Cause to Burn

by Mairsile Leabhair

  “Stringfellow, Rogers!” Uncle Joe shouted over the two-way radio. I heard him even without the radio.

  I jerked around to Roberta and yelled, “Stay here. Do not move!”

  Without waiting for her reply, I ran over to the command center, which was nothing more than a blueprint of the building laid out across the hood of the fire chief’s red Ford Explorer. Several two-way radios laid strewn about. Uncle Joe grabbed one, barking orders into it, then placed it back on the hood and looked at me. Scott ran up, fully dressed out in protective gear. Oh, hell, no!

  “Here’s the situation. Multiple fires in the city have pulled some of our people off, and we’re stretched too damn thin. An apparent backdraft just took down two of our guys, and the victims are still unaccounted for. RIC has gone in to rescue them but we’re out of time. We need more help. We know there’s a victim within reach,” he said, pointing to the window where she had just been seen, “and you two are trained in rapid rescue.”

  “Chief, I’ve only done simulations, I don’t know—”

  “Jordy, do you think I would send my only godchild into a burning building if I didn’t think she could handle it?”

  I can’t remember the last time Uncle Joe openly showed affection for me while we were on the job. I knew he hadn’t come to this decision easily, and I had complete faith in him. I shook my head, and a ghost of a smile crossed his lips before he turned to Scott.

  “Take the helmet off, Scott,” he demanded.

  Scott took the helmet off and leaned in close, breathing on Uncle Joe.

  Inhaling through his nose, Uncle Joe asked quietly, “When was your last drink?”

  “Last month at my granddaughter’s wedding. I swear it, Joe.”

  “Good man,” Uncle Joe replied, and slapped him on the shoulder. Scott had just passed the sobriety test. That didn’t really ease my anxiety any. “First sign of trouble, you two get your asses out of there. Don’t play the hero, just do your job and come out alive, understood?”

  “Understood, Chief,” I replied, cutting a nervous glance at Scott.

  Uncle Joe had the probationary firefighter, Paul Mason, bring me a set of turnout gear, also known as PPE, personal protective equipment. As I suited up, I gave the probie my car keys and asked him to get my father’s helmet out of my car trunk. He ran off as Joe began explaining the plan. We would go up the ladder and in through the window, then work our way down. If the woman was still alive, we would pull her out first. If not, we would leave her and look for others. As he talked, I began shoring up my defenses. I had seen charred bodies before, but not ones that were still on fire. As a firefighter, I had trained to be observant of the fire, the way it burned, which direction it gravitated to, but especially, what was going on inside the walls. That’s probably what caused the backdraft. Fire had accumulated in one of the walls, sucking all the oxygen out, and when the air got back in, probably from a door opening, it caused a rapid combustion, pushing a wall of flames out the windows. Even the most experienced firefighters couldn’t predict a backdraft one-hundred percent of the time.

  Trying to hide my trembling hands, I pulled on the boots that were too small for my big feet. If I live through this, I’m going to keep a complete set of gear in my car from now on. The probie ran back with my helmet just as I tightened the suspenders on the pants. He handed me my keys back, and I gave them to Uncle Joe for safe keeping.

  “If anything happens to me, take care of my baby, Chief,” I entrusted him.

  “Shut up and clip this on your helmet,” he replied, stuffing my keys in his pocket and handing me a mini-cam with clamps. “It’s so we can see what you see.”

  I attached the camera, looked at my father’s smiling face, and then put my helmet on, fastening the straps so it was nice and tight. I shrugged into my jacket just as the Memphis Fire Department Chaplain, Kevin Matthews, walked up. He gave me a confident smile that I found surprisingly comforting. The fact that the chaplain was here was not unusual; he came to the site as often as he could. Especially a big event like this one.

  “What’s going on? What in the hell do you think you are doing?” Roberta asked, as she ran over, looking around wildly.

  I should have known she wouldn’t stay put. She hadn’t listened to a word I’d said since I met her. Stubborn reporter. “Get your notepad out, Ms. Witherspoon, you’re going to want to take notes on this one,” I said condescendingly.

  “No, Jordy, you can’t go in there,” she responded, her voice edgy.

  I ignored her and turned to Chaplain Matthews. “Chaplain, say your prayer, we don’t have time for this.”

  The chaplain waved Scott over and, as we stood side-by-side, Chaplain Matthews put his hands on each of our heads and looked upward. I closed my eyes as he asked God to cover us with his loving grace and protection. God, from the chaplain’s lips to your ears, hear his prayer. “Amen,” was said all around, and Scott and I turned toward the quint. He climbed up first, and just as I was about to step up, Roberta grabbed my arm.

  “I’ve got a very bad feeling about this. Please don’t go in there,” she pleaded.

  I could see real concern swirling in her red-rimmed eyes. She was really upset. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t have time to ask her about it. “It’s okay, Roberta. I’ll give you a complete report as soon as I get back.” I wasn’t trying to be flippant this time, but watching her concern turn to anger told me she perceived it that way.

  “Why do you always have to be such a jerk?” she asked, not waiting for a reply. “I’m telling you something is wrong. Terribly wrong. Why won’t you listen to me?”

  Shrugging, I said, “I’ve got a job to do.”

  “Medic 37, Medic 38, request backup standing by,” Uncle Joe radioed to the ambulances.

  “Medic 37 standing by.”

  “Medic 38 in route, ETA five minutes.”

  The building moaned, and I heard what sounded like wood snapping. I looked over at Uncle Joe, who was on his cell phone. He looked at me and held up two fingers. The second floor was in danger of collapsing. He put his phone away and assisted me with the SCBA tank, strapping it to my back.

  “Don’t take any chances, either of you,” Uncle Joe said. “You get in and get out as quick as you can.”

  Like my father, my grandfather had also been a firefighter. I had their collar pins made into a wristband that I never take off, and as I walked toward the quint, I rubbed it for good luck. I nodded and Scott handed me a Halligan hook, giving me a thumbs up. It was time to get up the ladder.

  I looked back at Roberta, suddenly wanting to memorize her beautiful face in case it was the last thing I saw.

  Chapter Four

  Roberta Witherspoon

  “Please, God, protect them,” I muttered to myself.

  “Amen, sister,” Chaplain Matthews said, glancing at me. “I heard you tell Investigator Stringfellow that you had a premonition. Would you be comfortable confiding in me what has you so worried?”

  The chaplain had kind eyes and a comforting smile, but I was afraid to jinx it if I voiced my concerns out loud. Besides, it was just a feeling. When I saw that fire mushroom out of the building, a cold chill ran down my spine. It was exactly as I had imagined the fire that killed my stepdad. I guess I was too young to be told the particulars, just that Jerry was caught in a backdraft and died. I didn’t know what that meant then. I did now, and Jordy had just walked right into a fire that had already had one explosion.

  “I’m sorry, Chaplain. It was just a bad feeling. I shouldn’t have…”

  He tilted his head and looked at me curiously. “Did you know that Investigator Stringfellow was awarded the firefighter of the year award when she was just a young probie?”

  “No, I didn’t know that.” We never got past the frosty stage. God, I hope we get the chance.

  “She went into a volatile situation and ended up rescuing one of her teammates,” the chaplain said.

  “I’d love to hear more about that,”
I said eagerly.

  “Perhaps later,” he said, pointing toward the laptop monitor that Joe and a few others were standing around.

  Joe turned, and saw me, and waved me over. “We have telecommunications on the inside. It could be graphic, but um, if you want to…”

  “Yes, thank you, Chief. I can handle it,” I replied, edging closer to the monitor. Please, God, don’t let me watch them die.

  “Chief.” Jordy’s raspy voice crackled over the radio, and I could hear her labored breathing.

  “Go, Jordy,” he responded.

  “Unconscious victim on the floor barely breathing. She’s burned pretty bad. Send up a stretcher.”

  “On its way,” Joe said and clicked off. He shouted orders to one of the men standing by the ladder engine, and he ran around to the other side. A moment later, he was carrying a metal stretcher up the ladder. The fireman who had been keeping a steady stream of water pouring in through the window had reduced the pressure as soon as Jordy and Scott crawled in. Now he was helping with the stretcher.

  Watching the monitor, all I saw at first was clouds of smoke. As Jordy moved closer, I could just barely make out the victim lying on the floor. Suddenly, I heard Jordy inhale, and then her gloved hand came up to her mask.

  “Jordy, do not remove your—”

  “What’s that, Chief? Message was garbled,” Jordy said, and then I saw her pulling something from her mask.

  “What is she doing?” I asked, squinting as if that would help me see through the smoke better.

  “She’s removing her damn air,” Joe said angrily, bringing the radio back to his mouth. “Stretcher is there, put your damn regulator back on!”

  “Jordy, stop being a dumbass and put your regulator back on,” Scott barked almost at the same time.

  My heart began to race, thumping so loudly that I was sure the others could hear it. I held my breath.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” Joe repeated desperately.

  No one moved as we watched the stretcher being pushed inside the window and then quickly darted our eyes back to the monitor. The camera on Jordy’s helmet showed the stretcher being pulled inside by Scott, then it tilted back down to the victim, where I could see Jordy’s hands covering the regulator over the victim’s mouth.

  “She’s manually pumping air into the victim,” Chaplain Matthews explained calmly as if it were an everyday event.

  The fire cam began darting back and forth from Scott to the stretcher and back down to the victim. It was easier to see through the smoke when she was looking at the victim she was leaning over. Then her hand holding the regulator came up to her mask, and I heard a snap and a loud, raspy breath.

  I gasped and began breathing again. “Oh, thank God.”

  Scott counted down from three, and the victim’s body was lifted onto the stretcher. From the angle of the camera, we could see Scott walking backward toward the window, and the victims head rolling from side to side. The window was probably three feet from the floor. Thankfully, there weren’t any obstructions, as they hefted the stretcher up and through it. Luckily, as the chaplain explained, the windows had been blown out. Otherwise they’d have wasted precious time breaking the wire-mesh glass.

  As if watching a tennis match, my eyes darted from the monitor, up to the stretcher being eased onto the ladder bucket, then back down to the monitor. Joe shouted for the EMTs, who were waiting a few feet away from us, watching the scene play out. Everyone seemed to be moving with a purpose, but my eyes were glued to the monitor.

  “They’re going to come out of there now, right?” I asked the chaplain.

  “Yes, they should be,” he replied, still looking up at the window. “It’s too dangerous to go any farther into the building.”

  “Evacuate the building. All units, evacuate, now,” Joe ordered over the radio.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, feeling a surge of panic.

  “They must have decided that the building was structurally compromised. There’s not much they can do now, except try to contain the fire from out here.”

  “Oh, no.” I looked up at the window, holding my breath. Where are they? The ladder was being lowered to the ground and the EMTs were there, ready to triage the victim. I kept my eyes on the window, where all I saw was dark gray smoke escape out of the window as if someone were puffing on a cigar.

  “Is anybody in here?” Jordy called, as she moved about the room.

  I could see her hand as she pulled her glove off and placed it on a door and then stepped to the side and pulled it open. It was the bathroom and, thankfully, it was empty.

  “Bathroom is clear,” she said, retracing her steps back the way she came.

  “Closet is clear,” Scott shouted.

  She met up with Scott at another door, feeling the surface for heat.

  “I think that is the hall entrance,” Scott said.

  Jordy stared at the door as if she were trying to make a decision. Then she looked at Scott, who nodded.

  “They’re not thinking of going out there… are they?” I asked, but no one answered.

  Joe angrily picked up the radio and shouted into it. “Evacuate, now, that’s an order, damn it!”

  One raspy breath, then two.

  “Copy that, Chief,” Jordy finally responded, pulling her hand from the door. “Come on, Scott, let’s get out of here.”

  “Right behind you,” he replied, giving a thumbs up.

  Just as I began to relax, the building rumbled, and the sound of wood splintering and snapping echoed through the air. The noise was deafening but not as frightening as the sound of Jordy’s panicked hyperventilating. The camera jerked to and fro, and then pointed up at the flames crawling across the ceiling before it shuddered and stopped broadcasting. Grayish-white smoke billowed out of the windows on the second floor, glass and debris exploded out from the building. I heard someone screaming. The chaplain wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and I realized that I was the one screaming.

  “Jordy. Scott, report,” Joe shouted into the radio.

  I clasped my hands together and stared at the static on the monitor, praying for some sign that they were all right. The camera flickered a few times and then thankfully began streaming live feed again. All I could see were flickers of light through the fog-like smoke. But it wasn’t smoke; it was dust and dirt choking the air, blinding the camera. Even where I was standing outside, I could taste it on my tongue.

  “Buddy light!” the chaplain said excitedly, pointing at the monitor.

  “What is that?” I asked, hoping it was a good thing. “Where is it?”

  “See the circle of red pulsating through the miasma?” I looked closer and then nodded. “That’s the personal alert safety device better known as PASS. It’s a visual alarm when a fireman is in trouble. They can either activate it themselves, or it comes on automatically if they stop moving, or when their SCBA has been compromised.”

  I watched as the red light throbbed through curls of thick, hazy smoke, almost in a hypnotic rhythm. All at once, the camera jerked and I heard coughing and choking, and then a deep inhale and exhale of air.

  “Oh, thank God!” I exclaimed. Jordy and Scott had apparently fallen down to the second floor when the building exploded, but Jordy was alive. She’s was alive!

  “Jordy, talk to me,” the chief squawked on the radio.

  “I’m okay,” came the reply that brought cheers from all of us.

  The camera followed her hands as she began to crawl across the floor. My stepdad always told me that in case of a fire, get down on the floor and crawl out of the room as fast as you can. The smoke wouldn’t be as bad at floor level. Jordy had to shove debris out of her path and climb over splintered wood and broken furniture, until her hand bumped into an obstruction, making her stop.

  “Man down! Man down,” she shouted over the radio.

  The chief jumped into action again, shouting orders over the radio, waving at the ladder crew to get the bucket back in the air
.

  “Look,” Chaplain Matthews said, pointing at the monitor again. “That’s someone’s turnout gear!”

  “Is it Scott’s gear?” I asked.

  The camera hovered over a torn, orange fireman’s coat and then panned up, suddenly juddering left and right, as if Jordy were looking for something.

  “Is that… is that blood?” I asked, wanting to look away, but leaning in closer instead.

  “Dear, God,” the chaplain exclaimed as the camera pulled back and we could plainly see a piece of jagged wood sticking up through torn flesh.

  “Shit! It pierced his heart,” Jordy yelled. “I can’t do CPR.” We could see her pull her gloves off, and with trembling hands, removed the helmet from the body and feel for a pulse. She leaned over and looked at his face. It was Scott. His mouth was open; his eyes were fixed. He was dead.

  The camera was still for a moment as she closed his eyelids, then it panned around, jerking up and then down until it angled down to the floor. Jordy had interlaced her fingers and rested them on her knees as she sat back on her legs.

  “Jordy, you can’t help him, honey,” Joe said knowingly. “You have to get out of there.”

  “Please, Jordy. Please get out of there,” I pleaded, tears welling up in my eyes.

  If she said anything, it didn’t transmit, but the camera bounced up and down and then her hand reached under Scott’s head. Using both her hands, she crouched over and dragged his body by the collar, inch by painstakingly slow inch, across the floor.

  “Why doesn’t she just leave him? I mean he’s dead…”

  Chaplain Matthews shook his head. “It’s the firefighter’s code. You don’t leave a man behind.”

  “Even if it kills you?” I asked heatedly.

  The chaplain met my eyes and patted my shoulder, but said nothing. I had seen this kind of insanity… bravery, before when I was researching for my first book. It was the brothers’ code, and like the military, the first responders embraced it as well. I understood it to a point, but not now, not when it could cost Jordy her life.