Total Rush

by Deirdre Martin

  “If you can handle it.” If you can’t, I’ll just be closed tomorrow, too, while I bring Nonna back to Brooklyn. Screw it.

  “No problem.”

  “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

  “Fine.” She peered at Gemma anxiously. “You?”

  “I’m fine,” Gemma lied.

  “So, um, okay, then.” Julie picked up her backpack from where it rested against the side of the building and swung it up onto her shoulder. “See you, Gem.”

  “I’ll call you later to make sure you’re okay.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to.”

  “Okay.” Julie shrugged. “See you,” she repeated.

  She set off down the block, then abruptly stopped, turning back to Gemma with a panicked look on her face.

  “I just remembered something.”

  “What?”

  “About three weeks ago, that guy stopped by looking for you.”

  “What guy?” Gemma asked patiently.

  “Whatsisname, the fireman guy—”

  “Sean?”

  “That’s it. He just said to tell you he stopped by.” Julie looked sheepish. “I’m sorry I forgot, Gem, but things have been so nuts at the store with the constantly shifting hours—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Gemma said.

  Reassured, Julie walked away. Exhausted, Gemma looked at her store—the scene of a hostage crisis!—one final time before hailing a taxi. Her mind drifted as she watched the world outside scroll by the window of the cab.

  She didn’t want to think about what she’d come home to.

  ———

  “What are you making again?”

  Sean shot Sal Ojeda a disbelieving look. Along with the rest of the ladder company, they were on their way back to the firehouse after a trip to D’Agostino’s to pick up the ingredients for that day’s lunch. Ojeda had asked the same question when they pulled out of the firehouse, and again as he trailed Sean down the produce aisle. Either Sal was extremely distracted, or his brain was leaking intelligence like a slowly deflating tire.

  “Steak, grilled peppers and onions, garlic mashed potatoes,” Sean repeated for the third time that day.

  Ojeda blinked. “Oh. Right.”

  Sean leaned over, tapping him lightly on the side of his head. “Hello? Anyone home?”

  The action returned Ojeda back to full consciousness, and he shrugged. “Sorry. Spring fever, I guess.”

  Sean understood completely. It was a sunny, early spring morning, freakish in its warmth. White clouds cod-died the skyscrapers, while the breeze was steady enough to playfully rustle the skirts of women as they hurried down the sidewalks, teasing the imagination. It was one of those days Sean felt acutely aware of being alive.

  He peered out the window, watching people as they watched the truck go by. There was something about the sight of the sleek, red vehicle in motion that seemed to intrigue the public. Ditto firefighters themselves: Whether they were sitting outside the firehouse or grocery shopping, folks always came over to say hello. Sean was proud of their approachability.

  “So, whatever happened with you and that New Age-y chick?” Ojeda casually asked, cracking the window open farther. It was getting stuffy in the back of the truck.

  Sean turned to him, puzzled. He couldn’t remember telling Ojeda about it. Ojeda caught the expression on his face and laughed, pointing a finger at Leary.

  “He told me.”

  “Figures.” Firefighters: the biggest friggin‘ gossips in the world. “It just didn’t work out.”

  “Too freaky?”

  “Nah,” Sean said evasively. “The timing was all wrong, you know? Plus, she’s got a lot of other stuff going on.”

  Ojeda nodded sympathetically. “I hear that.”

  I wish I did. Sean knew it was stupid, but it still bothered him that he’d never heard back from Gemma after stopping by the store. He knew she was dealing with a lot, but a simple acknowledgment would have been nice. Then again, silence could be its own answer.

  Not one for excessive self-reflection, he nevertheless found himself thinking about how much he’d changed over the past few months. Part of it, he knew, was his willingness to go for help after the brownstone fire. But much of it was simply the passage of time, and the gift of hindsight. He’d been shallow to worry about her “not fitting in” with his world. Opposites attracted all the time. If his head hadn’t been so far up his ass, they could have made it work. All it would have taken was compromise and an open mind. And another thing, too: He’d been wrong not to talk to her about things, wrong to feel annoyed with her worries for his safety. At the time, he couldn’t see how one fed the other, how silence and worry chased each other in a never-ending spiral that could only lead to failure. Now he could. He would not make the same mistake again.

  They had traveled less than a block when a young woman, standing on the nearest corner clutching a small chihuahua under her arm, frantically waved them down. Obliging, Joe Jefferson eased the ladder truck over to the curb. They all rolled down their windows.

  “I think there’s a fire around the corner on East Fifty-ninth,” she said breathlessly. “My dog was doing his business, and I looked up and saw smoke coming from the window of an apartment.”

  “You got an address?” Captain McCloskey asked her.

  The girl nodded. “One fifty-seven.”

  “We’re on it,” he told her as Jefferson switched on the siren and they sped away.

  “Did she say one fifty-seven?” Sean called up front. Jefferson nodded. “Holy shit, that’s my building.”

  Gemma, Janucz, Tony the doorman, his birds—names and images bombarded him. There were a million different things that could cause a fire. He just prayed it was a small one, and that no one he cared about was anywhere near it.

  ———

  The truck had barely rolled to a halt before Sean jumped out.

  “This is it!”

  Peering skyward, he tensed: Whorls of black smoke were tumbling out of Gemma’s partially opened living room window. “Fuck.”

  “What?” Captain McCloskey demanded. They were all out on the sidewalk now, hurriedly slipping into their turnout gear.

  “I know the woman who lives in that apartment,” Sean said, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I gotta go—”

  “Whoa, hold up a minute.” McCloskey adjusted the air pack on his back. “What’s the exact location of the apartment?”

  “Fifth floor, second door on the left.”

  “Okay. Kennealy, you and Ojeda take your cans to the fifth floor and scope things out. Do not enter the apartment in question, you hear me? Leary and I will go up to six. Delaney, you and Campbell stay put for now.” He turned to Joe Jefferson. “Radio back to the house for the engine and backup.” Putting on his helmet, he looked at Sean curiously. “You say you live here?”

  “Yeah. Sixth floor—right above the apartment in question, in fact.” He picked up his can. “Can I go now?”

  “We’re all gonna go now,” the captain said. “Just remember what I said.”

  ———

  “Looks like there’s a fire. You want me to drop you here?”

  Gemma, who’d been daydreaming as best she could, tore her eyes from the window and stared at the back of the cabbie’s balding head.

  “Excuse me?”

  He impatiently directed her gaze to the fire truck parked in the middle of the street, its flashing light a warning. “Drop you here?”

  Gemma nodded, dread filling her as she paid the cabbie and made her way out to the sidewalk. Invisible cables of steel were tightening around her chest, crushing her ribcage, making it hard to breathe. Hurrying, she hustled as fast as she could up the street. The fire truck was parked directly in front of her building. Absolute panic choked her as she looked up: Smoke was billowing from the window of her apartment.

  She broke into a run. “My grandmother’s in there!”

  “Ge
mma! Gem!”

  Hearing her name, Gemma halted abruptly and turned. There was Frankie, waving her arms madly amid the small crowd of bystanders and wide-eyed, terrified tenants. Unthinking, Gemma pushed her way through the crowd to join her.

  “What are you doing out here?” she cried. “You’re supposed to be with my grandmother!”

  “There was a traffic accident on Third Avenue. I was stuck in the cab for forty minutes! By the time I got here, the fire department was already here! They’re not letting anyone into the building. I tried calling you, but your cell phone was off.”

  Gemma’s eyes flashed with doubt as she shoved her hand deep into her pocketbook, pulling her cell phone out. Frankie was right: She’d turned the damn thing off. Gemma looked around wildly, thrusting the useless instrument back in her purse. “Does anyone know anything about this fire?” she asked loudly. “Anyone?”

  “They think it’s just in 5B right now, but they’re not sure,” said a freckled woman holding a small orange cat on her shoulder as if it were an infant. She was petting it ferociously.

  Gemma crumbled. “Nonna,” she sobbed. “I should never have left her alone! This is all my fault!”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Frankie grabbed Gemma’s shoulders firmly. “You have to calm down. You have to.” She marched her over to the nearest firefighter. “Tell him! Tell him about your grandmother!”

  Gemma cleared her throat, trying to get ahold of herself. “M-my grandmother is in 5B.”

  The firefighter immediately got on his radio. “Ladder Twenty-nine Chauffeur to Ladder Twenty-nine, we have a report of a person still in 5B k.” He turned to Gemma. “We’ll do what we can. Please step back.”

  Reluctantly, Gemma let her friend lead her away. Her frightened eyes met Frankie’s. “Nonna’s in there,” she repeated, sounding completely lost and bewildered as tears poured down her face.

  “I know, baby.” Frankie’s voice cracked as she folded Gemma into a fierce embrace. “But the fire department is doing all they can. You have to have faith.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Adreline pounding, Sean flew up the stairs and carefully opened the door to the fifth floor, Ojeda right behind him. A smoky haze clung from floor to ceiling, while up and down the corridor, the piercing sound of individual smoke detectors going off created a skull-rattling cacophony. Sean marched up to the door of the nearest apartment and started pounding.

  “Fire department! Please evacuate the building!”

  They repeated the procedure up and down the length of the hallway. Thankfully, no one seemed to be home except the dreaded Mrs. Croppy, who, despite the noise and the smoke, peered suspiciously at Sean as she opened the door a crack.

  “Ma’am, I have to ask you to evacuate the premises immediately.” The woman simply stared at him, her milky blue eyes distrustful. “Ma’am?”

  “It’s that whore across the hall, isn’t it? With her incense and her—”

  “Ma’am, I don’t know, but you have to leave the building right now.“ Taking hold of the doorknob, he pushed the door open enough to gently grab the woman’s elbow and pull her out into the hall, closing the door behind him. He began steering her toward the stairs at the end of the hall. ”Can you make it down the steps on your own? Or do you—“

  The woman jerked her arm out of Sean’s grasp and pushed the door to the stairwell open with the other. “I don’t need your G-D help,” she growled, gnarled fingers latching on to the banister as she started off down the stairs.

  “Suit yourself.” Under his breath Sean muttered, “You nasty old cow.” How Gemma could stand living on the same floor with that old biddy was beyond him. Gemma…

  He met Ojeda outside Gemma’s apartment. Smoke was steadily seeping out from beneath the door, its aroma acrid. Sean put his hand to the door. Hot to the touch. Without further thought, he started putting his mask on.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m going in,” Sean said, tightening the straps on either side of his neck.

  “You wanna get your ass kicked? Cap said not to.”

  “Cap doesn’t know the woman who lives here.” He doesn’t have feelings for her, either. He didn’t want to tell Ojeda he had a “feeling” someone was in there. It would sound too airy-fairy, not to mention unprofessional. But it was true. A renegade thought invaded his mind: Gemma would be proud of him for listening to his gut. His inner voice. He laughed out loud.

  “You losin‘ it or what?” Ojeda asked worriedly.

  “I’m going in,” Sean repeated. “You stay here and hold the fire at the door.”

  Sean gripped the door handle, surprised to find it unlocked. Ojeda radioed downstairs: “Ladder Twenty-nine Chauffeur, this is Ladder Twenty-nine, we’re holding the fire at the apartment door.” Bracing himself for the worst, Sean opened the door slowly: A wave of heat and black smoke drove him down to his knees. It was worse, far worse, than he’d imagined. The shriek of the smoke detector—thank God she’d gotten a new one like he’d asked— was like a jackhammer to his brain. Can in hand, he crawled forward toward flame, an unconscious mantra beating through his brain: Gemma, don’t be here, Gemma, don’t be here, Gemma, don’t be here. The heat was becoming more intense, but he’d known worse. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was in close enough to hit the fire and he let the can rip. The fire darkened down. For a split second, Sean allowed himself the luxury of relief.

  Still on his hands and knees, he continued scanning the floor, not surprised when his radio crackled. “Ladder Twenty-nine Chauffeur to Ladder Twenty-nine, we have a report of a person still in the apartment k.”

  “This is Ladder Twenty-nine to Ladder Twenty-nine Chauffeur, I’m in the apartment right now conducting a search,” Sean radioed back down to the street. Damn. His intuition had been right. Someone was in here. But the front door had been unlocked. Could Gemma, or whomever it was, have run out when the fire started? Not an assumption he dare make.

  With renewed determination, he pushed himself farther into the heat and darkness. That’s when he heard it. Distinct, almost chilling: halting coughs and gasps interspersed with what sounded like mumbling from behind Gemma’s bedroom door. Sean pulled out his radio.

  “This is Ladder Twenty-nine. We’ve definitely got a viable rescue in 5B,” he reported.

  Grateful he knew the layout of the place, he crawled in the direction of Gemma’s bedroom, reaching up for the doorknob. Fuck. Gemma or whomever it was had locked themselves in. Rising up on his knees, he started hammering on the door.

  “Fire department! Open the door! We’re gonna get you outta here!”

  He waited, then tried the door again. Still locked. A lump formed in his throat as he realized the cries behind the door had faded away to silence. Behind him, the fire had flared up again, roaring its intention to devour everything in its wake. As quickly as he could, Sean pulled out his rabbit tool and popped the lock. Just as he pushed the door open, the fire rolled over the living room. If ever time was of the essence, it was now: Flashover was imminent.

  Dropping back down to his knees, Sean crawled forward, kicking the bedroom door shut behind him. Dark smoke poisoned the room. He soon found himself at the nighttable closest to the window. He reached up, patting the bed. Nothing.

  He continued his clockwise search, crawling around to the other side of Gemma’s bed. He found an old woman curled up in a ball on the floor, her white hair spread across the lower half of her face like a veil. Gemma’s grandmother. At first Sean thought she was dead. But closer examination revealed she was still breathing, albeit shallowly. “Don’t worry,” Sean shouted. “I’m gonna get you out of here.” There was no response.

  Grasping her firmly beneath the armpits, Sean began dragging her toward the door, stunned by how light she was. She was shrunken and small, almost child sized. He had almost reached the door when his radio once again crackled to life.

  “Ladder Twenty-nine to Ladder Twenty-nine Chauffeur, I’m backing out.
It’s too hot to hold off k.” It was Sal Ojeda.

  “Battalion Six to Ladder Twenty-nine, back out,” came the return message. Sean recognized Battalion Chief Murphy’s voice. “Engine Thirty-one has arrived. Repeat: Engine Thirty-one has arrived.”

  Sean got on the radio. “Ladder Twenty-nine to Ladder Twenty-nine Chauffeur. Position the ladder at the fifth-floor window. We will be bringing the victim out k.”

  “Got it,” Joe Jefferson said. “I’m bringing the stick to the window.”

  Sean hurriedly crawled in the direction of murky sunlight, rising up to break out the window with his ax. Then he dropped back down, quickly crawling back to the tiny form he’d left resting on the floor. As gingerly as he could, he gathered the fragile, withered body up in his arms.

  “Hang in there,” he urged, as much to himself as to her, as he climbed over the window sill and out onto the ladder. His eyes quickly swept the scene below: The engine truck had arrived, and backup from another house was just pulling onto the street. Mindful of who it was he was carrying, he began his careful descent.

  ———

  “Gemma, look!” Frankie shouted. “Look!”

  Gemma looked skyward. There, crawling out of her bedroom window, was a firefighter. She squinted until she could just make out BIRDMAN across the back of his jacket. In his arms Sean carried a small, inert bundle which he carefully sheltered with his body. Nonna! Gemma shot forward, only to find herself running smack into the barriers the fire department had erected to keep civilians at bay.

  “Please!” Gemma shouted in a desperate voice. “Please!”

  Sean was on the ground now, easing Nonna onto a waiting stretcher near the base of the ladder. Gemma’s guts twisted as an EMT immediately clamped an oxygen mask on her grandmother’s face, while the other began checking vitals.

  “SEAN! SEAN!”

  He turned, whipping off his face mask as he approached her. “She’s still alive,” were the first panting words out of his mouth.

  Gemma gasped. “Oh thank God.”

  Sean pushed aside one of the barriers, motioning for her to come through. “Come on, go with her in the ambulance.”