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before she could
respond. She ran to the bedside table and lifted the cordless phone from its
base.
    As she made the call, she
watched out the window as men ran into and out of the field house, pulling
frantic animals by their reins. The screams of the horses made her skin crawl,
and a nervous sweat began to form on the back of her neck.
    More death. More danger.
    She swallowed back the
trepidation rising in her throat. She had to get out of this place. When the
dispatcher came on the line, she spoke quickly and then replaced the phone.
    Making her way down the steps
and out the kitchen door took only seconds. As soon as she stepped foot into
the yard, her lungs were filled with smoke and she quickly covered her mouth
with the hem of her shirt.
    “Get back inside, peanut!”
Uncle Duane was running out of the field house, waving his arms at her.
    Behind him, Wyatt was carrying
a limp body over his shoulder.
    Her heart began to race and
that familiar light-headedness came over her again. She bit her lip and tried
to focus on the moment. She could not pass out again. Not with all the mayhem
and chaos going on around her. She had to hold it together now. She had to keep
herself strong.
    People were hurt. She could
help.
    Wyatt lowered the man down to
the grass near her feet.
    “He’s not breathing. Can you do
something?”
    Despite her best intentions,
Baylor felt herself shutting down. Panic and claustrophobia strained and
pressed against her chest as she looked down at the seemingly dead man. Shane
Evans’ death haunted her. She couldn’t be the only thing between another person
and death. Not again. And this young man at her feet looked to be no more than
a teenager himself. Almost still a kid. Almost dead.
    She shook her head. Wyatt
dropped to his knees and made an effort to perform CPR on the boy.
    Sounds and screams drifted in
and out of her ears. Her uncle’s voice yelling nearby almost broke through, but
everything was muffled.
    Wyatt was pulling her hand. Pulling her downward toward the lifeless body.
    “Baylor, I need you to help me.
Baylor!”
    She looked down at the young
face smeared with soot. He looked so innocent. He was so childlike in the face
but had the body of a man. The contrast was jarring, but then something else
struck her. He looked just like Wyatt.
    She looked up at Wyatt’s face. He
looked grief-stricken and heartsick.
    That was when she realized this
boy was his son, and she was the only one who might be able to save his life.
    She pushed Wyatt’s hands away
from the boy’s chest. Airway. Breathing. Circulation. She recited the basics in her mind as she
examined the boy.
    Placing her ear to the boy’s
chest, she could hear the gurgling sound of a collapsed lung.
    “Wyatt, I need a sharp blade
and a straw.”
    Without question, he turned and
ran back into the house. She tilted the boy’s head back and looked inside his
mouth. He’d inhaled a lot of smoke and needed oxygen right away, but she had no
way of treating him further until the paramedics arrived.
    Wyatt was back with an X- Acto knife and a tiny juice-box-sized straw. She rubbed her
face against her sleeve to try to clear her eyes. They were burning from the
smoke and fumes.
    She shouldn’t be doing this…
She wasn’t ready to do this. She couldn’t take on this responsibility.
    She paused and looked up at
Wyatt. The forlorn look in his eyes told her of a life lost. She could almost
see him trying to accept the loss of his son. It broke her heart. She wasn’t
going to let that happen. He wasn’t going to lose anyone tonight.
    She lifted the boy’s shirt and
made a small incision in his chest. Then she inserted the straw. A moment later,
the boy started coughing violently, and she had to hold the straw steady.
    “Welcome back,” she said as the
tears began to flow down her cheeks.
    She looked back at Wyatt. He
was clutching his hand over his heart, the look on his face unreadable. The
sound of sirens in the distance met