Excerpt from Holy City by Henry Wise, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

He tossed the dregs at the ground and turned to see, beyond the plain white Baptist church, a pillar of black smoke coming from the direction of the Hathom house or, beyond it, the Janders place. He grabbed his cell from the cup holder, called it in, climbing in and starting the pickup and pulling onto the road as the phone rang.

"This is Deputy Seems reporting a fire in Turkey Creek." He rounded a bend. "It's the Janders house."

"Copy," Tania said. She'd worked for the sheriff's department longer than Will and had never seen a day in the field. "Fire truck is on its way. Wait for it, you hear me?"

Will slapped his phone closed.

Tom's truck sat in the yard, the tractor by the shed; the smell of old lumber and paint burning filled the air. Will slid through a dirt turn, pulling a parachute of dust into the yard, and saw now the side of Tom's mother's house (he still thought of it as hers) on fire, melting inward like blossom-end rot on some strange fruit.

Will pocketed the phone. The fire had already consumed the right side of the house but had not reached the front door. "Tom!" Will could feel the heat baking into his cheeks. "Day! Tom!"

It was too soon to hear a siren. The fire truck was twenty-five minutes out from the time he called if he was lucky. He breathed deep, kicked open the front door, a plume of hot black smoke rolling into his face. He crouched, moving through the house, unable to hear anything but fire. The flames roared over him, and pieces of ceiling fell nearby. He groped along the kitchen floor, the vinyl curling like antique documents, holding his breath as long as he could, until he stumbled into something. A boot, steel toe, hot to the touch. He found the other foot and pulled them both, making it to the side door, tugging at what must have been Tom's body. He was crying with smoke, coughed when he tried to breathe, found himself on his knees in the yard, trying to stand, trying to breathe, smoke in the bridge of his nose. Tears and smoke, tears and smoke.

Finally, he returned to the threshold, pulled the body free, dragged it ungracefully down the three steps and into the yard, and fell beside it in the grass, coughing.

Excerpted from HOLY CITY © 2024 by Henry Wise. Reprinted with the permission of the publisher, Atlantic Monthly Press, an imprint of Grove Atlantic, Inc. All rights reserved.