by Lacey Black
“Large structure fire on Conkland Drive. We have a twenty unit apartment building and the fire is no longer contained to the apartment of origin. Station Six called for backup as soon as it spread to the adjacent unit and the unit directly above it. No word yet if all the residents have been evacuated. Station Six was in the process of clearing the building when the fire jumped and they had to pull back,” Chief reports in his no-nonsense tone.
“The water rig is going to be positioned at the rear of the building to help control the spread. We are going in to complete the evac of the rest of the units,” he says. “Keep your eyes open and your ears to the ground, gang. Everyone comes back safe,” he adds as the truck pulls to a stop behind the blocked-off road.
As soon as the truck is stopped, we all pile out and begin to double check our equipment. “Ready,” I say into my mouth piece as I start to receive air from the tank at my back. “Ready,” follows from the other five members of my team.
“We have four floors, five units to each floor. The fire is believed to have started in 302. It is confirmed to 303 and 402 above. Smith and Jaskula take the first floor. Peterson and Diaz are on the second floor. Stevens, you’re with me on the third. First unit to clear their floor takes four,” Chief Hernandez states.
“10-4,” we all reply as we start to make our way into the burning building.
The Chief and I follow Peterson and Diaz up the stairwell. While they split off at the entrance of the second floor, Chief and I head up another flight. When we get to the doorway, I take a quick peek through the small window in the door. I see no flames and no people through the smoke. I hold up my hand and make a closed fist, signaling that I don’t see anything. I proceed to slowly open the door and am met with nothing but smoke.
We start with the closest unit, 301. The door is unlocked when I test the knob. We both stand to the side of the doorway, prepared for the blast, as I open the door. Nothing.
Chief and I make quick work of checking the apartment. It’s clear that the occupants made it outside. We exit the apartment and head towards the one across the hall, 302. This door was left open so we quickly slip inside and give the apartment a quick by thorough check for occupants. Again, nothing.
Knowing that the blaze has spread to 303, we head there next. The unit’s door is also open so after checking the doorway, we slip inside. The apartment is filled with smoke. Flames dance along the ceiling in the kitchen. Chief Hernandez checks the kitchen quickly while I head back to check the bedrooms. This apartment is larger than the first two we checked. The master bedroom is cleared quickly so I move onto the smaller room, which is clearly a child’s room. I call out and announce my presence before I check under the bed and in the closet. Nothing. After a check of the bathroom and the living room, Chief and I exit the apartment.
We make quick work of the remaining two apartments on the floor. Peterson and Diaz have finished their sweep of the second floor so they make their way up to the fourth floor. Smith and Jaskula finish the first floor just as quickly so they proceed upward to the fourth floor to assist on the search. Chief and I make our way outside as we wait for the other two teams to complete their search. Three water tankers proceed to dump water through the gaping holes in the side of the building onto the third and fourth floors.
I watch as the remaining four members of my team hurry out of the front of the building towards the truck. Masks are removed and air is shut off as they all try to catch their breaths. There is no greater rush.
“Chief, you copy?” I hear from the radio attached to Hernandez’s shoulder.
“Copy,” he replies.
“Woman is claiming her son didn’t make it out. Unit 303,” I hear come from the radio. I am grabbing my mask and slipping it on before I even have time to process. I am already starting towards the front of the building when I hear the rest of the report through my helmet. “Subject is a four year old boy and was last seen in the small bedroom in bed,” he reports. I run up the front steps of the building, Smith hot on my heels.
“I checked that room and didn’t see anyone,” I report into the radio in my helmet as we start to sprint up the stairs.
“We’ll find him,” Smith says over my shoulder.
We finally get to the doorway of the third floor. The halls are now filled with thick, rolling smoke and the heat coming from the ceiling and the third apartment - the apartment we are heading into - is stifling. We reach the doorway and I check the knob. The paint around the door is bubbling. Smith and I take our positions along the wall and I push open the door. Inside, the unit is blazing. The kitchen to the left is completely engulfed even though the units outside are pumping water directly through the wall and into the small room. The couch along the kitchen wall is ablaze with hot flames as we rush around it and towards the small bedroom in the corner.
There are no flames here, only smoke. Smith and I get to work at rechecking the room. I check under the bed while Smith tears apart the closet. No sign of the four-year-old boy.
“I’m going to check the other bedroom,” Smith says before he exits the room.
He has to be here. Where are you, kid?
I stand in the center of the room and give it a scan. The ceiling above me starts to groan, paint bubbling from the heat. We don’t have much time. I continue my scan and my eyes rest on a small, wooden toy box. I quickly take two steps to the box and gingerly lift the lid. Inside is the small boy. He’s out, but breathing.
“Found the boy,” I announce into my radio. I make quick work of gingerly removing the small child from the confines of his toy box.
Smith is behind me a second later. “We have to go now. The ceiling is caving in,” he tells me.
I cradle the child against my chest and follow Smith out of the small room. We make it to the living room where the creaks and groans of the stressed structure start to rumble. Pieces of the ceiling start to fall around us as we make our way through the living room. I hold the boy as tightly as I can to protect him from the dancing flames and the falling debris that surround us.
A large piece of drywall breaks away just as I reach the heart of the living room. The force of the heavy, wet material falling on me sends me down to my knees. I lean forward to shield the child from the debris and to safeguard his unprotected body from the flames.
“Stevens!” Smith hollers into the radio just before he starts digging at the drywall on top of me. It takes him upwards of a minute to get the piece of debris off of me. I glance down at the child I’m laying on and see frightened blue eyes staring back at me.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I tell him, knowing that he can’t hear me through my mask. I soften my eyes and keep them locked on his terrified ones. The boy never cries like I would expect him to. He just stares up at me with wide, trusting eyes.
Finally, I feel the weight of the drywall being lifted from my body. When it’s free, Smith makes a grab for the boy I’m cradling. “I got him,” I tell him as I slowly start to stand.
“You just took drywall to the head, Stevens. Let me carry the boy out,” he demands.
“No, I’ve got him,” I insist as we, again, make our way out of the apartment, my iron-tight grip on the child.
My legs carry me down the stairs and out of the burning building completely on their own. Smith radios a status update and our moving positions to the crew on the ground. My eyes remain focused on the path ahead of us, and the boy in my arms. Almost there.
Paramedics are waiting for us on the front lawn of the building. They have two gurneys and a backboard positioned just far enough to be protected from the burning building.
I set the young boy down on the first gurney I get to. His eyes never leave mine. A woman runs up to the boy, hysterically crying and shaking. Two paramedics get to work on the child, placing an oxygen mask on his small face. His breathing is labored, but considering he was in a burning building, he’s not doing too badly.
I rip my mask off my face as the other two paramedics descend on
me, but I try to push them back. I need to know how the boy is doing. That’s my focus right now.
“Don’t make me tie you down, Stevens,” Chief Hernandez says from behind me. “They have to check you out. Protocol,” he adds firmly.
I concede and sit down on the second gurney so that I’m facing the little boy. As the female paramedic slips the oxygen mask on my face, the boy next to me holds up his small hand. I take it inside of my gloved hand and just hold it there. Around us, people hustle and bustle to prepare the child for transfer to the hospital. The other paramedic starts pressing around on the top of my skull, causing a wince at the tender spot where the drywall crashed down on my helmet.
“You should go to the hospital and have it checked out,” he reports.
“I’m good. Make sure this kid gets what treatment he needs,” I tell them.
“He will, Nate,” Chief says with a firm squeeze of the hand he places on my shoulder. “Let the guys do their job here so you can be on your way,” he adds.
The sun is out and has been for awhile. The boy is strapped in for transfer so I give his small hand one gentle squeeze. “You’re going to go for a ride in the ambulance, little man. Can you be a big, strong boy for me?” I ask.
The boy shakes his head up and down and continues to watch me with those big, blue eyes. His hand is still firmly tucked inside of mine. My heart does this weird lurch in my chest. He reminds me of my nephew, Grant. He puts all of his trust into me and I’d do anything I can to protect him.
“What’s your name, little man?” I ask.
His voice is hoarse and dry as he speaks, barely louder than a whisper. “Nathan.”
I smile down at the little guy next to me. “Well, my name is Nathan, too,” I tell the boy. He gives me a huge, toothy smile. “I’ll tell you what, Nathan. You go in that ambulance with these people, and I’ll come see you in the hospital very soon. Okay?”
Nathan shakes his head vigorously up and down as the same smile continues to wash over me. I watch as he is wheeled away from me and hoisted up into the awaiting ambulance. His mother leaps up into the rig before the doors are closed and they speed away towards the hospital.
“You need to have it checked out,” the male paramedic states.
“No I don’t,” I reply.
“No arguments, Stevens. You know you have to go get checked out before you can report back to the station,” Chief Hernandez states.
I concede again and lie back on the gurney as they strap me down. Once inside the rig, I’m hooked up to all sorts of wires and tubes. The female paramedic inserts the IV into my hand as I close my eyes, taking in all of the events of the past few hours. I think about the little boy whose life we saved today. I think about the close call I was in, again. And then I think of Lia. Her sitting at home or at work, oblivious that anything is even happening to me. We could be happily married one, two, or ten years from now. I could have easily not made it out of that building. She could be sitting there, rocking our child to sleep, when they arrive to tell her that her husband isn’t coming home.
And that’s why a future with Lia can’t happen. As much as I try to fight it, I care too much for her to hurt her this way. She deserves to be happily married with a child or two of her own. A child similar to little Nathan.
My chest aches as I picture Lia walking down the aisle towards a man that isn’t me. I picture Lia pregnant with a child that isn’t mine. I picture her old and gray as she sits in a damn rocking chair on a front porch, sipping a glass of lemonade, and holding a hand that doesn’t belong to me.
Fuck, my subconscious is a cruel bastard.
I squeeze my eyes shut and will the unwanted images out of my head. The rig slows down and I feel the sharp turn to the left and into the hospital’s Emergency Room entrance. The doors open and the awaiting medical staff all jump to action. I’m wheeled into a small, curtained room and evaluated. I answer the questions as the doctor goes about shining the light in my eyes and checking me over. “I want to get a CT Scan just to rule out a concussion, but I think you’re good, Mr. Stevens,” the attending physician states.
I’m taken straight down to X-Ray and bypass the few waiting patients. That’s the thing I’ve noticed is that emergency personnel and first responders tend to get priority for examinations like this. It sucks, but what can I do?
Fortunately, the scan doesn’t take too long and I’m wheeled back to the Emergency Room. Chief Hernandez is waiting in the little room and gives me a friendly wave as I’m brought back in.
“Any word on the boy?” I ask.
“He’s going to be fine. You saved his life, Stevens.”
“I just did what any one of you would have done, sir.”
“True, but you ran back into that building before the report was even finished coming over the speaker, without a second thought or glance back. You’re a good man and a damn fine firefighter,” he says.
The doctor that checked me out earlier comes into the room. “Everything came back clear on the scan, Mr. Stevens,” he tells me as he looks over the papers in his hand.
“Can I get out of here?” I ask, anxious to go see Nathan.
“Yes. The nurse is working on your release papers now. Here are your discharge orders. Rest for the next forty-eight hours and then you can resume normal activity,” he tells me as he hands me the stack of papers in his hand.
“Done,” I tell him, already throwing my legs over the side of the bed.
“Take it easy and if you experience any dizziness or pain, please come back in as soon as possible,” he states before exiting the room.
“What room is Nathan in?” I ask as I wait for the nurse.
“208 in the pediatric wing,” Chief says. I know that wing all too well. My niece, Bean, was a patient for four days almost two years ago, due to pneumonia. Those first two days were the scariest damned days of my life.
As soon as the nurse comes in and I throw my chicken-scratched name across the form, I take off towards the elevator. Chief hangs with me, apparently accompanying me to the room. Then it hits me that I don’t have a ride, and the realization that Chief is stuck here with me until I decide to leave settles over me.
I spend the next hour with Nathan in his brightly colored room, playing with the matchbox cars I picked up at the gift shop that I walked by. His mother hugged me no less than a dozen times and followed each hug up with a big, “thank you.” The nursing staff is in and out of his room and assure his mother - and me - that the young boy will make a complete recovery. They are keeping him overnight due to the smoke inhalation, but anticipate that he’ll be going home - or going to his grandmother’s house - sometime tomorrow.
When the clock on the wall reads eleven-thirty and my eyelids are barely able to stay open, Chief and I leave the room and head towards the elevator. I was supposed to be off at six this morning and my tired mind wanders back to Lia. I missed seeing her this morning. I enjoy the hour or so I hang back while she opens the bakery and serves the early morning customers. I love to sit along the back counter and watch as she interacts and laughs with the town folk. Now, by the time I get back to the station, clean up, and head for home, it’s going to be early afternoon.
When I got back to the station, my team was waiting for me. We bullshitted about the fire and they asked about my trip to the hospital and the status of Nathan, so it is even later than I thought it would be when I finally got on the road after the world’s fastest shower. The drive back to Rivers Edge seems to be the longest I’ve ever experienced. And the lukewarm too-strong coffee from the station just isn’t cutting it any longer. When I hit the “Welcome to Rivers Edge” sign on the edge of town, it was the first time I really took a deep breath since I entered that burning building.
Three times. That’s how many times I made a grab for my phone so I could text or call Lia before the black screen reminded me that my battery was dead. I pull the Mustang into the back lot and make quick work of getting to the back door of the bakery. I
’m exhausted. Bone tired. But the thought of seeing Lia has given me a second wind.
I throw open the door and scan the warm kitchen. Avery comes through the swinging door and glares at me. Glares. The kind of look I imagine she gives one of her children when she’s unhappy and wants them to know it. A look I’ve seen from my mother. Avery has it perfected.
“Nathan Michael Stevens, where the hell have you been?” she fumes, hands angrily perched on her hips.
“Uh, hi to you too, Ave,” I say, trying to lighten the mood a little before I dive into the story of where I’ve been.
“No. Don’t you do that,” she scolds as tears fill her blue eyes. “I get here around ten o’clock and Lia is a freaking mess. Then, Mom calls me asking about where you are. Apparently, she saw the fire on the news. We’ve been calling and calling you for over three hours, Nathan!”
Shit. The news. “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t call. My battery on my phone died, and I left the charger at home,” I reply.
“Are you okay?” she asks as she swallows hard and fights to keep the tears from escaping her eyes.
I don’t hesitate as I stalk towards her and throw my arms around her. She’s so tiny and petite in my arms, much like Lia. “I’m fine, I promise. Where is Lia?” I ask, looking over her shoulder and out into the storefront of the bakery.
“I sent her home an hour ago. She was a mess. When I got the call from Mom, she overheard most of the phone conversation. I asked her if she had heard from you or seen you and she just sort of panicked,” Avery says.
Shit. “I need to go up and see her,” I tell her as I release Avery from my grip and head towards the door.
“I’ll call Mom and tell her that you’re okay. She’s been worried sick and I’m sure she has everyone on standby, waiting for an update.”
“Thank you, Ave. I owe you,” I tell her as I head out the door.
“I want the whole story, Nate,” she says as I slam the door closed behind me. I take the stairs two at a time until I reach the platform before her door. I don’t even knock. I can’t. I need to see her. Now.
