Hearts on Fire

by Amber Thielman

  “Check him,” he said. I stopped compressions just long enough to feel for a pulse, praying, hoping, begging to God or the Universe or some higher power for some sort of sign, some flicker that he was going to pull through, that we weren’t too late.

  There was nothing.

  “Cap, we got a live one over here,” Kyle shouted from across the road. Tate looked briefly over his shoulder, then looked back at me. His hand was still steady around the mask, but he wasn’t pumping air like he should have been.

  “Hallie.”

  “Keep going.” My heart was pounding fast now, painful, air escaping my lungs and refusing to fill back up. The tendons in my hands were aching, arms weakening as I pumped the boy’s chest.

  “We have to move on,” Tate said. “Other people need our help.”

  “He needs our help.” I panted. “He needs our help, Tate.”

  “Hallie,” Tate said sharply. He reached out and grabbed my arm, forcing me to look at him. “It’s over. He’s gone.”

  The rest of the night was a blur. It was like walking through a dream and not knowing if you would ever wake up, or even if you wanted to. The man who had hit the little boy’s car was named Jack Denny, and he was taken straight to the ER by Kyle and Finn, alive and well, if not delirious.

  As I drove through the city with the sirens wailing and the lights flashing, the woman’s horrific, gut-wrenching screams from the back of my ambulance sliced through the air like a jagged knife. Every once in a while, Tate’s voice filtered through trying to calm her down, but to no avail. She wailed, sobbing, screaming for her dead son who was still back on the road with the police—lifeless, cold, dead. Gone.

  Thankfully Tate didn’t need my help getting her into trauma, because I couldn’t have moved even if I wanted to. Instead, I sat in the driver’s seat of the rig, both hands tight on the wheel, gaze focused on nothing. My head hurt, my heart hurt. Everything hurt.

  It wasn’t until Finn opened the door to the ambulance and leaned over me to turn off the siren and lights I’d realized I’d left them on. I let my hands drop to my side, numb. A moment later, Tate joined us. He and Finn escorted me to the passenger’s seat of the ambulance before Tate slipped behind the wheel. “It’s over. Let’s head back to the station.”

  Night came quick, but the hours seemed to pass in mere moments. I avoided dinner knowing I couldn’t very well face the guys; not now, not when I was such a mess. Despite Tate’s warnings, I found myself back out in the ambulance bay near the end of my shift, opening the back doors to the rig, eyes falling on the bloody mess around me.

  I climbed into the back of the bus and sat down on the bench seat, ignoring the blood that stuck to the bottom of my shoes. The blood was from the mother, a life we had physically saved, and yet a life that would never be the same. Had it been me, I wasn’t sure I’d want to survive an ordeal like that; not without my son.

  “You never remember the good ones.”

  “What?” I looked from the spot of blood on the floor of the ambulance to Tate, who had approached quietly. He stood at the back door of the bus, arms crossed as he leaned against the open door.

  “The good ones,” he repeated. “In the ten years I’ve been doing this, Hallie, I best remember the loss of each human life.” He paused and looked away, pondering this. “I’ve saved many people. Men and women and children...people who were hanging on the edge of death, and I’ve brought them back.” He shrugged. “But for the one person we lose out of the twenty or so we save, I can guarantee you something: you won’t remember all the good you’ve done...all the ones you save. You’ll only remember the ones you lost.”

  I looked down at my hands, spotless from any blood, clean, and then down at my pants, still speckled with the little boy’s last bit of life. My stomach hurt. I wanted to vomit.

  “Do yourself a favor and throw out the pants.” He pushed himself off the door and nodded at me. “You won’t get the blood out. The first is always the worst. Especially if it’s a kid.”

  “Does it get easier?” My voice caught. Tate held my gaze for a moment. He was chewing on the inside of his bottom lip, a little thing I had come to notice in the time I’d known him.

  “No. It doesn’t.”

  I had no desire to go home and face Jeremy. I didn’t want to explain how the day had unraveled. Instead, I hid out by myself in the ambulance bay until almost midnight. The station was quiet, no alarms rang, and the night crew were asleep in their bunkers.

  I sat inside the back of our ambulance after a thorough cleaning, checking, and rechecking every supply, ticking it off mindlessly on the list, repeatedly until I no longer realized I was even doing it. My mind reeled as I worked, the image of the lifeless young boy engraved permanently in my mind. Every time I blinked, every time I took a breath, it was there again, haunting the very depths of my soul.

  At one-thirty, fatigue overcame me. I dropped the supply list to the floor and leaned back in the ambulance seat, crossing my arms over myself. I knew damn well I wouldn’t sleep, maybe sleep would never come again. Instead, I stared straight ahead, wishing away a throbbing migraine. Fifteen minutes later, the door to the ambulance bay swung open and close. Chief Davis came around the back and found me huddled against the far side of the bus, staring mindlessly ahead.

  “Tate Becker called me earlier,” he said, climbing into the back with me. He took a seat on the empty stretcher, and looked around, pretending to be interested in the back of an ambulance he’d already seen countless times before. “He asked me to check and make sure you’d really gone home and weren’t in the middle of a break down somewhere hidden in the station.”

  I was silent, barely able to understand the words that Chief Davis was saying.

  “I’m fine.” Blood zinged on my tongue from where I bit it so hard.

  “You look fine.” Chief Davis looked me over, eyes searching for some sort of emotion in my face. I couldn’t bear to meet his gaze.

  “This shit happens, right?” I asked. “People die. Children die. It’s all part of being in this field.”

  “Yes.”

  “And yet somehow I had no idea how much it would hurt.”

  “None of us do until it happens.” Chief Davis folded his arms and leaned back against the wall, clicking his tongue gently. “Not one single person on this crew, or any other crew, for that matter, is fully prepared for what comes with this job.” He nodded his head as though reminding himself of this fact. “You can hope you’re prepared for it,” he continued. “But when that first call comes, and the blood of someone’s life is on your hands, it’s nothing you can prepare for. Ever. And it doesn’t get easier.”

  “Does fitting in ever get easier?” I gave a slow shake of my head, my migraine throbbing. “It doesn’t seem to matter what I do, right or wrong, they hate me. They don’t want me here. And I knew that. That’s the worst part. I knew from the beginning, but it doesn’t make it any easier.” I chewed my bottom lip again, ignoring the metallic taste, refusing to let the bubble of tears inside me float to the surface. “They don’t want me here because they think I can’t do the job, and maybe they’re right.”

  “You think so?”

  I shrugged while the memory of the crew’s insults rang in my ears.

  “I almost lost my shit out there, Chief. I almost broke down on that call. Nobody else did. Everyone did their jobs. But I—I almost lost it.”

  “Do you really believe no one else in this department has never ‘lost their shit’ on the field?”

  I opened my mouth to respond, and then faltered. I couldn’t see it, not even a little bit. The men on my team were brave, composed, fearless. I was nothing compared to them, and they knew it. I knew it.

  “The entire town hates that I’m here,” I said. “People who saw me grow up, old teachers and parents of my childhood friends. I’m going against everything they know, and they hate it.” A single tear slid down my cheek, and I wiped it away abruptly, hoping he hadn’t seen it gl
istening on my skin. “Chief, my own father won’t even speak to me, my fiancé is avoiding me, and the crew hates me.” I met the Chief Davis’ steady gaze, the burning lump in my throat growing. He held my eyes for a moment before looking away, pondering something.

  “I became a firefighter in nineteen seventy-one.” His lip twitched, just slightly, but he didn’t smile.

  “I know.” I nodded. “Just after my dad joined the crew in nineteen seventy. He said you were one of the best recruits he’d ever seen join this department. It was a part of you, in your blood.”

  “Yes.” Chief Davis looked at me again, focusing his chestnut brown eyes on the tired lines in my face. “I was the first black man to join the department. And people hated it.”

  I stared at him, speechless, wondering why I hadn’t known this before.

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He looked away again, but there was no sadness in his eyes, no regret; he said his words with pride. “I was on this squad for three years before they finally started to accept me. I was treated differently, Harper, so badly, because of the color of my skin. The other men didn’t want to share the bunk house with me or run calls with me. I was an outsider.”

  “What happened?” I asked. “Because now you’re the chief and I’ve never seen anyone respect a leader as much as this crew does.”

  Chief Davis smiled, shrugging one shoulder. He got to his feet his and reached out to squeeze my shoulder. “I didn’t quit. I didn’t back down. I forced my way in.”

  “So, you’re telling me I have to force my way in to be accepted?”

  “I’m not telling you to do anything. I’m just telling you what I did. I pushed back.”

  Chief Davis walked away and vanished back into the building, leaving me swimming in my own thoughts. I pulled my legs up to my chest and took a deep breath, squeezing my knees to my chin. I knew he was right; a man like Preston Davis was almost always right. If he had been able to fight his way onto the crew in the seventies, when a black man was considered less than equal, then I could do this now. This wasn’t the seventies anymore, and it sure as hell wasn’t the fifties. I refused to be the housewife, the role of obedient stay-at-home soccer mom I’d grown to avoid and loathe. My mother had been a stay-at-home mom, had cared for her children, cooked the meals, and cleaned up after us and my dad. And while yes, she had been a fabulous mother, I’d seen something in her eyes on the bad days; a yearning for more, an underlying curiosity for a better life, quiet fantasies hidden behind a stiff, smiling façade. I didn’t want that, and I don’t think my mother did, either. The difference was, I was willing to change it; I didn’t give a shit who liked it. I took after my dad and my brothers, working men, guys who put their all into something and never looked back. What a shame; sweet little Hallie, such brains, some beauty, wanting to do a man’s job and for no other reason than because I could.

  “Fuck you all.” My declaration reverberated around the empty space. I took a deep breath and rubbed my hands over my face before standing up and hopping out of the back of the ambulance. I slammed the doors shut and turned around, almost colliding with Tanner Rey who stood near his locker, rummaging through it in search of something. Kyle stood next to him, eyes on me as I made my way to the door, ignoring the both of them.

  “Oh,” Tanner said, turning to look at me. “It’s you.”

  A smirk rose to Kyle’s lips, eyes narrowing. “You tired of it yet, princess?” he asked. “Are you ready to put in your resignation and go home to your husband?”

  “Like they say,” Tanner added. “A woman’s place is in the kitchen.”

  “Of course it is,” I said. “That’s where the knives are kept, right next to the peanuts you’re trying to pass off as testicles.”

  A muscle jumped in Tanner’s jaw, and he turned away. Kyle met my gaze again, and I raised my middle finger in the air.

  “Fuck you both,” I said. “Fuck you very much, bros, because I’m here to stay.”

  Chapter 12

  Tate

  I was four beer bottles in by the time Julia got home from her shift, and I still wasn’t buzzed enough to wipe the memory of the kid’s blood-spattered face from my mind. Jules found me kicked back in our living-room recliner, a half-full beer bottle in one hand and the near-empty six-pack on the coffee table. She tossed her keys onto the kitchen counter and came over, grabbing one of the beers for herself.

  “Rough day?”

  I scoffed and took a drink, swishing the lukewarm beer around in the bottle.

  “We lost one,” I said. Jules popped the top off her drink and sat down on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her.

  “I’m sorry, baby.”

  “A kid,” I continued. “A boy.”

  “What happened?”

  I swallowed down the rest of the beer and reached for the last one in the pack.

  “DUI. The driver hit the family’s car.” I paused to open my drink. Five beers weren’t enough, I wished I had more.

  “Let me guess.” Julia nodded slowly, she knew how this went. “The driver walked away without a scratch.”

  “I wanted to kill him. I was so angry, Jules.” My grip tightened around the bottle as rage boiled in my chest. A painful, suffocating rage that made my head splinter with the threat of an incoming migraine.

  “I’m so sorry, baby.”

  “It’s all part of the game,” I said. “Russian roulette.”

  The sensation of Julia’s soft lips against my temple helped, but only a little. I closed my eyes and took another sip of beer as Julia kissed my neck. She was trying to help, I knew, but my mind was elsewhere, specifically on the little boy in the middle of the road.

  “Stop,” I said gently and pulled away. Julia pulled back, staring at me, her brows furrowed in an undeniable expression one of hurt. She pulled her lip between her teeth and began to gnaw on it, eyes on me, burning a hole in the back of my skull.

  “I’m only trying to help.”

  “I know. I just . . . I’m not in the mood.”

  “Okay.” She drew back, giving me room. “You’re upset. I can respect that. I’m sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry.” I leaned forward and took her hands in mine, forcing a smile for her sake. “I know you’re just trying to help. I don’t know, it’s just—it was a tough one.”

  “How are the guys doing?” she asked. “I know a death, especially a child’s death, can really take a toll.”

  “They’re doing okay, you know. It’s part of the job. But Hallie...I don’t think she’s doing very well.”

  “Hallie.” Julia repeated, and this time it was her who dropped my hands and drew back. “That’s right. Hallie.”

  “She started compressions as soon as we got to the scene, but it was too late. It really hit her hard.” I leaned back in my chair and sighed, rubbing my temples to try and ward off the throbbing ache hammering inside my skull. “You should have heard the mother scream, Jules, it was soul-shattering.”

  “I bet.” Her voice was soft, but there was something new in her tone, some hidden spite, that hadn’t been there a moment earlier. “I can’t imagine how tragic that must be for a mother.”

  “Yeah. Hallie let it get to her, I think. You can’t do that in the field.”

  “No.” Her eyes worked over my face like she was searching for something in the tired lines. “No, you can’t.”

  “She’s a trooper though. The whole department is. I’m proud of them.” I kicked up the legs on the recliner and took another drink of my beer, staring aimlessly at the TV in front of us. Julia watched me still; I could see her from the corner of my eye.

  “Have someone else on your mind?” she asked finally.

  I could tell from her tone that she wasn’t referring to the little boy.

  “Of course not.” A simple lie. I’d had Hallie on my mind all day. In fact, it seemed like Hallie was always on my mind.

  “Wow.” Julia’s voice was quiet as her eyes studied my face, scanning th
e lines etched into my features, trying to find whatever she needed to confirm her suspicions. She bit her lip like she always did, but this time I didn’t find it cute.

  “Wow what?” I stood from the couch and went to the kitchen for some water. Julia’s eyes followed me. I couldn’t read her expression; I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

  “Does she have everyone on the crew this wound up?” I turned back and searched her face for something comforting and familiar.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  Silence settled between us, a silence so heavy I could feel it weighing painfully on my chest. Julia’s green eyes burned into mine, seeming to leave a wound with every inch of space she searched. After a moment of tense, unbearable silence, I cleared my throat and placed the cup in the sink.

  “It’s been a long day. I’m going to bed.”

  She didn’t join me.

  Chapter 13

  Hallie

  “Can you please stop staring? You’re making me mess up.”

  “Messing what up?” Kyle asked. “You have to actually do something right in order to mess it up.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Make me.”

  “I will punch you in the fucking face.”

  “Try it and see what happens.”

  I glared at Kyle, aggravation growing in my chest as I studied the training book in front of me. Laid out on the ground near my feet was a PPE, otherwise known as Personal Protective Equipment. The PPE was an important piece of equipment, obviously, and yet it was a piece of gear I was still unfamiliar with. Since I’d only run EMS so far during the job, I hadn’t had a chance to try one on. Memorizing all the important gadgets and parts to the suit seemed to problematic.

  “I can practically hear you thinking out loud,” Kyle snapped from the other side of the ambulance bay. He was cleaning some equipment on the far side of the garage. The radio blasted classic rock music from a cheap stereo on the shelf. The sound reverberated off the walls, ringing in my ears, but I had to pretend it didn’t bother me. I ignored him instead, trying very hard not to get up and scream in his face. I knew he was taunting me. I’d been alone out here in peace and quiet mere minutes before he’d taken over the ambulance bay as his own personal rock concert.