Allen Smith considered himself the only seriously invested man in the Loony fire department's overall productivity. Barnacle brains had done it all since high school, just to be cool. Now that the rival had his hand in too many cookie jars, and other distractions such as hanging around dangerous women and trying to live his life like an outlaw movie, Allen was chief in everything but the name. Powerless to speed up the transition that eventually happened on account of how slowly the rural operation went about removing Steve from his fire chief status.

He was the first man in the building at 5:35 pm when the calls started coming in. Engine "3 was his responsibility, and in tip top shape, tanks full, gear fully checked and organized. Engine #2 currently was a one-man crew sitting out by a pond. Even he and Jeffrey had shown up with their engines too late, after the bait had already been burned. Then the golf course was called in, and all three fire engines arrived together on the green at 8:25.

Snow fell as the roof of the golfing lodge burned into the night. Truck after truck backed up, spraying onto the inferno. The men worked hard until out-of-town engines arrived, relieving them from their jobs. That's when they heard the arts center was also on fire across town.

Heat seared the end of Allen's fire ax as it chopped into the timber of the burning arts. His sweat glands in overdrive had his firefighter suit swampy. The center had become a smoking pressure cooker steaming out flames.

He had hopped in his pickup truck as the fire engines left to reload at the pond, tearing up the grass onto the lawn of the next arson. Steve must have followed him, because he was here now standing beside with his breath fogging the glass covering his face. As they labored on it was clear the front of the old museum was bolted on too thick, they would have to bolt out back.

Under steps by stone gargoyles, and near the path to the dead family crypt was a basement door with a huge red stamp on it reading "basement access" It fell to pieces with a few strokes of the large fire ax revealing dark insides. They both switched on bright headlights, to what was a sprawling basement workshop, where a saw was still chopping. It sounded like a chainsaw!

The two firefighters now looked at each other, brothers. Steve dropped his ax and unstrapped his revolver, covering Allen who started cutting a path through piles of deteriorated antiques. Eventually they came round a bend. On the other side a gas masked man with chainsaw was cutting up a half wood wall, an old garage door rusted shut, sparks flying out of it.

"Drop your weapon, we're the fire department!” Commanded Steve.

The armed man dropped his chainsaw with defeat. "It's useless anyway. My saw won't cut through a hole and save my art" the man said leaning up against stacks of upright decorated glass.

"You have your chain on the wrong way son, zip him up Steve" yelled Allen.

"A man never should leave home without his tie ha ha ha" said Steve, moving closer and reaching for a pocket.

The arson suspect was now in custody. Allen quickly fixed the chain by taking it off and putting it on correctly before he sawed with expert arm control, a hole Steve tossed the suspect out, for the second responders to feast on. Next cut went into an old American oak door blocking the path, cutting it right into two with the 20-inch bar.

"Fire agents coming through".

The two men worked on the 2nd floor for survivors. Steve saved a cat by grabbing it and returning below to throw it out as it hissed. The pair went up the noisy metal steps again, to the 4th floor with the flames flaming out of it. Their search for the 3rd was going to have to be a quickie. Inside thick smoke spilled out, much more was coming down from the rafts up above. As they rushed in.

"What's that lying there!” one yelled.

Steve hustled picking up Jack who lay limp, straining to pull up a stuffed moose fallen over him with one hand and him with his other. He picked his saw back off the floor, revving it up, and then chopped the leg off, then the horns.

"Get him some fresh air!" cried Steve.

The two men jogged back to their hole in the wall, Jack slung limp over shoulder. Steve flung him to the EMT standing outside who promptly declared the diagnosis.

"He's. Dead".