by Beverly Long
“Your chili was a big hit,” he said. “The corn bread you made put it over the top.”
“Our chili,” she said, feeling oddly warm at the compliment. It was just chili. But it seemed as if lately she couldn’t do anything right. Knowing that she’d done a good job on the food and that it had been enjoyed made her feel as if maybe she hadn’t lost all her abilities.
“I’m a little worried that I’ve set some expectations that I won’t be able to meet the next time it’s my turn,” he said.
She almost told him not to worry, that she’d help. But realized that it was unlikely she would still be shadowing him. It wasn’t going to take that long to get a feel for what he and the other firefighters did. Based on yesterday afternoon, it didn’t seem that complex.
“I thought I might get some photos of the fire trucks today,” she said.
“Sure. Let’s go.”
“They’re so clean,” she said.
“We take pride in that,” he said. “Everybody has a hand in making sure the equipment we use is clean and in good working order.”
“It’s got lots of nooks and crannies,” she said, pointing to a door on the side of the fire truck.
Blade opened it. Inside was a bunch of tools and a couple axes of different sizes. Off to the side were what appeared to be air tanks. “Tell me about those,” she said after getting a couple good photos.
“Those are SCBA or self-contained breathing apparatus. Smoke kills, you know.”
“Right. So it’s oxygen.”
“Compressed air. About thirty minutes’ worth, but that really depends on the individual firefighter and level of exertion. Bigger person, more exertion, faster depletion. I know that mine generally won’t last the full thirty. I’ve got more like twenty-three minutes.”
“Have you ever run out?” she asked. The idea of suddenly not being able to breathe was terrifying.
“I’ve come close,” he said with a smile. “But that’s not the ideal. There’s a low-air alarm that rings at six minutes, and department protocol requires that we exit.”
When they finished the inspection of the truck, he motioned for her to follow him. “I got you some bunker gear,” he said. “Not that you’ll be fighting any fires.”
“Then why will I need it?”
“If you’re going to ride along, I want you to be safe. Fire is predictable, yet unpredictable. We attempt to park the trucks a safe distance from the fire. But even so, I want you to be protected in the event that something goes bad quickly. Also, I think it will give you a much better feel for the role if you’re actually wearing the gear. Come on, I’ll show you.”
He led her inside. Along one wall was a series of open-style lockers. In each hung a heavy yellow coat, the kind she’d seen a hundred times on firefighters in movies. There was also a pair of pants in what she assumed was a flame-retardant material. She looked a little closer. There were suspenders.
He smiled. “We don’t want our pants to be falling down at an inappropriate time.”
“Absolutely not.” Tucked into the pants were the tops of a pair of heavy boots. She pointed to them. “You were afraid I would forget my boots?” she asked, amused.
He shook his head. “Everybody’s gear is stored the same way.”
She looked and could see that he was telling the truth. She took a photo.
“It saves time,” he said. “We pull on the pants and slip our feet into the boots, all in one motion. Minutes, hell, seconds, can be the difference between saving a building or losing it to the fire. Or more importantly, saving a person. The first week of training, we practice getting into our clothes. Over and over. We’re timed. If we can’t get that right, they don’t even bother trying to teach us the rest of the stuff.”
“Can I try it?” she asked, very grateful that she’d chosen to wear pants to work. A dress would have made this very difficult. She handed him her phone. “Your turn to take photos.”
“I’ll do my best. Now pants and boots first. Get your suspenders up and then the coat.” He pulled out his own cell phone. “I’ll use this to time you. On your mark, get set, go.”
She lifted the pants from the hook. They were heavier than she’d expected, but then again, there were big heavy boots at the bottom. She stepped into the pants, got her feet into the boots and pulled the heavy material up. She quickly fastened the pants and then pulled up the suspenders. They were too loose, but she ignored that. She grabbed the coat and shrugged it on. It had Velcro latches. She snapped the last one shut and looked up, pretty proud of herself.
“Not bad,” he said. “But you need to cut about ninety seconds or you’re never going to make the truck.”
Ninety seconds. “Good grief,” she muttered.
He smiled and took a photo of her. “And there’s also a helmet that you have to get on,” he said, pointing to the shelf above where her bunker gear had been hanging.
“I’ll try it again.” She took off the coat. Hung it back up. “It’s all much heavier than I expected.”
“It’s a synthetic material that is fireproof, protects us against intense heat and provides a barrier between us and nasty chemicals.”
She was just about to shrug out of her suspenders when she realized she should try to adjust them for a better fit. Otherwise, her pants might just fall down. She worked at the metal clasp but couldn’t get it to budge.
“Let me help you,” he said, stepping forward.
He was close enough that she could smell the soap he’d used in the shower. It was a nice smell, reminding her that it had been a long time since she’d had the pleasure of smelling anything other than the lavender shower gel she favored.
She took a deep breath just as he reached for her right shoulder, realizing too late that as her chest expanded, it made it appear as if her breasts were just about to leap into his hands.
She let out a puff of air. And like a nice guy, he pretended that he hadn’t noticed. But he was close enough that she could see his neck get red.
With one quick tug, he got the right suspender tightened. All business, he moved to her left side and made quick work of that one. For her part, she didn’t breathe at all. It was a relief when he finally stepped back so that she could suck in some much-needed air.
She unfastened her pants and stepped out of them. Got everything hung back up and gave him a nod to start the clock again.
She got everything on, even the heavy, hard-sided helmet. She flipped down the visor and threw her hands in the air. “Ta-da!” she said. She took a selfie.
“You cut forty seconds off your time.”
It was progress. Not much, but still. She sucked a breath in and started taking it all off. She was halfway through the fourth try when bells started ringing. And suddenly there was motion everywhere. “What now?” she asked.
“Keep going. You can ride in the truck,” he answered as he and everyone else in the firehouse started pulling on their clothes. Because she’d had a head start, she was pulling on her coat just as they finished.
“Button that in the truck,” he said. He grabbed her helmet from the shelf and tossed it in her direction. “Let’s go.”
And before she could really process any of it, they were in the truck, pulling out of the garage. She had a thousand questions, but was smart enough to keep her mouth shut. And she didn’t have long to wait because within minutes, they were pulling up to a small house at the edge of Knoware. She did not see smoke or flames.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Medical call. Chest pains,” Blade said, barely giving her a look before springing from the truck. “Come on. And no photos inside.”
He did not wait for her. She trailed him into the small house by at least five seconds. He was already squatted in front of the sixty-something woman, who sat on her couch, one hand pressed against her chest.
When the ambulance arrived, Blade conferred with the crew and then helped to transfer the woman from her couch to the vehicle. It was over in fifteen minutes, and they were back in the fire truck and returning to the fire station.
When they were there and out of earshot of others, she said, “That was impressive.”
“Nah,” he said, waving a hand. “I’m pretty sure it was a panic attack, not a heart attack.”
“Did you always want to do this?”
He glanced toward the bay where his coworkers milled around. “Ride around in a truck?” he asked, deliberately misunderstanding her.
“Save lives,” she said.
“I wanted to be a rock star,” he said. “This was my fallback. How about you?” he asked, efficiently redirecting the attention away from himself. “Did you dream of being a marketing and public relations pro?”
“Who wouldn’t?” she asked.
He laughed. “Come on. Secret little ambition.”
“Astronaut,” she said.
“I think those space suits weigh even more than our clothes. What changed your mind?”
A pregnancy at seventeen. “I don’t really know,” she lied. “You?”
“I was in a band and we were playing small venues. But then I got married and we had a baby. I needed to be home.” He smiled. “Bon Jovi doesn’t know how lucky he is. I could have been some real competition.”
“I’m sure he—”
The shrill siren interrupted her.
He waved a hand in her direction. “Let’s go.”
Within a minute, everybody was back in the truck and they were pulling out of the driveway. Like before, details drifted back. Fire. 520 Willow Street. That meant nothing to her, but she could tell by the way Blade and Charlie exchanged glances that there was more to the story.
Halfway there, it got relayed to the team that there might be people trapped inside the building. “That’s what I was afraid of,” he said, almost under his breath.
“Why?”
“The building is a former orphanage. Hasn’t been used for that for at least fifty years. The city is trying to get the property condemned so that they can tear it town. Unfortunately, the homeless hang out there, sometimes managing to pry off a boarded-up window to get inside, especially when the weather gets nasty like the last few days.”
Her throat felt tight. “What will you do?”
He didn’t answer, and she didn’t press. And two minutes later, they were parked.
The building was bigger than she’d expected. Two stories with—she counted fast—twelve windows across the front. Some of said windows on the first level had been blown out, and fire and smoke were visible.
The fire truck door opened, steps descended and she got ready to move.
“No, stay here,” he said. “Where it’s safe.”
He didn’t give her time to argue. He and the other firefighters were out of the truck and moving fast, unraveling hoses. One got hooked up to the truck and water started to pour onto the structure. The other was getting dragged toward a hydrant that was a couple hundred feet down the block. She got out her phone and snapped some photos.
Charlie motioned to Blade to hand off the hose. He was issuing orders, and she didn’t need to guess what they were when she saw Blade and a coworker strap on air tanks and breathing apparatus and run into the burning house.
She looked at her watch. He’d said that in his experience his air lasted about twenty-three minutes. No need to worry yet.
Seconds ticked by. Minutes stretched on.
And on. It was getting so hot in the truck.
It had to be much, much hotter inside the building. And darker. And smokier.
She felt nauseous.
He’d made jokes about rescuing cats in trees. Hadn’t mentioned this.
At minute thirteen, she saw a figure emerge from the doorway. It was Blade, with somebody slung over his shoulder. Just in time, she remembered her phone and got the photo. Then he transferred the person to the ground and Charlie came to assist.
Blade was walking, appeared to be okay. She started to breathe normally again.
And then he turned around and ran back inside the burning building.
Chapter 8
Even with the light on his helmet, Blade couldn’t see a damn thing. The smoke was too black, too heavy. But he knew where he was headed. Sort of.
The man he’d removed from the second floor had said his friend was still inside, on the first floor. That he had a bad leg. And the last thing he’d said before Blade had slapped an oxygen mask on him was please save him.
Blade was going to do his best. But it wasn’t looking good.
He felt his way down the hallway. The first three doors were closed, and when he quickly twisted the knob, he discovered they were locked. This gave him good reason to believe that nobody was inside. The fourth door was...hell...he’d thought it was open, but it was simply gone. He went inside and searched the room by walking back and forth. He didn’t fall over anything, human or otherwise, so he quickly exited and resumed his path down the hall.
At best, he had three minutes until his low-air alarm sounded and he’d have to leave.
The fifth door was locked. The sixth door was shut but the handle turned. He knew from his search of the second floor that this was the last room. If the man he’d carried out had been right, then somebody should be inside. Unless, of course, he was in the last room going the other direction.
He quickly searched the room, getting more and more discouraged. And when his low-air alarm sounded, he knew he wasn’t going to have time to search the other end of the hallway.
He’d failed.
“Exiting the building,” he said. He turned to do just that, and through the smoke caught sight of a door in the far corner. None of the other rooms had one, he was fairly certain. He found the doorknob, pulled open the door and almost tripped over a rolled-up mat that had been pushed up against the door, likely to block the smoke from entering the room. Inside, his light caught the shape of a body on the floor and his heart sank. He was too late.
But when he reached to check the man’s carotid pulse, he felt life. And realized that the man’s face had been pressed up against a small vent, maybe a foot square, that had provided him with air to breathe. He’d done everything he could to save himself.
Blade was going to do everything he could to save both of them.
His headset crackled. “Where are you?”
It was Charlie, who was no doubt watching the door, making sure his team got out.
“I’ve got a victim. Unconscious. Steady pulse. I’m bringing him out.”
“Get out of the building,” Charlie said. “Now.”
“I’m trying,” Blade said. He knelt and managed to get the man off the ground and over his shoulder. Then he was out of the room and halfway down the hall. He thought he was home free.
And then the second floor caved in and debris rained down upon him and his passenger. There was no going forward. He turned and ran back toward the closet. His heart was drumming in his chest, and he knew that he was using his precious air at an even faster rate. To make matters worse, now he was going to need to share it.
“No path to the door,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. “There’s a vent to the outside, around the back of the building. I’m headed in that direction. The opening is too small. You’re going to need to widen it for us.”
There was no immediate respon
se. But then Charlie said, “Affirmative. I’ve got a visual.” There was a pause. “Get back. We’re coming in.”
And Blade knew what was happening outside. Other firefighters were running for tools. It was a concrete block wall. A battering ram, with two guys working in tandem, would be the most efficient. They’d practiced it as recently as a month ago.
But practice and real life were two different things. And they were running out of time.
Regrets flashed through his mind. He could have been a better father, son, friend, ex-husband.
Unfinished business, that’s what it was. And while he had always accepted the risks that came with his job, he wanted, desperately wanted, more time. And he thought of Daisy, with her infectious laugh and her pretty eyes. She wanted to be friendly cochairs. He wanted something more.
The man groaned, shifted. Blade put a hand on his back. “Stay calm. Help is coming.”
“Didn’t want to die alone,” the man said.
“Nobody is dying today,” Blade said, hoping that he wasn’t making false promises. He lowered the man to the floor, positioning him so that the two of them could take turns breathing from the SCBA. They were far enough away from the wall that when it came tumbling down, they wouldn’t get caught with debris.
“Almost there,” he heard Charlie in his headset.
Hurry, he thought.
The man reached out and gripped his gloved hand. “Thank you,” he said. “For not—” his body shuddered “—leaving me,” he finished, closing his eyes.
“Stay with—”
A chunk of the wall came crashing in. He could see sunlight, glorious sunlight. Then he saw Tony coming through the hole.
Together, they transferred the man to Charlie who waited on the other side. Then Blade climbed out, followed by Tony.
A cold cloudy day had never looked so perfect.
Oxygen was pressed upon him. Before he accepted it, he said one word. “Daisy.”
“To the right,” Charlie said.
He looked and finally located her some thirty feet away, just in time to see her collapse onto the ground.
