Burn

by Shey Stahl

  “Shit . . . I lost my halligan,” Evan groans, about ten feet from me, under a pile of debris, his PASS device whistling through the sounds of popping and snapping.

  “I think I lost my helmet.” I blink, trying to gain some bearings, but my head hurts too much to think straight. I can feel the blood pouring out of a cut above my eye.

  I can’t see clearly, the smoke thicker now, black and heavy, but I know we need to move and find Owen and Finn. Everywhere we look is engulfed in flames. We’re trapped.

  “I got you.” Evan wraps his arm around my shoulders, assisting me as we pull ourselves through the rubble.

  I can’t move my leg for a minute but manage to pull myself to a standing position.

  Attempting to gather our senses, I access Evan’s posture. He seems to be worse off and holding his stomach. “You okay?”

  He swallows, panting as he catches himself against the wall. “Yeah. I’m good. I think we go that way.” He gestures ahead of us with a tip of his head.

  “Caleb, what’s your position?” Owen’s words come across crackled and broken up.

  Beside me, Evan’s breathing’s short and quick as he continues holding the wall for support. I reach for my radio. “Six? I’m not even sure anymore. Where are you? Probie with you?”

  Evan attempts to take a breath, winces and coils into himself, his hands resting on his knees.

  “E’s in bad shape. We need to get him out of here.”

  We hear another roar and know it’s only a matter of seconds. We have to move, but Evan can barely walk.

  “You gotta get moving, Caleb. Don’t wait for me.” Evan’s face is etched in agony, he’s breathing harshly as he watches me, waiting for what I’m going to do. My face crumbles as he begins to speak again, knowing what he’s going to say. “I’m serious, Caleb. Go! I’ll be right behind you.”

  Regardless of our shit we can’t seem to figure out, I can’t, nor will I ever leave my brother in a fire.

  Part of me knows if I go, Evan’s not following me, but there’s no way he will have let me stay if he thinks I’m in danger waiting for him. He would risk his own life trying to get me out of here.

  “I’m serious, Caleb.” He nods, trying to reassure me, sweat streaming down his blackened face under his mask. When I don’t move, he says it again, this time sterner. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”

  I hesitate, desperately trying to make the right decision, knowing we have one chance at this.

  “I’m not leaving you.” My SCBA tank alarms, a vibration jerking me out of my thoughts. I have three minutes of air left and if I take this mask off, I’m dead. I think that’s when I wake up and realize how bad this has gotten. If we don’t get out, we’re both dying in here. “We need to go. Let’s just get out of here,” I say, grabbing hold of him. “I got you.”

  The look of uncertainty in his eyes is something I’ll never forget.

  “Go!” he says, pushing me forward and steadying himself against the wall again as we move slowly.

  Before I can question him, or protest that we stay together, I hear the screaming behind me. There’s a boy at my feet under melting plastic grates. The plastic is on his skin, burning where the fire wasn’t. Beside him, another boy, this one’s older, and more than likely dead.

  Something jolts inside of me, like I’ve been electrocuted. I can’t even explain what it is either, but I see these images and they have nothing to do what’s before us. I think I’m hallucinating from the smoke but this kid, he looks like me when I was little, and the boy next to him, the one holding his hand, he looks like my older brother who died . . .

  No, it’s just the smoke. I’m not seeing this. Can’t be.

  But I am.

  Evan grabs the younger boy and I grab the older one. He’s succumbed to the smoke but I’m still not leaving him.

  Cap comes over the radios, a jumble of static, and then we hear, “I want you all out of that goddamn building right now! Evacuate now!”

  We move as quickly as we can, knowing we don’t have time.

  We find the stairs on four where fire’s rooted in rooms, running down both sides of the narrow hallway. Crews are in there, in position a few feet down the hall, between two doors, one on the left and one on the right that opens up into smalls rooms howling with flames, fire so dense it appears solid like a wall. They pivot to the right and open the flow, hundreds of gallons a minute pouring into the room, a torrent that takes four guys to control. They move the nozzle in a pattern, sweeping it up and down, washing the entire room with cold water.

  Finally, the fire cools, blacks out, the hot orange replaced by heavy smoke. The guys on the pipe yell to us, “Go left and down the next hallway. There’s a set of stairs!”

  My tanks nearly out of air and I turn left. Then, behind us, there’s a rush of boiling heat and the fast, deep whoosh of an explosion. The room ignites again, the smoke catching fire from the smoldering heat.

  No one could have predicted what’s about to happen, but we see it happening right before our eyes.

  To my right, there’s a flicker through the smoke, then another, a brighter deep-yellow glow.

  This is bad. I glance at Evan. We stare at one another.

  I’ve read about this, heard guys talk about it, but I’ve certainly never seen this firsthand. I never wanted to. The hiss comes next, a low rumble and a snap like thunder. Evan yells in my direction, words swallowed by the growling that follows.

  Our glances linger near the ceiling that has reached ignition temperature.

  And then it happens. The orange ball expands, exploding, sending flames biting back at us. I’ve learned when things go wrong, it’s never just one thing. It’s every goddamn thing at once.

  The next thing I know, Evan tosses me the boy in his arms right before the floor gives out and the ball of orange swallows the place where he’s standing.

  I don’t know how, but I’m outside. That’s the next thing I remember. I don’t remember getting down those final three flights of stairs with those kids in my arms. Maybe I was running off adrenaline, but I don’t know.

  “Command to all units . . . evacuate the building immediately! All units, I repeat, all units evacuate!”

  “Nooooo!” I rush to my feet, the kid’s on the ground, paramedics rushing to them. I run toward the building in a sprint, a limping sprint, actually. “Evan’s in there! We have to get him! We can save him!”

  Owen physically blocks me, tackling me to the ground, his hands fisting in my jacket, eyes hard. “You can’t! You can’t go back in there.” He knows Evan’s still in there. “We’re not losing you too.”

  Losing me too? I should be in there, not Evan.

  With more strength than I can fight him with, Owen holds me to the ground and Jay gets to his feet. Apparently, they had both been right behind us and we didn’t know it. They hold me in place as I struggle against both of them, shoving and kicking as I scream for Evan. A plume of black smoke and the thunderous roar of the flames take over the apartment building, and I’m left with the gnawing sense of dread that I left him in there to die.

  “Somebody help him! Go! Don’t leave him.” I’m screaming and crying, struggling with all I have. “We don’t leave people!”

  Physically, after the first explosion, I’m in no shape to protest, but I do anyway.

  Oh, God, this can’t be happening. Please no. Don’t do this. Don’t be real. Let him be alive. Please just fucking be alive.

  Anger grips me. This isn’t fair. What will this do to Jacey? What will it do to my family?

  Owen lets me up when he knows I’m not going to try and run in there, my body shaking with uncontrollable sobs. I throw my mask aside and stare at the apartment building, now fully engulfed. Numbness takes over, and all I can do is stare at the scene before me. Firefighters on the pipe take over, scrambling to gain control at all angles so we can get back on there, but I know, with flames like that, the heat is unbearable, and he’s not coming out of there a
live.

  I stand there for a moment, watching the flames pour through windows. The brightness lights up the early morning sky. The whole time I’m helpless.

  I can’t focus on anything else and the harder I try, the worse it gets for me.

  I look to my left at those little boys and again, it happens. I see myself and my brother, and Heath holding me in his arms. For something I claim I don’t remember, the images of that night he rescued me seem real. I remember it. I do.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I attempt to force the tears away.

  Beside me, Owen and Jay watch me cautiously, but they’re struggling too. Any one of us would give our lives to get to him, but we can’t. I turn away from Owen, who’s looking right at me with a blank face. It’s pretty obvious what’s happening to me. Or might happen in the next few minutes.

  And then it does. No hero tough-guy bullshit from me. I’m bawling. With my hands covering my face, I break down on the street.

  I’ll always remember the silence when they remove Evan from the fire, his lifeless body carried by the guys from Ladder 1.

  As the fire fades and overhaul begins, one by one the trucks return to their firehouses, and the police and fire marshals take over their investigation.

  I don’t move from my spot on the pavement until Evan’s loaded in the ambulance.

  News helicopters hover, reporters search for a story, but for the firefighters here, who were inside that building when the explosion happened, we’re stunned silent, unable to answer their intruding interrogations as to what went wrong.

  Watching the ambulance pull away is sickening. Revolting.

  The bile rises, and I vomit at the side of the truck as the tears and trauma take over.

  It takes me twenty minutes before I’m able to stand again, my dad next to me. “Are you okay?” he asks, and I’m not sure why he’s asking me. His oldest son might be dead. How can he be concerned with me at a time like this? But he is because that’s Heath Ryan, the epitome of strength and heroism who gave his life for me to live.

  I nod, though it’s a lie. We stare at one another. He knows me. He knows the war raging inside of me, the one where I’m trying to convince myself this has nothing to do with any move I made in that fire, but did it? Can I say I did everything in my power to get him out and be okay with that statement?

  I can’t. I won’t be.

  “You can’t change what happened in there. You did nothing wrong, Caleb.” With his hands on my shoulders, Dad’s chin shakes with the emotion surfacing, and he yanks me to his chest, a tight embrace holding me to him. “I love you, son.”

  I don’t say anything in return. It’s not because I don’t want to tell him I love him, because I do, but I can’t force the words through my trembling lips and the tears consuming me.

  “They’re taking him to Harborview.” Letting go of me, Dad leaves.

  When he’s out of sight, Captain Gibson finds me. “We’re heading back to the station. The other companies will finish up here,” Cap says, tipping his head toward the truck where the rest of the guys are, all with their heads bowed.

  In the distance, I see a figure crouched near the edge of the pier about fifty feet from me on the other side of Ladder 1.

  It’s Corbin, Evan’s best friend.

  On one knee, his head is lowered as he silently cries into his gloved hands, his helmet at his feet. Everywhere I look there are firefighters and emergency personnel, but for the boys at Station 25, our world has stopped.

  I make my way over to Corbin, my feet slogging through inches of water. Nothing needs to be said. We stare out at the enflamed apartment with tears in our eyes and hearts breaking for the unknown of what happens next.

  “Sorry,” he says, fumbling with his helmet at his feet. His forearm sweeps across his eyes.

  I say nothing. I have no words.

  BACK AT THE station, Cap addresses the crew two hours later as we stand shoulder to shoulder. “I don’t know his condition.” His wavering voice breaks around the words. “I’ll update you when we know.”

  I can’t look at anyone. I don’t want to, my thoughts drifting steadily from Evan to Jacey, to even Mila in those moments, though none stick and I’m left with nothingness surrounding me, as if I’m not given a lasting memory.

  As a firefighter, I all have these subtle, sometimes not so subtle, reminders I’m not invincible. Right now is one of them.

  Cap speaks the way a captain would when he wants us to know he’s there for his guys. “Take as much time as you need. Caleb . . . you’re on administrative leave until further notice. Your father is with the chaplain and your brothers are at the hospital. I would go there.”

  I don’t shower. I change clothes and head to Harborview where my mother greets me, her sadness spilling over red-rimmed eyes.

  From what they tell me, Evan was still breathing when they pulled him from the fire.

  He was still breathing when they made it to the hospital.

  An hour later, he gave his last breath with Jacey holding his hand.

  I don’t talk to my parents when they tell me Evan’s gone. I don’t even talk to my brothers, all sitting together outside the room. And I don’t know why that is. I look at them, three men devastated by the loss of their brother. I can’t stomach to sit there with them and stare at the wall as the doctor says to us, “Take as much time as you need.”

  I don’t go in the room. My mom sits beside him, holding his burnt hand, whispering to him and crying uncontrollably, begging for it not to be real.

  It is real and their lives will never be the same because of it.

  My dad stands next to her, his head bowed in silence, unable to comfort her with anything but a hand on her shoulder.

  I can see from the hallway the man in the bed—no longer breathing, no longer existing in the presence of others—that man doesn’t resemble Evan Ryan.

  With tears rolling down my cheeks, I hesitate to leave, but I also can’t stay inside this hospital. The pain that once burned like fire through me at the station has faded to an icy numbness. It’s black, filling my vision and consuming my thoughts, the only sound my own heart beating. I don’t hear their cries, I only hear the ragged shallow gasps coming from me, trying to control the ache inside my chest.

  I run from the hospital, through the emergency room doors and out to the street when I see Jacey’s Honda parked on the street, tires up over the curb. Outside, the sky’s gray, clouds enveloping the city and our lives, a reminder something was taken from us today.

  Making my way to her car, I open the car door and sit in the passenger seat. I don’t say anything because there’s nothing to say. Nothing meaningful anyway.

  We don’t say anything for close to ten minutes. I stare straight ahead and she grips the steering wheel.

  The silence offers nothing for either of us.

  “He held my hand and died. Right in front of me.” Choking on gasping sobs, she hands me a pregnancy test. “And I’m fucking pregnant.”

  I give the stick a fleeting look, then move my stare to the passing cars, tears stinging my eyes because I know whose baby it is. Evan’s.

  Barely able to speak the words through her crying, she raises her voice as she says, “The shitty part about this is this baby wasn’t made from love, Caleb. It was made in the backseat of this car and with a broken promise that he was going to marry me.”

  I can barely get the words, “He loved you,” out.

  She shakes her head, tears falling down blotchy cheeks. “According to Daphne, who I might add I bitch slapped today, that’s not true. He apparently told Daphne he loved her right before he went to that call. She told me he did.”

  That pisses me off. “No, he didn’t. That call came through at four in the morning. He was never on the phone with her that night either, and I know because I was with him all fuckin’ day. He never even mentioned her.”

  Jacey thinks about it while my mind goes back to my last conversation with Evan. She winces, look
ing up and to the left, trying to hold back tears. “I don’t even know how to feel right now. Everything in me says I shouldn’t feel anything because for years he used me. But my heart is devastated that I’ll never know how he really felt.”

  I can’t offer her anything of comfort and she doesn’t want me to. There’re times when the pain needs to be left alone to settle and find a place in your mind where you can deal with it. That’s when you know words aren’t needed.

  After I leave Jacey, my brothers and I head back to our parents’ house for the rest of the day where I drink, and Mom cries.

  Gavin doesn’t show much emotion, lost in thought and a beer, while Taylor and Kellan cry, comforting Mom.

  Me, I don’t say much of anything and stand shoulder to shoulder with my dad, neither one of us saying anything. The house becomes an endless flow of family shuffling through and for the first time in my life with this family, I feel out of place, an afterthought, an addition that wasn’t needed.

  Evan’s words plague me. “Go, I’ll be right behind you.”

  Tightness rolls through my shoulders and I shake away the lasting memory, nodding to Kellan. “Can you give me a ride back to my apartment? I need to get out of here.”

  He looks at the whiskey in my hand, then to the door. “Sure.”

  When Kellan drops me off in front of my apartment, I see Jacey’s car parked there, and I don’t want to go inside. I can’t comfort her right now. I can’t even comfort myself.

  With the setting sun casting shadows on the city, I walk through the streets, dodging people oblivious to the loss inside of me.

  I walk right by her hotel, twice, but I don’t go in. Instead, I find myself at a cupcake shop near Pike Place. I want to see her, no, I need to see her. There’s no way around it. I feel horrible about the other night and, after everything that’s happened today, I can’t let Mila go. She’s the light bringing me out of the darkness surrounding me.

  Glancing over the display case, I stare at the cupcakes knowing the way to apologize to her would be through a cupcake. I could be wrong, but it might be a starting point.