Chapter 15: Smoke

I smelled it before I reached the kitchen door.

The fry cook pointed behind the big fryer with a shaking hand.

He'd pulled it out from the wall to clean behind it, the way he did every night.

The gas line hung loose from the wall, cut clean through, hissing.

The pilot light on the fryer was still burning.

"Out," I said. "Everybody out of this kitchen. Now."

Then the air caught.

It went with a soft heavy whump.

A sheet of blue and orange rolled up the back wall and across the ceiling.

The fry cook threw himself backward into the walk-in door.

Sallie grabbed the red extinguisher off its hook.

"Rue, get those people off my dock!"

There were still two hundred people outside.

The band was half packed, and kids were asleep on coolers, and the shrimp boats were tied three deep against the pilings.

I climbed up on the bar.

"Listen to me!"

Every head turned.

"There's a fire in the kitchen. It's small. Leave your beer, pick up your kids, and walk to the parking lot."

Nobody moved.

"Walk! Don't run. Boat people, cast off and get out in the creek. Go!"

The nurses from table four started herding people down the dock.

The softball team carried the sleeping kids.

The old shrimper with the bad hip stood at the top of the ramp, directing traffic with his cane.

I grabbed the cash box off Sallie's desk on my way past.

Smoke was pouring out of the kitchen now, black and greasy.

Sallie and the fry cook were both in there with extinguishers, spraying white clouds at the wall.

"The gas," the fry cook was shouting. "It'll keep feeding it till somebody shuts the gas."

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