutes later, Dustin inched the car closer to the Standard Federal Bank in the little town of Cherokee Indiana, which was large enough to support exactly one bank, one Shell gas station, and one Chicken Coop fast food restaurant. He craned his neck around the steering wheel, looking for security cameras mounted on the bank's roof or the nearby telephone poles.
"I still think it's a bad idea for you to go inside yourself," Dustin told Mike. "You should pay some kid to walk up to the ATM for you. That way they won't see you on the cameras."
"I'm not doing that," Mike told him flatly. "Are you going to park or not?"
"Are you kidding?" Dustin asked him. "We can't bring a marked car into a bank parking lot. They'll see us for sure. I'm going to keep circling, in case they identify you and we have to make a run for it, I'll be able to pick you up. I'll slow down, El can open the door, and you just jump in. Maybe she can even give you a little pull."
Mike shook he head angrily and got out of the car, closing the door a little harder than Dustin thought was necessary, but he didn't say anything. He knew Mike was under a lot of stress. He pulled back onto the road and turned at the first corner, now driving along the bank's side. He watched Mike walk right up to the front doors and go inside. Dustin felt his muscles tense even further. He tried to move his shoulders around to relax them. He wouldn't have walked right into place with cameras and security guards, not with a target on his back like that.
"How is Allie taking all this?" Dustin asked, checking on them in his rear view mirror.
"I'm keeping her calm," El told him.
"That's good," he said. "Are you Ok? Do your batteries need recharging? You did a lot back there."
"I'm alright."
"Are you sure? I still have a Hershey's with almonds." He reached into the glove box and fished it out. He turned the car again, this time into the parking lot of a coin laundry that ran behind the bank. El took the offered candy bar. He opened his mouth again, wanting to say that everything would be alright, but he stopped short. Did he really believe that, he asked himself. The last time he'd been through anything similar, the danger hadn't passed until the director of Hawkins Lab, and dozens of his henchmen, had been killed or eaten by a monster. If someone from the government had decided to come after El and baby Allie, what would it take to make them stop this time? How far would Mike and El have to run before they made it to safety? How long would they need to hide before the agents gave up their search? His hands working on their own as his eyes glazed over, Dustin turned from the coin laundry into the Chicken Coop parking lot, having nearly looped all the way around the bank by now.
"Dustin," El said softly, breaking through his unhappy thoughts. "They aren't after you."
He understood what she meant, and it filled him with warmth and joy, erasing all his doubts. "Forget it," he told her. "I'm with you guys till the end." He grinned. "Those agents'll never take me alive."
"Thank you," she said,putting a hand on his shoulder. He wouldn't have traded those words for anything.
They had to circle the bank twice more before Mike finally emerged. When he did, there were no uniformed guards hot on his tail, thankfully. Mike fast-walked across the parking lot and got into the car. Dustin pulled away as fast as he dared without drawing attention.
"No problems?" Dustin asked.
"I withdrew everything," Mike told him.
"That's good. It means the agents aren't throwing everything they have at us yet," Dustin explained. "They probably still want to keep this quiet."
"What are you talking about?" Mike asked.
"Thank about it," Dustin said. "They already know who we are. They've probably been watching all along. They could have frozen your bank account the minute they realized we'd gone on the run. They could have mobilized the entire Indiana state police force and set up roads blocks. They could have helicopters in the air searching. Since they haven't done any of that, it sounds to me like they want to keep this an internal issue for now. Whatever secret agency is after us, they don't want to bring outsiders in on the secret. They'd rather catch us some place quiet with no witnesses around and make us disappear without a trace."
"How do you know any of that?" Mike asked.
"It just makes sense, doesn't it?" Dustin replied.
"Dustin," El interrupted them. She reached over his shoulder to point out the windshield. He followed her finger and saw only a mobile home off the side of the road. They were about a minute outside of town, now, and the homes were growing farther apart as the road stretched on into the countryside.
"Stop here," El said.
"What's here?" Dustin asked, slowing down and pulling into the dirt driveway.
"A car," El told them. "One that isn't marked."
Dustin's eyes roamed over the house and the family out front. They looked to be a husband and wife with a daughter who might have been about ten. The dad was fixing the tire on the little girl's pink bicycle. They didn't look like they had a lot of money, but they did have a car parked in the driveway. Dustin wasn't a big car guy, but it looked to be a couple of years older than his own. The family looked up at the intrusion into their peaceful evening. Dustin stopped the car and turned it off.
"Let me talk to them," El said.
Mike and Dustin both watched with baited breath as she slid out of the back seat, still carrying the baby, and approached the family.
"Buenos Dias," the dad said.
"Hello," El offered.
"No hablo ingles," he said, with a polite smile. "Lo siento."
Dustin frowned. He had only been able to pick out the word "ingles," but he wasn't very optimistic.
El shifted the baby in her arms and took a deep breath, bracing herself for failure. She wasn't confident in her Spanish, but she also wasn't terribly confident about leveling with strangers. She'd found that honesty didn't always get the response she hoped. Sometimes it scared people away.
"We're in trouble and we need help," she blurted out, hoping she'd used the right Spanish noun for trouble. There it was. She understood perfectly well that was no way to start a normal conversation, but as she looked at the man's face, and very gently into his mind, she felt reassured that he wasn't going to turn her away. She could have pretended they weren't running from agents, but it felt very good to be honest. If she was right about this person, it just might be alright.
He put down the bicycle tire and turned to share a look with his wife. She gave him a puzzled look, then he turned back to fix El with an equally puzzled and slightly alarmed look. She held her breath, waiting for him to answer. The longer she had to stare at him, her senses told her not to worry.
"What kind of trouble?" He asked her, still in Spanish.
She took one last deep breath before making the plunge. "Men from the government are chasing us," she told him. "We're trying to hide." She was pretty sure she'd conjugated "hide" wrong, but he must have understood.
His face grew a little more alarmed. "Why are they chasing you?"
She considered the real answer for a long minute before speaking. Why, truly, were the agents after her? Just because they enjoyed hurting people? She knew that wasn't true.
"They think we're dangerous," she told him at last.
The man's daughter had been inching closer all the time, and El didn't even need any special senses to know that the girl really wanted to look at baby Allie, but knew her father wouldn't let her get too close to a stranger yet.
The man looked from El to the two faces in the car, and back to El. "Who are you?" he asked, now more puzzled than alarmed.
"I'm El," she told him. "This is Allie," she pointed toward the car, "and in there is my husband Mike and our friend Dustin." She realized she'd said "esposa" instead of "esposo" and had accidentally called Mike her wife, but the man didn't object to her poor fluency.
Dustin gave a shy wave from behind the steering wheel.
"Men from the government are chasing you?" The man repeated her words, as if expecting her to change her story.
She nodded. He might laugh at her. He might think she was making it up. He might think she was crazy. He might think she really was dangerous and tell her to go away. He might think she really was dangerous and call the police. But, if she was right about him, he wouldn't.
"You're in trouble," he said, instead of asked. "What do you need?"
"We need to buy a car," El told him. "One that isn't..." She didn't know if "Marked" was the same in Spanish, so she tried again. "They know our car. We need a different one so we can escape."
A few minutes later, the man, Jose, was insisting that they were all friends. He pulled Mike and Dustin out of the car and introduced them to his wife, whose name was Camila. Their daughter, whose name was Sofia, was practically bouncing up and down to get a chance to hold the little baby. El sent Allie an extra dose of mental calm to make sure she didn't mind being held. Lemonade was passed around, and Jose tried to teach Dustin how to say hello and goodbye in Spanish. El would have been happy to stay a little while. It was certainly more enjoyable than being on the road on the run. But she really didn't want to stay long enough to draw the agents to Jose's family's house and put them in danger. He seemed to understand that she and the others needed to get down to the business of running away, so he drew an end to all the pleasantries and handed over his car keys. Mike handed him a stack of cash, and Dustin surrendered his own car keys with no apparent hesitation. El was a little worried that the agents might find Dustin's car and drag Jose in for interrogation, but he assured her that he knew how to "clean up" the car, so she took him at his word. He was already unscrewing the license plate from Dustin's car when El and the others drove off in what had been Jose's car.
In a car with no paper connection at all to any of them, with a license plate that Jose had assured her was clean, they headed North again for Chicago. El could easily feel that Dustin, and even Mike, were feeling better about their chances of escape now.
Hopper watched Sam's friend, Jessie, emerge from the police station and make her way across the street. She did a pretty good job of not looking suspicious as she casually moved in the direction of Sam's truck without looking like she was on a mission to bring them a stolen case file. She slid into the passenger seat next to Hopper. Since Sam's truck had no back seats, Hopper tried to sqeeze over as much as possible to Jessie wouldn't be crushed between him and the door. It was still a tight fit, so he apologized to her as he introduced himself.
"Thanks for getting this for me, Jessie," Sam said. "I can't... I really appreciate it."
"It's better if I don't show it to you here," she told him. "The chief's still mad at you. He wouldn't want to see me telling you anything."
Sam pulled out of the street parking and headed off at a leisurely speed.
"Wouldn't it be better if we look at it alone?" Jessie asked, then gave Hopper a quick apology.
"I need Hop to see this, too," Sam told her. "It's Ok. He was with me in Indianapolis years ago."
"I don't think anybody outside needs to see-"She said.
"He's helping me," Sam told her. "I really need his eyes on this."
She sighed. "You know what would really help you? If you let this crazy stuff go. Then the chief would bring you back in, and we wouldn't have to sneak around like this. What are you going to do with this anyway?" She waved the file at him.
"We're just looking into a theory," Sam said. "I promise, I'm not going off the tracks on this one. We're just shooting some ideas back and forth, me and Hop. Once I have everything figured out, I'll bring it to the chief. I won't do anything crazy, I promise."
Hopper winced, thinking of all the things they'd already done, but Jessie didn't need to know about that. Sam pulled into the parking lot of a Tim Hortons a few blocks from the police station, and they all got out and crowded around the hood of Sam's truck where Jessie laid the stolen file and flipped it open.
"This where Mark and Jeff were the day they died," she pointed to the address of an apartment complex on the North side of town. "You weren't here that day. I was down by 130th responding to a call at the time. Mark and Jeff were sent to notify the family about their daughter. Mr. and Mrs. Castillo, apartment 812. When they were there giving the bad news, a fire started in the apartment and they got caught up on the 8th floor. I guess the fire spread too quick and they couldn't make it out. It was a freak accident."
Sam was gazing down at the file with a dark look on his face, but Hopper reached a hand out for the file. Jessie slid the papers away from his hand and glanced toward Sam. Hopper let his hand drop, but asked her gently, "Tell me about the girl."
With another skeptical glance toward Sam, Jessie turned to another page in the file. "Maria Castillo. Her body was found outside of Ridgeway Elementary. An accidental death in a shootout between two street gangs."
Hopper put a hand over his face to cover his expression.
"Nortenas?" Sam asked.
"One of them was," she nodded.
"So the fire," Sam began slowly. "There wasn't anything weird about it?"
Jessie scowled at him.
"I'm not trying to convince you, I'm just asking," Sam said, holding his hands up defensively.
"The fire department called it a house fire," she told him. "Maybe somebody went to work and left their curling iron plugged in, or left a towel next to a hot burner."
"But it spread so fast Mark and Jeff couldn't get out?" Sam protested.
"So you think it was your magic fire that you keep talking about?" She said with a raised eyebrow.
"You'd believe me if you saw what I-"
"Sam, listen to me," she said. "You're upset about Mark and Jeff. We all are, but you can't-"
"That's not it," Sam protested, but she didn't let him interrupt.
"Sometimes cops die in car accidents, real accidents. Sometimes cops get caught in house fires. Sometimes firemen get caught in house fires. And sometimes little girls get shot walking out of school. It's hell, but it happens. You don't need to look for a reason behind it, or make one up."
"But what if there WAS a reason behind it?" Sam said, raising his voice. "What if it wasn't an accident? What if somebody wanted them dead? And nobody's looking into it?"
She shook her head in exasperation.
"What cases were they on at the time?" Sam pushed. "Maybe they were getting too close to somebody who didn't want to be found. Maybe it was an old case. Somebody they put in prison a long time ago who got out. Maybe-"
Hopper leaned in between them. "How many people died in the fire?" He asked.
Jessie put a hold on her argument with Sam and flipped through the file. "Five," she told him impatiently, then turned her attention back to Sam. "You're trying to make this into a case when it's just an accident. Tragic. Horrible, but it's totally random. It could have been any two cops in that apartment that day. Or they might have gone an hour earlier and not been there when the fire started."
"If you were shot on duty, do you think I'd ever stop looking?" Sam argued. "Not until the person who did it was dead." Sam caught himself. "Or behind bars," he quickly amended.
"Can I?" Hopper asked, reaching again for the file. Jessie was too distracted to try and stop him.
"That's the difference," Jessie argued. "Nobody did this to them. It was a freak accident."
"You don't know that," Sam shot back.
"And what do you think it was?" She challenged him. "A guy who... makes fires?"
"Yes!" Sam snapped, not backing down.
"With his mind?" She asked.
"I've seen it!" Sam said. "It's real. He's real. He's out there blowing up buildings, killing people, killing cops, and everyone thinks I'm the crazy one."
"It wasn't them," Hopper interrupted.
Sam turned and stared at him.
"Nobody was trying to kill the two cops. It wasn't about them," Hopper said sadly, his face buried in the file.
Jessie suddenly realized he had it and snatched it back.
"What?" Sam asked Hopper. "Now all of a sudden you don't believe me either?"
Before Hopper answered him, Jessie grabbed Sam's arm. When he flinched, she held it a little tighter. "Sam, I want you back on the Force," She said, more consoling than she had been before. "Let the chief see you aren't crazy and he'll bring you back. Treat this like what it is: a terrible accident. Mourn for Mark and Jeff – Cry for Mark and Jeff, if you want. I did. But don't go looking for things that aren't there. Show the chief you're ready, and get back to doing what you do best."
Sam didn't meet her eyes.
"Remember what we do every day," She told him. "It's enough to make anybody break. Maybe you need to talk to someone-"
"What I need is for people to believe me," Sam told her. He glanced over at Hopper, who decided it was best to wait until they were alone to tell Sam what he thought.
They took Jessie back to the police station. The ride was quiet and seemed way longer than it actually was. Jessie tried to console Sam again before she left, but he was already sinking into himself. When she closed the truck's door behind her, Hopper finally spoke up.
"It wasn't about those two cops," he told Sam.
"Hop, I don't need to hear it from you, too," Sam said, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.
''It's about the little girl,'' Hopper said.
''What?''
''The little girl who got shot. Uh, Maria Castillo,'' Hopper said. ''The cops were there to tell her parents she was dead. One of the bodies identified after the fire was her mother, Viviana Castillo. Then there were the two cops who died. They could have been sitting in her living room giving her the bad news when the fire started. That's three people.''
''Three people... Ok,'' Sam said without recognition.
''Out of just five,'' Hopper explained. ''Only five people died out... out of how many in that apartment complex? A few hundred? Most of the people made it out before the fire spread. Only five people didn't make it out, and THREE of those five were sitting in the same room.''
Sam still didn't seem to be following.
''The fire started IN that room,'' Hopper insisted.
''Ok, maybe...'' Sam allowed cautiously.
''And if both the mom and dad were home when the cops showed up, there should have been four people in the room,'' Hopper went on. ''Why didn't the firefighters find the dad's body?''
Sam's eyes widened.
''What would you do if someone walked in and told you your little girl had just been killed by a street gang?'' Hopper offered. ''Maybe you'd put your fist through the drywall. But what if you weren't you? What if you had some ability the rest of us don't have?''
Sam jumped out of the cramped seat and started pacing the length of the truck. Hopper stepped out and stood next to the passenger door so Sam could still hear him.
''Maybe you were just a regular guy,'' he said from across the empty pickup bed. ''You've got a weird power inside you, but you keep it under control. You go through your life, and nobody knows you're anything special. Then the worst thing you can think of happens to you, and your emotions take over, and in the moment, you lose control. What happens? Maybe you just explode. Maybe everything around you bursts into flame.''
''So the little girl's dad is our arsonist?'' Sam said, still pacing.
''It's a theory,'' Hopper said.
''And Mark and Jeff just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.'' Sam thought out loud. He stopped pacing and looked across the truck at Hopper. ''Then why all the other fires days later?''
Hopper took a long breath, his face sad. "Revenge?"He offered.
Sam raised his eyebrows.
''You know what I would have done, if Sarah's death had been somebody's fault?'' He asked quietly. ''If there was somebody I could blame, besides myself?''
''He's been going after Nortenas,'' Sam said, recognition finally spreading on his face.
Hopper nodded. ''That's how it looks to me. I don't think it's enough to convince your chief, but maybe it's enough for us to find him.''
Agent Jack Smith stalked away from the two rookie agents who had nearly gotten themselves killed, and who had been stupid enough to involve a county cop who was now a witness to unnatural things that they couldn't explain away and couldn't make him forget. Smith had thought about firing them on the spot, but he decided the blame lay with the person who'd assigned such green agents to a case this sensitive.
As if he'd just spoken the devil's name out loud, Smith's phone rang. He answered the secure line with the appropriate code word.
"This is Director Carver," the man's voice came over the phone, slightly distorted around the cigarette that Smith knew was perpetually in his mouth. "Update me."
"We're still looking," Smith said unhappily. "We have all the main roads covered, still nothing. We have a huge area to search, though. They could have gone literally anywhere. We're also checking the homes of known family and friends. I'll find them, don't worry."
"I'm not worried about that. I'm more worried about what will happen when you do find them."
"It won't be a problem," Smith said.
"And the incident earlier today?"
"Won't be repeated," Smith said, resisting the urge to blame the two green agents again. Whatever people under him did wrong, it was his responsibility.
"I want to make sure you're taking all the necessary precautions," Carver said. "If you really are dealing with a Pyrokete. Have you been keeping up with the events in Sacramento?"
"A little. I've been busy," Smith told him. "Is it a confirmed pyrokete we're dealing with over there, too?"
"All but confirmed," Carver said. "It's either that, or an arsonist with some new magic napalm that no one's ever seen before. We're seeing things being done with fire that we didn't know were possible until a few days ago."
Smith briefly daydreamed about running THAT investigation, but decided he'd much rather be here, assigned to the Wheeler family. At least they weren't actively nuking places wherever they went.
"I'm going to send you those files so you know what you could be dealing with," Carver said. "I don't want your whole team going up in a fireball. You need to be careful when you make your approach."
"I'm always careful," Smith said.
"I also called to tell you that we've lost track of 2785 again," Carver said. "He's gone completely off our radar. Who knows where he'll show up next."
"That's frightening," Smith said. "I'll keep an eye out."
"If your situation gets out of hand," Carver said, "it's only more likely that 2785 will be drawn to it."
"I'll make sure that doesn't happen," Smith said.
"I'm going to give you some more help," Carver told him. "I'm going to send you Walter."
"Wouldn't he be better used over in Sacramento?" Smith asked.
"As far as we know, there's only one active subject in that case," Carver said. "You're dealing with two."
"One is a baby," Smith reminded him.
"The moment you underestimate them, that's when people start getting killed." Carver growled.
"AND the Wheelers haven't shown any aggressive behaviors," Smith argued.
"Until now," Carver said.
"Until we provoked them," Smith pointed out.
"We don't always know what will trigger these types," Carver said. "Just make sure it stays clean and quiet, and I'll be happy. And use Walter. I'm not sending him there for you to waste him."
"Yes sir," Smith grumbled.
It was dark outside by the time Dustin and the others made it to Chicago, which he thought was all the better. There was less chance of them being seen when they exited the car that way, unless, he though with a sudden wave of extra nervousness, the agents were using night vision scopes.
Dustin had been to Will's house a few times, so he knew the way. He'd thought about calling to let Will know they were coming, but the agents might have been listening to the phones. So he just had to hope that Will was home and that he'd be happy to shelter fugitives. Dustin parked on the side of the road a block down from Will's house and began to get out.
"Stay here," he told the others.
"What are you doing?" Mike asked.
"I have to check the place out first," Dustin said, thinking that should have been obvious. "What if the agents guessed we'd come here and they're waiting inside with Will tied to chair?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Mike said.
"I'm just being smart," Dustin said. "If the agents are inside, then they'll only have me, and you two can escape. Actually, you might want to take the driver's seat, so if you do see them snatch me, you'll be ready to get away. Just watch me from here. If I wave my hand three times like this, that means it's all clear. If I only wave twice, that means the agents are inside and you should run. If I only wave once, that means the agents are trying to use me to draw you out, so don't follow, whatever you see or hear. Got it?"
"I don't think the agents knew we were coming here," Mike said.
"It's better to be safe," Dustin said, the headed off down the dark sidewalk. Will had moved to Chicago to go to school, and then stayed there when he'd landed a job with TSR. Dustin had been up to visit him a few times, but sadly they hadn't been able to spend the time together that they used to, now that they lived so far apart. He steeled himself as he knocked on the door. He hoped he wouldn't find a man in a suit with a gun opening the door. If the agents were inside, and they told Will at gun point to answer the door and invite his friends into a trap, Dustin was sure that Will would find some way to give a danger signal.
"Dustin, I had no idea you were coming," Will said in surprise as he opened the door.
"Will," Dustin said, fixing him with a very serious gaze. "Are you alone?"
"What?"
"Is there anyone... else in your house?" Dustin asked, keeping his distance from the doorway in case the agents jumped out to grab him.
"Uhh... is something wrong, Dustin?" Will asked.
"Nothings wrong. Everything's fine," Dustin said. "I was just... in town. So I stopped by to see my friend." He tried to crane his neck to see into the house. He didn't see any agents, but then, they would be hiding, wouldn't they?
"Wanna come outside, buddy?" Dustin asked, "And take a short walk?"
"It's... kinda late, Dustin," Will said. "Wouldn't you rather just come in?"
"I'd rather take a walk outside and talk about... things," Dustin said, badly wanting to take Will's hand and pull him outside. If there were agents in the house and they were hoping to lure Dustin inside, he had to act natural if he was going to get Will outside and to safety.
Looking puzzled, Will came outside and shut his front door behind him. "Are you sure you're Ok?" He asked. "You're acting a little..."
"Come here old buddy," Dustin said in a loud voice, in case the agents were listening. He put an arm around Will's shoulder as they walked so he could lean in close and whisper. "Are the agents waiting inside?"
"What?!" Will asked.
"It's Ok, just act natural," Dustin told him. "Mike and El are waiting in the car. If there are agents, we can take you with us."
"Mike and El?" Will said, suddenly looking around.
"Shhh," Dustin warned him. "Don't give it away. Just give me a sign. If there are agents inside, just casually work the name of your favorite Brown Wizard into your next sentence." Dustin released his hold on Will and said in a loud voice again, "So how are things? What's new?"
"What do you mean, agents?" Will asked. "What's going on?"
Dustin was pretty convinced his friend really didn't know what he was talking about. "You're sure it's safe inside?" He asked. "You haven't seen anything weird lately? Like white repair vans parked outside your house? Have you heard any odd clicks or chirps when you pick up the phone?"
"Dustin, WHAT are you talking about? And where are Mike and El?"
"Right over here," Dustin said, fully convinced. "We're on the run."
"What?"
"From the agents?"
"What?"
"And we have the baby with us," Dustin explained. "She's the one the agents really want. You should know before you take us under your protection, she has superpowers that she can't control."
Will stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and gave him the most bizarre expression ever.
"Don't act so surprised," Dustin said. "You should have expected any baby of El's would be born with powers. The agents want baby Allie, probably to use as a weapon, and we've been on the run. We thought your house might be the safest place to hide."
"Wait, wait, wait," Will said. "The same agents from before?"
"Maybe," Dustin said. "Or different agents. Either way, we're running from the bad men and we need your help."
They'd reached the car by now, and Mike and El got out.
"Hi... guys," Will said, looking back and forth between them. "I'm glad to see all of you... but this sounds really weird."
"I'm so sorry to drag you into this," Mike said gravely. "If you don't want to get caught up in our problems, we won't stay."
"What? No," Will said. "I don't mean that. Come- come inside. You can stay as long as you need. But you're going to have to explain from the beginning, because I'm a little lost."
Sam hadn't wanted to go home that evening. He'd insisted on driving Hopper around to the apartment where the Castillo family had lived, to the warehouse that had burned down, and all of the places their arsonist had hit. When they failed to find him simply standing on a street corner waiting for them to pick him up, Sam had wanted to drive around to a whole collection of places around Sacramento that he knew to be connected with the Nortena gang. Hopper had tried to gently remind him that it would be next to impossible to predict where the arsonist would hit next, but Sam seemed to feel that going home and trying again tomorrow would be like admitting defeat, so he continued to drive around town, listening to the police radio the whole time, ready to jump at any mention of a fire.
In the end, Sam had succumbed to sleep. With the truck parked outside of a library, he now sat with his head slumped forward against the steering wheel, which Hopper was actually glad to see, since he was pretty sure his friend hadn't slept more than a few hours since this whole arsonist problem had started. He'd turned down the volume on the radio so it wouldn't wake Sam, but kept an ear out, just in case.
The sun was starting to go down behind the library. Hopper squinted into the bright orange light as it sank lower and lower, marking the end of yet another day he'd spent in California with Sam instead of in Hawkins with Joyce. He'd called her a few times already, but he kept getting the answering machine. Between their constant searching for the Arsonist, the time zone difference, and her work hours, he'd only been able to leave messages. He felt a little bad, but knew she'd understand. He'd warned her before he left for California that he had no idea what he'd be getting into, though Hopper had expected something a little less super natural. Still, he guessed that Joyce would be getting pretty bored by now, with no one to talk to in the house. He wondered if she'd drive up to visit Will in Chicago, since he lived closer than Johnathan. It had taken Joyce some time to adjust to the quiet once both boys had moved out of the house. His mustache lifted in a very small, fond smile as his thoughts drifted toward Will.
Hopper straightened in his seat, his ears picking out the quiet and distorted voice of the police dispatcher as clear as day. Fire!
He slapped Sam's arm.
"Wake up,'' Hopper said. "Sam, there's a fire. Just came over the radio.''
Sam snapped awake, his hand scrambling at the key in the ignition.
''23rd Avenue and... and...'' Hopper paused to listen to the radio, hoping they'd repeat the address. He didn't know the city like Sam did.
"Roosevelt," Sam guessed, throwing the truck in gear and backing out of the parking space. "There's some abandoned housing projects there." He pulled out onto the road, cutting off a bus, and turned at the next light. ''A lot of illegal stuff happens there," he explained. "The city's talked about demolishing them for years, but they've never gotten around to it.''
The dark and mostly quiet sidewalks and store fronts sped by them as Sam impatiently negotiated the streets of Sacramento. Hopper realized he was clenching his jaw in anticipation of what they might find when they reached the burning building.
"Remember the plan," Hopper said gently. "If we find our Arsonist, let me do the talking. Don't get too close, and don't act like a cop. We're on the same page here, right?"
The other man didn't answer as he sped around a little blue car that was in his way.
"Sam?" Hopper said, a little more forcefully.
He still didn't answer, his eyes still locked on the road ahead.
"I need to hear you say it," Hopper insisted. "We're on the same page, right?"
"Yes," Sam snapped. "I'll let you make the first move. I'll keep my distance, but only for so long. If you can't talk him down... I'm not losing him, Hop. I'm not."
"Just don't do anything stupid," Hopper said. "This is dangerous. If we can't bring him in safely, it's better to let him go and try again."
"No, it's not," Sam argued.
"If we try to force things," Hopper said, "It could go real bad real fast. We've talked about this."
"I said I'd let you make the first move," Sam told him. "If he listens to you, great. If he wants to turn himself in, great. But if we have him, I'm not letting him get away. I'm not."
Hopper took a deep breath, partly to keep calm, partly to prepare to carry on the argument, but an orange glow in the distance drew his attention. He'd been so focused on Sam and his dangerous obsession that his ears had been shutting out the chatter on the police radio. Now his attention shifted back, and the barrage of voices washed over him. The dispatchers and the fire trucks and the cops were going crazy, shouting about the fire, breaking radio protocols, and betraying their own obvious panic. As Sam's truck drew nearer, Hopper could see why. The building was blazing away like a nuclear furnace. Flames climbed as high as a ten story building into the otherwise black night sky.
Fire trucks and squad cars were already trying to set up a perimeter, their own flashing lights all but drowned out by the much brighter orange flames. Sam slowed, but didn't stop, and rolled right past a pair of squad cars.
"Sam," Hopper warned, but the other didn't answer. Sam brought the truck to a stop well inside the half-established perimeter. Four cops poured out of their squad cars and ran toward the little pickup truck that wasn't supposed to be there. Hopper guessed that they recognized Sam, because they were ONLY shouting at him and hadn't drawn their guns. Sam, though, ignored them. She stood next to his truck with one hand still on the open door, desperately scouring the area for any sign of their elusive Arsonist. Hopper followed his gaze, but saw no one except for the other cops and the fire fighters.
"You can't be here, Sam," the nearest of the cops shouted as he approached.
"Hey! Listen, you guys don't understand what you're dealing with," Sam protested. Hopper's gaze fell back on the burning building. It was going up fast, even faster than the last one, and there was no sign of their Arsonist. Either he had already run off after starting the fire, or he was inside. Hopper didn't like their odds. If the guy was inside, he'd have no reason to come out, and they didn't have long before the cops would force him and Sam to leave.
Tearing his gaze away from the fire, he came around the truck to where Sam was standing, locked in his argument with all four of the other cops. They seemed to be doing their best to reason with him instead of physically removing him from where he wasn't supposed to be. Hopper wondered how long that would last. With one last glance back at the fire, he came to a decision.
Taking off his hat, he thrust it into Sam's distracted hands.
"Hold this," Hopper told him. Sam turned his attention away from the other cops to look first at the hat, then at Hopper.
"What-"
"And these," Hopper cut him off, fishing his lighter and pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He didn't want to lose those, either. Slapping them into Sam's hand, Hopper turned and jogged toward the fire.
Sam shouted in confusion at his back, but Hopper didn't slow down. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to muster the courage and the crazy to keep going if he stopped. The heat began to press back at him like a strong wind as he approached the building. The fire was so bright he had to squint.
He paused in front of a door that wasn't completely engulfed in flames. Hopper knew better than to touch the metal knob, which would have taken all the skin off his hand. With one last second of hesitation before the point of no return, he kicked the door open. The inside of the building looked as terrifying as he'd imagined.
Sam, and now the other cops, were all shouting at his back, but Hopper didn't turn to look at them. If he wasted any more time, there might not be much of the building left standing. Holding up one arm to shield his eyes and face, he jumped into the fire.