Chapter 3
Patrick
A hero is no braver than an ordinary man,
but he is brave for five minutes longer.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
The alarm shatters the quiet. Captain David’s voice blasts into the bay through the intercom: “Structure fire—barn on County Line Road. Livestock at risk!”
We ditch equipment checks and scramble into our turnouts.
The crew loads up, sirens wailing.
Heat hasn’t touched me yet, but my skin feels it. My lungs clench from unseen smoke. My ears already hear the sounds of animals screaming. Old barns collapse quickly. If we’re late, something dies. I’m calm, but there’s a buzz of tension in the truck.
Dustin, our rookie, has only been with us a few months. He’s got a handle on how to gear up and manage most fires. Still, it’s his first barn fire and I can tell he’s nervous.
“I’ll be right in front of you, Dustin,” I say into my headset.
“I’ve got your back,” he answers.
“Just another day at the office,” Greyson adds in his usual deadpan tone.
“You’ve got this, Dustin,” Cody adds in that big-brother manner that always makes you feel seen.
“I’m fine, guys. We’ve got this,” Dustin says, relaxing into his seat just the slightest bit.
We’re silent the rest of the drive, the only noise is the sound of the dispatch running details to us as the fire progresses.
Cody pulls the truck to a spot on the property that’s close enough to the barn, but still a safe enough distance to avoid the extreme heat and any spreading flames if it comes to that.
I peer out the window of the passenger seat. Flames lick out from the roof, glowing orange and yellow. Smoke pours through the cracks in the wood below.
Henry McKeehan runs across the field shouting, “The kids’ 4-H calves and pigs are in there! And our mare’s still inside with her colt!”
“We’ve got you, Henry,” Cody says on his way to the pump panel.
Greyson’s already doing a partial 360 size-up of the building while Dustin and I mask up.
“Pull the one and three-quarter line to the front of the barn!” Cody shouts to me.
I shoulder the hose and Dustin takes up the slack, falling in line right behind me. We run straight at the growing inferno threatening to overtake the barn and the animals trapped inside.
Crouched low outside the barn, heat builds in my helmet, seeps into my boots, tingles my ears.
“Charge the line!” I shout into my lapel.
The hose stiffens as water floods the length.
I open the nozzle to purge air and check the spray pattern, making a quick sweep to ensure the flow. Then I pull the barn door open just a crack to read the smoke. I’ve transferred the hose to secure it under my arm. Dustin’s hand clasps my shoulder.
We’re at near zero visibility when I open the door and rush in.
The sounds of panicked animals banging against stall walls and their desperate bleats and neighs fill the air along with the crackling of wood and hissing of sparks.
We have to act fast. Rescue is the priority. The smoke is low and thick.
I paint the ceiling with water, sweeping a safe path across the floor as we push toward the stalls.
“I’m keeping the spray overhead!” I shout to Dustin. “Open the stalls!”
Dustin runs through the steam I’ve created, staying close to me as I move, unlatching stalls and smacking animals on the rear to get them moving toward the open door.
Greyson’s near the barn door, shouting orders and confirming, “Two calves out. Two pigs still trapped. The mare and her colt are still inside!”
Dustin shouts, “The stall door is jammed!”
I grab my axe off my toolbelt and hand it to him through the steam. He takes it and swings. Then he kicks at the door with his boot and it flies open. The horse rears up. Dustin ducks into the stall behind the animal. I momentarily lose sight of him.
His voice comes through the headset. “I’ve got her!”
He’s at my side a moment later while the mare and her colt gallop toward the open barn door.
“The pigs!” Greyson shouts. “They’re closer to the front of the barn!”
We turn, aiming the hose overhead to cool the ceiling, alternating with shots over the door to make a water curtain for the animals exiting.
Dustin unlatches the pen and Greyson starts making a hog call I didn’t even know he could do.
The pigs bolt toward Greyson in a panicked frenzy, squealing into the smoke.
We’re right behind, spraying floor and ceiling as we clear the door.
The fire licks closer and there’s a distinct crashing sound as Dustin and I clear the barn door and Greyson shuts it behind us.
I turn just in time to see a beam crashing down inside the barn at the exact spot where Dustin and I stood only seconds ago.
The animals are singed with soot—sputtering and coughing from smoke inhalation, but they’re alive. We did our job.
But we’re nowhere near finished.
“You two—stretch a two and a half inch line to the east wall!” Greyson shouts.
Volunteers from local farms and our off-duty crew arrive with other trucks. Lines are fed from the pond. We spray the barn and soak the surrounding structures to control the spread. The animals are corralled into a pen on the other side of the residence.
Someone shows up with a skid steer to break apart burning hay bales.
We work for hours, finally extinguishing the last embers by mid-afternoon.
The McKeehan family and their neighbors gather at a distance from what used to be the barn, shedding tears in a combination of grief and relief.
The ride home is quieter than the ride out. We’re hitting the point of the inevitable adrenal crash that follows any major incident.
Greyson’s voice comes through our headsets. “Nice job, men.”
Cody jokes, “Dustin, are you sure you’re not half-mule? Who needs an axe when they’ve got you and your boots.”
“Adrenaline is my friend,” he says, smiling with relief. “I think I saw my life flash before my eyes.”
“Nah. That was the sparks flicking off the beam that almost took you out,” Cody says with a chuckle.
We joke because if we don’t, we won’t last.
“I bet you he’s wearing his lucky underwear,” I tease.
“The Cheetos?” Cody asks.
“Nah. Today it’s chili peppers,” Dustin admits.
We burst into the kind of laughter that comes after surviving a crisis. Nothing else needs to be said. The unspoken realities hang in the air around us.
Back at the station we snap into gear reset mode. It’s all muscle memory. Everyone strips off turnout gear, hangs it to dry, and does their part to reset the rig so it’s ready for the next bell.
I grab a cold water from the fridge and down it in three consecutive gulps. Then I drag my soot-streaked body, shirt still clinging to my skin, into the shower room to wash off the stink of smoke.
After showers the crew grabs food together in the kitchen.
There’s a certain kind of hungry that comes after a fire like the one we just fought.
As we prepare our meal, we replay the day, going over who saw what and things we could’ve done differently.
It’s not an official debrief. More shop talk than anything.
My body aches from exertion. I’m thirsty and hungry. But most of all, there’s this underlying sense of accomplishment. We didn’t salvage the barn, but we saved lives and kept the house from going up with the burning structure.
The rest of the day passes relatively uneventfully. Despite having gone out on a fire, Cody and I hit the station gym room to do a lighter workout of pushups, squats and jump rope.
We hit the bunks at ten, but wake to the station alarm ringing just after midnight.
“Medical emergency on Cherokee Lane.”
Since Greyson and I are the EMTs on duty, we take the call in the smaller truck while the rest of the crew stays back.
George Buckner had a cardiac event. We drive him to the local hospital a half hour outside Waterford.
We’re back at the station around two in the morning.
At four, we’re called out for an accident on the local highway just outside town. Shift ends at seven thirty.
On my way home, I stop by Moss and Maple, the bookshop owned by Daisy Clark, a woman who can hold a grudge like it’s an international sport. She also happens to be my new next-door neighbor.
Did I seek out an apartment on her street?
Not exactly.
I like breathing as much as the next guy.
But I fully knew what I was getting myself into when I put my application in on the rental which shares a wall with her duplex.
Normally, I don’t frequent Moss and Maple. But my younger sister, Maeve, ordered some books and asked if I’d pick them up.
I take the wooden steps up to the wide porch of the old craftsman-turned-bookshop and open the solid wood door.
Soft music plays through a speaker system.
The air smells of coffee and books. A few displays feature local authors, and a section just beyond the main shelves is framed by construction paper leaves taped overlapping one another along the doorframe.
Smaller chairs and beanbags are scattered around the room filled with books wrapped in cheerfully bright covers.
“Can I help you?” Winona asks as I approach the counter. “Wow. You look like you could use a cup of coffee.” She pauses. “Or a pot.”
I grin. “I’m here to pick up some books for Maeve.”
“Oh. Yes! One minute.” Winona turns and hollers into the office. “Daisy!”
“Shhh,” Daisy says, emerging through the doorway wearing a pair of brown boots, a corduroy skirt and a flouncy shirt that’s tied at the waist. Her brown hair’s pulled up into a bun, wisps falling loose around her face.
Beautiful. Objectively speaking.
“No need to shou …” Her words die at the sight of me.
“Patrick is here to pick up Maeve’s order.”
Daisy’s eyes travel from the ball cap on my head, down my torso, taking in my plaid button-up and white t-shirt, and then my jeans.
“I heard about the barn fire,” Winona says.
I answer Winona, but for some reason, my eyes are locked on Daisy’s. “We saved the livestock. It was a pretty big fire.”
“I heard you went running in and saved all the animals,” Winona says with more adoration than I deserve for simply doing my job.
“Dustin saved the animals. I basically manned the hose.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Winona says with an airy tone to her voice.
Daisy’s eyes narrow as if she’s trying to solve a puzzle.
I snap my gaze away from Daisy’s and glance at Winona.
“It’s … just mind over matter, I guess.”
Winona smiles. “I could never.”
“Maybe it’s a touch of insanity,” I add.
“Definitely that,” Daisy mutters, her arms crossed over her chest. “More than a little.” Then she adds, “I’ll get Maeve’s books.”
At the word books, her face betrays her—softening before she can stop it.
I know the feeling.
Daisy and I might disagree on nearly every subject, but we both love books.
She’d be mortified to know we had anything in common, especially books.
Daisy emerges from the office, a brown paper bag in hand, the words Moss and Maple stamped on the front. There’s a bow tied around the handles. Extra touches. The perks of a local shop.
She hands the bag over. Her eyes lock on mine again—dark as 70% cacao, and just as bitter when aimed at me.
“Thank you, Daisy,” I say, suppressing a yawn.
Never show weakness.
I turn for the door and add, “See you at home.”
“Not if I see you first,” she adds, and then the bookshop door shuts behind me.
I text Maeve from my driver seat before I leave Moss and Maple’s gravel parking lot.
Patrick: Got the books.
Maeve: Can you bring them to family dinner?
Patrick: Thanks for reminding me. I was heading home to hit the sack for an hour or two. Nearly forgot about tonight.
Maeve: You can’t avoid family dinner, Pat.
Patrick: Who said anything about avoiding?
Maeve: Me. I know you.
Patrick: It’s football season.
Maeve: I know. I’ll try to run interference if Dad gets out of hand.
Patrick: Nice football reference.
Maeve: What can I say, I was raised by an O'Connell. You may not know this, but my brother plays for the Thunder.
Patrick: The Thunder? As in the NFL? Wow. Impressive.
Maeve: [laughing emoji] You sound deeply impressed.
Patrick: I should be.
Patrick: No. I am. I really am proud of Declan.
Maeve: It’s complicated. I get it.
Patrick: Understatement.
Maeve: Go get some sleep, or whatever you firefighters do when your head hits a pillow.
Patrick: Not exactly sleep, but something close.
Maeve: Well, go get that. I’ll see you tonight. If it’s any consolation, the girls have been playing firefighter more than they play football player this week.
Patrick: I’ll take it. Favorite uncle status is a life goal of mine.
Maeve: Well, you win hands down. Living in town gives you an advantage.
Patrick: It’s my personality, not my proximity that does it.
Maeve: Keep telling yourself that.
I chuckle. I love my nieces and they seem to think the world of me for now. I know that can change when they hit the teen years, but we’ve got a while to go until I have to figure out what to do when being a fun firefighter isn’t enough to put stars in their eyes.
Patrick: Love you, sis. See you at dinner.
Maeve: Love you.
I toss my phone onto the seat and push the ignition.
Family dinners I can survive.
Living next door to Daisy Clark? That’s an entirely different story.