Ashes: An Everyday Heroes Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Gail Haris

  “Hi. What can I get you to drink?”

  “A water will be fine. And I’ll just have whatever is quick and easy. I know it’s late, but I lost track of time.”

  She looks me up and down and then smiles. “It’s fine. But our sandwiches are really good, and the chili is homemade.”

  “A ham and cheese sounds perfect right about now.”

  She takes the menu and winks. “You got it.”

  A woman with short, black hair and light gray eyes slides into the booth across from me. “Hey!”

  “Um, hi.”

  “Sorry, it’s just I was waiting for a to-go order and noticed you. Sunnyville is a small place. It’s nice to see another newcomer.”

  “Do I stick out that much?”

  “No, it’s just a small town. Are you passing through or staying?”

  “Just moved here. Hopefully, I’ll be staying. I start at the hospital tomorrow.”

  “Awesome!”

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but there’s something so familiar about you. Which is silly because I’ve never been here before, so how would I know…” The way she smiles at me has me stopping short. I do know this woman, but how? No. She couldn’t be… I extend my hand, “I’m Natalia Vasquez. And as of tomorrow, I’m an RN at Sunnyville Hospital.”

  Her cheeks turn a little red as she nods. She takes my hand in hers and gives it a shake. “I’m Dylan Malone.” The first name is right, but the last name is not what I was expecting. My disappointment must be evident because she laughs. “But in my job I go by Dylan McCoy. I’m a singer and songwriter.”

  “I knew it!” The server arrives with my food and tells Dylan that her food is ready as well. She nods and thanks her.

  “Reach out if you need help getting acquainted with the town. My husband Grady and his brothers know everyone.” She takes her cell out and hands it to me. “Send yourself a text from my phone.”

  “Thank you.” I quickly key in my number and send a generic text.

  “Enjoy your dinner.” She takes her phone, then walks over to the counter and gets her carry-out bag. As she walks toward the door she calls out, “See you around.”

  Wow. I’ve gotten moved in and made friends with a celebrity in the first twelve hours of being in this new town. Not too bad. This move looks like it might’ve been the right choice after all.

  It’d been a quiet morning at the hospital—which was nice being able to work mornings instead of late at night. I had an hour left in my shift which, based on the patient board, would solely consist of maternity checkups and minor accidents. I could totally handle a shift like this…but then the hospital turned into an uproar. An unconscious little girl was being wheeled in on a stretcher, and it wasn’t for something minor.

  The EMTs were shouting and everyone was rushing to grab supplies. Another gurney wheeled through with a firefighter trying to get off of it. Another firefighter was walking alongside the gurney, telling the guy to settle down.

  “Come on, Malone. They’re going to take care of the girl, but we gotta see about you too.”

  They wheeled them off in the opposite direction of the little girl. I shifted into high gear and went to the curtain that had the little girl behind it, others are right behind me. The little girl, about five years old, was covered in blood. It’s a horrifying sight, and I quickly began inspecting her to see where the blood was coming from. Thankfully, I see that it’s not hers. She has a nasty knot forming on her head though, but no cuts. We hook her up to an IV and monitors. Doctor Michaels rushes in and begins to examine the girl. My heart beats a sigh of relief when her eyelids finally flutter. She’s going to be okay. Scared, but okay. Once she’s stable, and the room has settled, I hold her hand.

  “Where’s my mommy? Daddy?” she asks in a shaky voice.

  “They’re coming, sweetheart.”

  “The man. Where’s he?”

  “What man?”

  “He saved me. Is he okay? The tree house was burning, and it fell but he held me.”

  “Firemen wear special clothes to protect them. I’m sure he is fine. He’ll be happy to hear you are safe. My name is Natalia, what’s yours?”

  “Belle.”

  “Ah. A name meaning beauty, very fitting. Like the princess Belle.”

  She smiles and nods. “I like to read too.”

  “Me too,” I smile. “I think I hear your parents coming down the hall, but I’ll be back.”

  “You promise? I’m scared.”

  “I promise, little princess.”

  She smiles and I give her hand a gentle squeeze before nodding to her parents and exiting the room. I go and check on the firefighter who had been brought in. He’s banged up and has a few scrapes, but he’s also not the source of all the blood covering the small girl.

  “How is she?” he asks.

  “She’s going to be fine. What happened?”

  “There were some kids playing in an old tree house. It wasn’t sturdy, so already a hazard, but one of them took some candles up there. I got one of them. My partner got another. I went back for the little girl when the flooring of the house fell out. Then a limb fell, but my partner pushed me out of the way, and then rushed up the tree for the girl. Is he here? Is he okay? Carter Collins.”

  “You were the only one they brought in.” Which means the blood on the little girl must be that of Firefighter Collins. He wasn’t brought in, so he might not have made it. I keep that information to myself, though, not wanting to upset Malone further.

  “Where is he?” I hear the frantic female voice right before Dylan rushes through the room. “Grady!” She goes to stand next to his side, taking his hand in hers as she leans down for a kiss.

  “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

  Dylan looks up and smiles at me. “Natalia?” I give her a little smile. “This is my husband, Grady Malone. Thank you for taking care of him.”

  I nod and make my exit. At the nurses’ station I make sure that there’s nothing else needed of me before I return to Belle’s room. I went way over my shift and stayed late at the hospital, but that’s part of it. I found a Beauty and the Beast children’s book in the hospital gift shop. So, I spend my afternoon reading until Belle falls into a peaceful sleep. You certainly don’t sign up for this life if you want early days off and set schedules. My day is gone, but a little girl has many more days ahead of her, a whole life. And if losing my afternoon gave her that, then it was well worth it. As the elevator descends, I know I won’t be able to sleep tonight worrying about that sweet girl. She’s going to be okay, but my prayers will still be with her and her family. My shoes squeak and echo on the white floor tile as I hurry down the hall. I stop in my tracks when I see a fireman, hunched over in his chair with his head in his hands, wearing only a navy blue shirt and his turnout pants. He looks like he attempted to clean up a bit, but there is still ash and dirt smeared all over him. His black hair has a dusting of ash and what looks like possible wood shavings and grass matted to his head. Has he been here all day?

  “How is she?” comes a low, gravelly voice. I gasp because I had no idea he even noticed me. He still isn’t even looking at me.

  “She’s good. She’s going to be alright.”

  “Malone?”

  “The other firefighter? He’s fine.”

  “Good.”

  He stands up and I hear a slight hiss. He’s a tall, muscular built man, but his powerful body isn’t invincible, as evident by the blood on the arm of the chair. He turns his back on me and strolls toward the door. My eyes zero in on his right arm that he is pressing tightly against his side and my eyes immediately go to the wet, dark spot that’s growing.

  “Hey, we need to look at that.” I call out as I rush to catch him before he goes out the door.

  “I’m fine,” he bites out. The automatic doors open, and he picks up his speed. I try calling out to him again, but he ignores me. Using one hand, he hoists himself into a huge truck and slams the door shut. The nurse i
n me wants to chase him down and disinfect that wound. He was covered in dirt and ash, and something tells me he isn’t going to give it proper treatment. I don’t even know how bad it is, but the blood on the little girl, the chair, and soaking through his shirt is enough evidence that he’s seriously injured. Unfortunately, first responders are often the worst patients. After all, some people you can’t help if they’re not willing to help themselves.

  Carter

  I growl as I slide my shirt over my head, stretching the skin around the big ass cut on my side. I’m not even sure what got me. It doesn’t matter anyway, the little girl is safe and so is Malone. The gash is still bleeding and I’m starting to feel lightheaded. Quickly, I exit my house and cross the lawn to Lolly next door. She’s probably getting ready for bed by now, it’s almost seven. Damn. Maybe I can finally get some fucking sleep and not see them when I close my eyes. Hopefully, I can rest easy tonight knowing that someone lived because I was there for them. I. Was. There.

  Those parents still have their little girl. One of my brothers from the fire department will still go home to his wife. I’m beaten and bloody, but I’m still alive. And more importantly, so are they. Nobody died. It was a long ass day, but it was a damn good day.

  Knock. Knock.

  The door creaks open and reveals Lolly standing in a long sleeve and frilly mint green nightgown that touches her ghostly white shins. Her white hair is full of large pink curlers. “Carter,” she gasps. “What are you doing out in this night air with no shirt on? You’ll catch your death.”

  I remove the towel I’m holding against my side. “I’m a little more concerned about getting this sown up.”

  “Lord in Heaven. Get in here before you bleed out on my porch and the neighbors think this is the site of a crime scene.”

  I roll my eyes and follow her into the house. Her fuzzy slippers shuffle along the hardwood floors toward her sewing station. Lolly has been sewing up my injuries since I was just a kid. I always get scuffs and cuts. At some point you get tired of getting those hospital bills when you’ve got an expert seamstress in the household. Lolly never cared much for going to the doctor or hospital for anything a little home remedy could fix right up. If she goes to the hospital, you know it’s fucking serious. The last time she went was when Pop was taken in for a routine exam but then found out he had cancer. It had already spread all over his body. She’s been scared ever since, and says at this point in her life, if she has anything like that she doesn’t want to know.

  “I want to enjoy my final days and not worry if today’s my last. Any day could be our last, I don’t need a disease and a time clock looming over me.”

  “But, Lolly, you could have more days. You have to see a doctor and get check-ups. Especially at your age.”

  “My age? Huh, I got news for you, young blood. I may be an old woman, but I’m smart enough to not run into a burning building. More than likely, I’m going to outlast your reckless lifestyle.”

  I chuckle. “You’re a tough old bird, that’s for sure. You probably will.”

  “Old bird,” she mumbles.

  Immediately upon entering Lolly’s house, I feel at home. I was with my Lolly and Pop almost as much as I was at my own home growing up. Me and… My chest hurts thinking about my brother. I still can’t believe he’s gone, along with her.

  My grandma, Lolly, is originally from the farmlands of Arkansas. Despite still being in the same country, moving to California was quite the culture shock for her. She and Pops moved here because Dad was their only son, and they couldn’t stand the idea of missing out on their grandkids growing up and not be there. When I was about seven, they sold the family farm and moved to sunny California. They practically raised me and Warren and took on the full role of parents when both of our parents passed away in high school.

  I lost both my parents at the same time during my teens, and both my only sibling and fiancée now in adulthood. Maybe that’s why I can handle physical wounds so well. Physical pain ultimately wains. There’s no pain like losing bits and pieces of your heart and soul. I’m almost to the point of complete numbness.

  The floors creak as I follow Lolly through the living room and over to her dining room table that she’s turned into her sewing station. She threads a needle and takes it over to the stove to burn the tip. When she leans in on my wound, I hear her hiss. “Carter, son, how did this happen? Don’t you wear protective gear?”

  “I don’t even know, Lolly. Everything happened so fast.”

  “Hold on,” she grunts. Lolly shuffles back into the kitchen and reenters the room with a bottle of whiskey. “Down half this bottle. You’re going to need it based on the real estate I’m sewing up here.” She hands me the bottle but then takes it back. “Hold on,” she pops the cap off and takes a big drink. Then she pours some on my open wound and I hiss from the sting. “There. Now you can have it. Drink up, son. You’re definitely going to want to pass out for this.”

  I lie in bed as the early morning sun peeks through the cracks of my blinds. Thankfully, I’d slept through the pain after all the whiskey I’d downed. But it’s not the pain from the stitches that bothers me, it’s the memories. The smell of burnt flesh that never leaves your nose, that hangs to your hair and clothing. Digging for bones through ashes after you’re too late to save them from the fire. Being a first responder to a scene and having to use a hydraulic combination spreader to cut a person out of a vehicle. Sometimes they’re still alive, but sometimes they’re barely hanging on—or worse—and you watch as the life leaves them. Getting called to a house because someone has fallen down, but discovering that the body has been down longer than anyone expected. Turning the body over to discover the skin has already turned black and blue and the smell of feces and rot are enough to take even the strongest man to his knees. All of these stay with you. They change you. And not in a good way.

  Most of the time, I can stomach it. Other times, not so much. One of the hardest was going into a burning house and finding a box of kittens. Some had already lost the battle from inhaling the smoke, or the flames already scorched their little fur bodies. But a few that were still fighting, I took in my arms and carried out. A little girl, still in her princess pajamas smiled so bright that I felt like a hero.

  “Thank you, sir. Where’s Pumpkin and Bear?” she asked as she took the three kittens in my arms.

  All I could do was shake my head and walk away. Her tears as she held the three remaining kittens haunts me as much as seeing the poor little things in the house. My captain told me that you can’t save them all. What he didn’t say is that the ones you don’t save, they remain with you longer than the ones you do save. I remember all the bodies, even the ones disfigured beyond recognition. This is a small town. So, nine times out of ten, I know them, and their family members.

  The calls I dread more than anything are vehicle wrecks. Send me into the fire, please. Let me burn and be swallowed by the flames. But wrecks, traffic accidents, those bring too many horrors. Remembering them being pulled out of the vehicle, feeling completely helpless, confused, and like a fucking fool. My brother and my fiancée. The grief of losing the two people I love most, combined with the betrayal and never having closure. I still see it. Every time I close my eyes. It’s like a movie reel of them, my childhood home bursting in flames before my eyes, my parents screams, all that mixed in with all the other horrible scenes, but my bloody brother with his pants undone and my lifeless, topless fiancée—that one always plays on repeat in my mind.

  Not able to stand stewing in my own thoughts, I roll out of bed with a wince. I shower again since I feel like I can never get clean enough—or that smell off of me—after a fire. Once I’ve showered and dressed, I walk into the living room to find Lolly in the kitchen cooking up a storm.

  “Good morning. Sleep alright?”

  I can only nod. She gestures toward the small kitchen table, indicating for me to sit. After she sets a plate full of eggs and bacon in front of me, she goes
about lifting my shirt.

  “I can raise it up,” I say as I shift away, and then stand.

  “Oh, puh-lease. I’ve seen you naked.”

  “Not recently, old woman,” I ground out.

  “Huh. And just what do you consider recent?” My eyes grow wide and she waves the comment off. “Besides, I’ve seen a penis before. I’ve seen multiple, and a variety of shapes and sizes, so as much as I hate to break it to ya, you don’t have anything new or special that hasn’t been in my vicinity before.”

  “Lolly.” I gulp and plead for my grandmother to stop talking about penises. “Please, stop talking. I don’t even know what to say…but you only need to see my side. Why are we talking about my…”

  “Penis? You have a penis, Carter.”

  “I know what I have, what I don’t know is why am I talking about it with my grandmother!”

  “Because you’re acting bashful showing me your side! Like I ain’t the one who stitched that mess up last night.”

  I’m six four, built like an ox, and being bullied by a little elderly lady who’s five foot and looks like a hard wind could blow her over any moment. Her frail appearance doesn’t fool me though. I wouldn’t doubt that if I was ever stupid enough to disrespect her, she’d grab me by the ear and put me in my place real quick. She might have to stand on a chair to reach my ear, but nonetheless, she’d do it.

  I lift my shirt and Lolly puts on her thick glasses that’s hanging from her neck. “It’s going to leave a nasty scar, but doesn’t look like there’s any infection. You’re lucky to have me.”

  Biting my bottom lip, I suppress a chuckle. “Don’t I know it.”

  “Eat up and then go get some rest.”

  “I need to mow—ow!” I feel the sting on the back of my head from Lolly’s hand.

  “You’re not going to mow today. Besides, you’ve waited too long, it’s much too hot outside right now to mow. You’ll tear your stitches and then probably have a heat stroke. Boy, you don’t have a lick of sense.”