The sense of something forgotten still plagued John as he checked all the vats and barrels, making sure everything was intact, functioning properly, and accounted for.
At least the barrel room was blessedly cool and silent. John almost started to feel a sense of peace wash over him as he slowly moved about the space, unburdened by the heat, by other people and their noise.
Once he was satisfied with everything he saw, John went to the warehouse and double-checked the distributor's order, even though a voice in the back of his head told him it was probably fine. His staff all had great attention to detail. Still, he couldn't let it go, so he grabbed the paperwork and looked over the assembled pallets, making sure all the cases were accounted for and all the vintages were correct. With that done, he went outside and checked all the trucks again even though Ward had already done so.
A hint of an odd smell was on the air, but John couldn't pinpoint it. Of course, it didn't help that it was hotter than hell out there, even that late in the evening. He was probably just smelling warm rubber and metal and dirt from all the open ground and equipment surrounding him.
He went back inside to escape the heat, planning to spend another hour slogging through paperwork, wanting it all cleared from the pile before he left.
John felt like he'd barely made a dent when he heard the first siren.
The hell?John frowned as he tilted his head and strained to listen. The sound was faint but audible, piercing the silence of his office. John got up and peeked out a window, but of course he couldn't see the road from there. It was too far away.
The sound drew nearer. John gasped. That wasn't an ambulance. Nor the police. That was a firetruck, clear as day.
John's heartbeat sprang up to a gallop as he flew out the door, then lurched to a stop. The scent from earlier was now almost solid, it hit him so hard. Not just scorched earth, but fire. John panted as he ran, looking for any signs of smoke. Looking for any hint of alarm or commotion. But he was alone in the vineyard. Everyone else had gone home an hour ago.
He looked towards the west and saw thick, dark smoke blotting out the lowering sun.
“No!”
John flew over to his truck, cranked it on, slammed it into gear, and tore out onto the road that cut through the vineyard. Even over the rumble of his truck's engine, the sirens grew louder. He finally got close enough to the border fence to see the flash of lights in the distance, over on the neighbor's property.
A property that was choked with weeds, standing taller than him, bending over the fence as flames tore through them.
John slammed down on the gas pedal, heart racing as he chased the flames along the fence line. His truck started to fishtail on the dirt road. John had no choice but to back off his speed. He watched as the wind kicked up, the neighbor's weeds swaying and flailing directly towards the fence, bringing the fire along with them.
He slammed on the brakes and flew out of the truck, sprinting towards the fence, but he wasn't fast enough. John watched, helplessly, as though in slow-motion, as a single spark flew across the vineyard's firebreak, carried on the powerful wind, and landed in the short, dry weeds that grew between the riesling vines.
John ran for it and stomped it out, but when he turned around, he realized his efforts were in vain. Another spark flew over the fence, followed by another. And another. One landed in the dirt and fizzled out, but two more caught. Before he could reach them, the dry growth sprang into flame, licking at his precious vines. John got as close as he dared, kicking up dirt, trying to stomp out the flames, but it was no use.
The vines caught and began to burn.
Sweat poured down John's face and back as he ran about, gasping for breath, choking on smoke and dust, trying to contain the fire, trying to stop it from spreading. His vision started to go hazy. John tried to shake off the feeling, assuming it was just smoke in the air. His heart beat painfully in his chest, and his muscles grew weaker.
He heard more sirens. Closer this time. Growing louder. Suddenly there were shouting voices all around him. Hands grabbing at him, pulling him away. John struggled. He had to save his vines. Had to stop the fire from consuming the place that was his solace. His escape.
But then haze turned to darkness, and the last thing John saw, as shadowy figures pulled him away, was the blackenedfence and his precious riesling vines seeming to melt away, the roaring fire sounding like their dying screams.
John found himself on his back, with something fitted over his face. He blinked slowly, flashes of light and shadow assaulting his vision as he was pushed into a confined space with hazy figures hovering over him. His entire body trembled, and he was so thirsty.
Something poked at the inside of his arm, but he barely felt it. John tried to lift his hand. To point and say that he needed to be let go. He needed to save his vines. To save that part of Adam in his heart.
John floated away, barely aware of the occasional odd bump or roll. Then a sudden stop, a clattering jolt, and a series of flashes of light overhead as a cool space surrounded him.
Faces came and went, muttering things that made no sense. He felt himself being poked and prodded and asked questions that felt so simple yet seemed oddly impossible to answer.
When his head finally cleared, he looked down to find himself in a hospital bed. His arms were bandaged, an IV was threaded into the back of his hand, and a plastic mask was on his face, feeding him oxygen. John slowly blinked, trying to get his thoughts to catch up.
A small commotion pulled his glance away, and then a nurse was leading a doctor towards him.
The doctor gave him a practiced smile and introduced himself. Somehow, he already knew John's name. The doctor told him that he'd collapsed from the heat, but the fire crew had gotten him away just in time. That he had minor burns on his hands and arms, but that the smoke inhalation wasn't severe enough to be a critical concern. John was informed that he would be kept overnight for observation nonetheless.
“Just rest,” the doctor insisted.
John almost argued, except the sheer exhaustion all through his body stopped him cold. He started to nod instead. All he wanted to do was sleep. Just drift off in a way he hadn't managed to do in the weeks he'd been sleeping at Adam's apartment, haunted by the ghosts of his past.
He sucked in a ragged breath.Adam. John no sooner thought of the boy than he realized that resting wasn't an option.
