* * *
Internal Memo: Jefferson Avenue Firehouse, Courage Bay
All members of Squad 1 are requested to report for an informal debriefing in my office tomorrow morning before shift change. Due to the suspicion of arson in the warehouse fires at State and 23rd, Courage Bay’s finest have requested we provide them with further details regarding the first and second call-outs. The final report will be approved by the chief when he returns to work. Anyone missing this meeting had better have a damned good excuse.
On a lighter note, congratulations to our celebrity truckie Shannon O’Shea. The calls are still coming in to the station regarding her televised rescue of the injured Lab from the warehouse. O’Shea’s also being featured in an article for a women’s mag. (Take note, guys: there’ll be no living with her from now on.)
One final notice. I’ve been informed that the vacant position in our unit has been filled. John Forrester is an experienced firefighter from New York and will make a great contribution to our team. Squad members are expected to make him feel welcome.
* * *
About the Author
BOBBY HUTCHINSON
is a multitalented woman who was born in a small town in the interior of British Columbia. Though she is now the successful author of more than thirty-five novels, her past includes stints as a retailer, a seamstress and a day-care worker. Twice married, she now lives alone and is the devoted mother of three and grandmother of four. She runs, swims, does yoga, meditates and likes this quote by Dolly Parton: “Decide who you are, and then do it on purpose.”
BOBBY HUTCHINSON
SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION
Dear Reader,
Research is always a fascinating part of the writing process. For Code Red I needed to know about firefighting, which meant interviewing my son, Dan, a seasoned firefighter with the Vancouver Fire Department. Having him share tender and funny incidents as well as more tragic moments made my job easier—but as his mother, the stories he told also struck terror in my heart. I understood as never before exactly what his job entailed—the horrific dangers, the profound compassion and the simple, boundless bravery in the hearts of all those who choose to serve humanity during crisis situations.
As always, writing this book was a delight, but as usual I learned from the characters I was creating. As firefighters, they had certain necessary characteristics—bravery, certainly, a sense of camaraderie and humor. But most of all they shared a single admirable trait: they just never quit. Even in extreme circumstances, when hope seemed extinguished, they went right on trying. I hope I was able to capture that nobility. I hope I’ll be able to incorporate it in some measure in my own life.
Thank you, and much love,
Bobby
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER ONE
THE WAREHOUSE FIRE in Courage Bay occurred on a Tuesday afternoon in late August. It was seventy-eight degrees, and sunny, with no clouds in the blue California sky.
Just before the call came, Shannon O’Shea was sweating up a storm, but not from basking in the sun. She was flat on her back, using the bench press machine in the workout room at the Jefferson Avenue Firehouse. She’d recently upped the weights from 140 to 150, and doing ten reps three times was challenging her to the limit when the alarm, like an insistent doorbell, resounded through the hall.
The dispatcher’s voice came on. “Engine One, Rescue One, Ladder One. First alarm to warehouse fire, State Street and Twenty-third.” There was a ten-second break, and then the alarm was repeated.
Shannon hurried out to the bay. She pulled her turnout gear over her sweat clothes and climbed on the truck with the rest of her crew, heart pumping and adrenaline soaring. She’d completed her probationary year eighteen months ago, but the feeling she’d had when she’d gone to her very first fire was the same one she had now—a little apprehensive, more than a little pumped, eager to do her job.
Fire was the enemy, speed was of the essence and small mistakes could be deadly. As a firefighter, those facts ruled her working life.
The sounds were familiar as the vehicle pulled out of Bay One and gained speed. There was the wail of the siren, the honk of the air horn at intersections and the low-keyed comments of the men. Louie Chapa, a five-year veteran, was behind the wheel, and as he neared their location, Shannon could see black smoke coming from the roof of a dilapidated warehouse.
While some of the crew began to stretch a line from the pumper, Shannon took a long and careful look at the building, as she’d been taught at the academy. Size up the building, size up the construction, size up the means of escape.
This one was big and rambling, two stories, a combination of wood and brick, very few windows. From where the truck was parked, she could see only one set of double doors. There must be a larger loading bay at the side or back.
“O’Shea, you go in with Lucas—place is supposed to be empty, but there could well be vagrants camping in there,” Chief Dan Egan said, and Shannon’s heart thumped with excitement.
It wasn’t that long since she’d been a rookie on the pumper, only assigned to the nozzle after the fire was practically out. When she was brand-new, her crew had taken care of her. Now she was a seasoned veteran looking out for other rookies, like Lucas Ferrintino.
She’d gone from a six-month assignment on the engine to her present, prized assignment as a truckie. Truckies were in charge of forcible entry, using sledgehammers and axes to burst through steel doors. They worked with the ladders, rescuing people trapped in high places. They climbed on roofs and broke windows for ventilation, and most of all, they did search and rescue. Being a truckie was a comment on her superb strength and high level of physical conditioning. She was proud to be considered worthy.
She grabbed her tools, and she and Lucas went inside the building, following the guys stretching the line.
Stay low. Heat and smoke rise. That was one of the first lessons drummed into a firefighter’s brain. Shannon didn’t have to consciously think about crouching as low as she could. After a few years on the job, it was as natural as breathing. Stay low, you go, stay high, you die was the mantra instilled into a trainee’s nervous system. She motioned with her hands to Lucas, reminding him.
Most of the flooring and many of the joists inside the building were made of wood. The support system for the second story was massive wooden beams. The place was cavernous, and at first Shannon couldn’t detect much indication of fire. But the farther she advanced, the thicker the smoke became, descending from the upper floor in slow, steady billows until it was like a black cloud surrounding her.
She dropped to the floor and secured her face piece, turning on her self-contained breathing apparatus. She had twenty minutes worth of air, as long as she breathed properly and didn’t hyperventilate. She’d done that a couple of times as a rookie, but she’d learned, the way all novices did, to control her breath and conserve her air supply.
It was the noise she was aware of, even more than the heat. Roaring and strange whispering sounds came from all around her, the eerie madness of the archenemy. And beneath those noises she
heard another sound, long and drawn out, faraway, like someone wailing, crying out with pain. She listened hard, trying to figure out where it was coming from.
Someone’s alive in here.
She signaled Lucas. He heard it, too. It was impossible to localize. She pointed, indicating that she was heading in one direction and he should go in the other, each of them following one of the hose lines the engine crew was operating. Following a hose into a building meant that you could turn and follow it out again.
They parted, sweeping their flashlights in wide arcs, and within moments Lucas was out of Shannon’s sight. The cries seemed to be coming from her right, and she crab-walked in that direction, still following the line, using her flashlight to illuminate the space ahead of her.
The men on the hose were pumping water into the flames, and smoke was thick and oily all around her. Off to her left, ceiling beams were catching on fire, crackling and roaring in an increasing cacophony of sound. The place was going up surprisingly fast, but she could still hear the disturbing cries. She veered again, trying to determine where they were coming from.
Using her light to peer around, she realized that she was alone now, without the reassurance of the hose to lead her back out. She turned, about to retreat, but again she heard the sound. It was a whimpering, whining plea for help. She had to find whoever it was, and she had to do it quickly. Those overhead beams were going to start crashing down at any moment.
Shannon struggled through the dense smoke toward where she thought the sound was coming from. Rounding a corner, she’d reached another section of the warehouse. The smoke wasn’t quite as thick here, and although there were flames, they were off in the distance. She turned her head from one side to the other, searching the floor. The cries came from nearby.
Ahead of her, a beam had already fallen, cracking in half, and underneath it, her light picked out a black dog, a Lab. He was pinned by one hind leg, and scrabbling frantically at the wooden floor with his front paws, desperately trying to drag himself free. He was alternately yipping, howling and coughing from the smoke. His big, soft eyes were frantic with pain and terror, and when he spotted Shannon, he began to bark and whine, as if to say, Here I am, please, please, don’t leave me.
“Hey, boy, easy now. Calm down. I’ll get you loose…”
Shannon got to her feet, slid her gloved hands under the timber and bent her knees. She grunted and strained, putting her considerable strength into raising the heavy beam and releasing the dog, but the wood was incredibly heavy. She wished with all her heart that she had one of the K-12 saws, but they were back on the truck. No time to go and get one.
She tried again, using the strength in her legs to lever the weight. It wouldn’t budge at first, and then slowly, slowly, it moved, but she sank to her knees with the strain, almost losing her grip. With one final desperate shove, using her shoulder, she heaved against the timber, and sent it toppling.
She fell forward—hard—from the momentum, but at least the dog was free. The moment he felt the weight lift from his body, he scrambled toward her, dragging his crushed hind leg, barking and choking from the smoke.
“Poor baby.” Shannon’s heart was racing and she was puffing hard from the effort. She wondered for an instant how much air she had left. The smoke was growing denser by the minute.
“Gotta get us out of here fast, fella,” she muttered. A rapid, horrified glance around told her that the fire had accelerated, and above her head, flames were leaping from one wooden beam to the next in a macabre, gleeful dance.
“Let’s go. C’mere, dog.” Shannon grunted, lifting the animal in her arms. Still crouched down, she scuttled back in the direction she thought she’d come. Her equipment weighed sixty-eight pounds. The dog was easily another sixty. Skinny as he was, he was big-boned and rangy, but at least he didn’t resist.
She did her best not to bump his damaged hind leg—she wondered for an instant if he’d bite—but he only yelped in agony as she hoisted his forepaws farther over one shoulder, trying to support his broken limb and steady him with one hand, while still hanging on to her flashlight with the other.
“Now, where—oh darn, oh Lordy—”
A wall of flames sent her staggering backward. She looked in the other direction, but roiling smoke made it impossible to see. The powerful beam from her flashlight barely penetrated the darkness, and the noise of the fire had grown into a rushing, eerie roar that sounded at times like some demon chortling with glee.
We’re in trouble here, pooch. I don’t know where the lousy line is anymore. I came around some sort of doorway…
Shannon felt panic begin to nip at her brain, and resolutely shoved it away. A trapped firefighter who panics is going to die. There was a way out of this—there had to be. She just had to find it. She turned in a circle, searching, and now she was also silently praying.
Dear God, help us. Get us out of here, please show us the way…
But the flames roared closer.
Please, God, we need a miracle here…
At that moment a nearby beam gave an ominous creaking groan as fire snaked up its length. In another few moments, it would collapse, and unless she got out of the way, it would crush her and the dog beneath it.
She pulled her mask away.
“Hello, anybody there?”
She hollered again, as loud as she could, but there was no answer.
Heat seemed to envelop her on every side, and as she clamped the mask on again, she imagined that her air was running out. The stink of smoke filled her nostrils, and she gagged and choked. The terrible, awesome sound of the flames built into a crescendo.
Of all the fires she’d been on, was she now about to die in a stupid vacant warehouse, rescuing a dog?
Don’t panic. She tried to calm herself, to stay in control and figure out what she ought to do next. But instinct and reason both told her she was trapped, that she and the poor animal in her arms were going to die together.
And then from the wall of flames a shape appeared, a huge form in a silver outfit that enveloped the entire body of whoever—whatever—was inside it.
Shannon gaped, certain that the smoke had gotten to her. She knew she was hallucinating, because ordinary firemen just weren’t issued the mega-expensive silver suits.
Maybe this was the angel of death?
CHAPTER TWO
WHOEVER HE WAS, Shannon thought he looked far more like an astronaut than a firefighter.
A full-face dark helmet obscured his features. His suit was a silver, and Shannon knew it was issued only to those elite few who worked around chemicals that generated extreme heat, much greater than the temperatures that occurred in an ordinary fire such as this. As far as she knew, the Courage Bay fire department didn’t own a silver.
He came toward her, and in a single motion took the dog from her. Gently but firmly he flipped the animal up and over his shoulder in the traditional fireman carry Shannon had been using, and then he reached out and grabbed her gloved hand.
Crouching, moving so fast she had to run to keep up, he headed through the wall of smoke as if he knew exactly which direction to go.
Behind them, Shannon heard the crash as timbers collapsed close to where she’d been. She winced and then stumbled. He released her hand and wrapped one arm around her, pressing her close to his side, half lifting her. She gulped what had to be the last of her air and felt stinging heat on her ears and neck. An instant later they burst through impenetrable smoke into blessed daylight.
They were a safe distance away from the burning building when he let her go. Shannon sank to the ground, ripping the mask from her face and gulping in huge lungfuls of fresh air, which brought on a fit of coughing so intense she couldn’t get her breath. Her eyes streamed with tears and she bent double, head on her knees, panting and gasping.
The man in the silver deposited the dog gently on the ground beside her, and the animal licked her hand. She patted him, concentrating on drawing air into her parched lun
gs.
When at last the coughing stopped, she wiped her stinging eyes and looked around. They’d come out a side exit. She could hear raised voices and the sounds of the trucks and pumps from a corner fifty feet away. The man in the silver must have either headed that way or gone back into the warehouse, because she couldn’t see him anywhere.
She needed to thank him. He’d saved their lives. More than a little unsteady, she got to her feet and carefully lifted the dog. In a staggering lope, she made her way around the corner.
Here was controlled chaos. Firemen scurried from trucks to the burning building, and the police had set up a barrier behind which a growing crowd of spectators stood, including several reporters with camcorders. She was aware of flashbulbs going off, of cameras aimed her way, but she was coughing again, and she veered away from the crowd, finding a relatively isolated patch of grass, where she set the dog down.
A reporter came over, but she waved him away and scanned the crowd, searching for the giant in the silver. There was no sign of him. Where the dickens could he be? The size of him, dressed the way he was, meant he couldn’t very well blend into the crowd. He must have gone back inside.
After another fruitless look around, Shannon sank down beside the dog, stroking him, touched by the way the animal put his head on her lap. He had to be in pain, but he sure wasn’t a complainer. In a minute, she’d get back to work, but right now, she needed to rest.
For a surreal moment, she and the whimpering dog sat there, and then the chief spotted them and hurried over.
Dan crouched down beside Shannon. “You all right, O’Shea? Lucas said the two of you heard somebody in there. It was this dog, huh? Thank God you got out when you did. I just ordered everybody else out, too. Damn place went rotten all of a sudden.”
Spontaneous Combustion Page 1
