Chapter 9
MILES
The screaming hasn’t stopped since we pulled up.
Tennison and Davey are on extraction with me. The jaws of life weigh down my arms, the burn long since set in after forty minutes of hauling them up and into position.
A retirement home bus returning home from an outing versus a body truck was never going to end well.
This. This is something right out of hell that misery could never start to imagine.
An elderly lady lays slumped against the glass to my left.
A man sobs, clinging to the woman by his side, kissing the back of her hand over and over.
All the while his own hands shake and tears course down his weathered face.
His words are muffled behind the thick glass separating the passengers on the bus and us.
Davey is assisting with the jaws. Tennison’s grinding the hinges from the folding bus doors, her face lost to concentration. The shock that registered on her face when we arrived on scene is an expression of hers I won’t forget any time soon.
Davey shifts on his feet, and it’s only now the smell of gas reaches me. The bus must be leaking. I scan the road for the dark, wet trail.
And find it.
Running past Tennison’s boots.
Sparks fly as she works the grinder lower and lower.
Fuck.
“Tennison! Stop!”
She doesn’t hear me.
I move out of position, leaving the weight of the jaws with Davey. Three steps later, I’m removing the tool from her hands, and the disk stops spinning.
“What?” she snaps, her brows knitting as confusion takes over.
“Look down.”
She snaps her gaze to her feet, and her face twists from confusion to worry. “Shit.”
“Try the crowbar. Hopefully you’ve done enough to render the hinges weak enough.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Thanks? That would be a first.
I don’t leave her space, and she straightens. “Yes sir.”
Those two words leaving her mouth do something to me they really shouldn’t. I have to put space between us before I’m tempted to do something stupid, like her job for her.
That’s the last thing Tennison needs. Schmiddy’s already pitting her to fail. He’s subtle about his sabotage, but I see right through the waste of oxygen. If Tennison fails, or Davey, Schmiddy will keep a place with 53.
Over my rotting damn corpse.
I’d take Tennison or Davey over that asshole any day.
The sounds of exertion pull me from my reverie that I can’t afford right now. I spin back to find Tennison struggling with the crowbar. Her focus is glued to the bus driver who’s slumped over the steering wheel.
Her chest snaps up and down at a rapid pace.
I’ll give her one more minute to work the door open.
Give her the chance to—
The crowbar clatters to the road.
“Fuck!” The back of her hand presses to her mouth.
“Cap? A little help?” Davey calls from the jaws.
My gaze swings between my two charges. Both points of entry are equal in importance.
The doors on the passenger’s side are significantly easier than the window and side panel.
“Owens! Jaws, stat.” I stride back to Tennison. Plucking up the bar, I shove it between the doors. Three swift pulls, and I have the doors cracked open. Tennison’s face wobbles but doesn’t break.
I haul the doors open.
She watches, fighting off something I can’t place, her expressions changing like the seasons.
“Survey the mobility of each passenger and report back. Ambulances will be here any minute, and we need to be able to ascertain who we can move first.”
She’s nodding.
But she doesn’t move.
“Tennison,” I say, my words softer. “Time is everything.”
She looks up, meeting my gaze. “Yes sir.” The words are barely audible.
She steps into the bus, and I crouch down to track the gas leak. The stream never made it to a puddle, so I’m guessing the leak has slowed or stopped.
Eyeing the underside of the engine bay, I find a steady drip of gas that falls every other second. Slow. Good. Tennison’s steady footsteps move through the bus, as I stand and watch her slowly check over each elderly passenger.
She returns, and I make a quick assessment of the opening Owens and Davies made.
Only the abled will access the smaller opening.
Anyone with a walker or needing assistance will have to use the main doors.
“Owens, Davies, I’ll send out the able-bodied your way.
Tennison, help me with the less able through the main doors. ”
“Yes sir,” Davies and Tennison say in unison.
“On it, Cap.” Owens winks at me.
I wish they’d drop this stupid idea they’ve been obsessing over for the past few weeks. Owens and her wink tells me they are far from letting this go.
I lead the way into the bus, and Tennison files in behind me.
A shaken lady grabs my gloved hand with both of hers. “Oh honey, you’re going to get us out of here, aren’t you?” Her eyes search my face.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Such a good boy.” Her face breaks as she pats my hand. “Your mama must be so proud of you.”
I push a smile onto my face and give her a nod.
“Anyone who can walk without assistance, I need you to file in an orderly fashion to the opening. Owens will help you down and out.”
Heids waves, poking her head through the large space her and Davies made, like she’s a tour guide on a tourist ride, not a busted bus leaking gas with two confirmed dead.
We try to make each situation a little less scary than we know it must be for the folks in them we come across.
I know all too well what it’s like to be on the other side of this.
“There you go, watch your step,” Tennison says softly behind me. I turn back to find her helping a hunched man, who’s a little shaky on his feet but managing, down the aisle of the bus.
My gaze snags on her face, sending my heart flinging against my ribs.
The old man glances between the two of us. “Huh.” He shakes his head, as Tennison hands him over to Owens. I do the same with a few passengers, and when we have all the able-bodied clear of the bus, we start lifting the less ambulatory folks out.
We do a two-person arm carry.
I hold out my hands for Tennison. She slides hers into mine and I close my hands around tight. Before Owens and Davies help a lady to her feet and into our firefighter-made movable chair.
“Hold on, honey. You give Cap’s muscles a squeeze and don’t let him go,” Owens says with a wink.
What has gotten into her today?
I step backward, Tennison steps forward. The little old lady clings to my biceps and Tennison’s jacket like her life depends on it. Being this old, if she should fall and break her hip, it absolutely could.
“Firefighter express, hold on,” Tennison says with a smile that is the first expression to claim her face since we arrived on scene that isn’t held down with worry or sadness.
I tamp down the need to toot like a goddamn train, but a half smile tugs over my face. A smile Tennison glances up in time to witness.
The resulting smile on her face almost makes me lose my grip on her fine hands in mine.
Christ, get it together, Milo.
We carefully traverse the bus steps and lower the lady onto a waiting gurney. The ambulance medics take over, and Tennison is tracking back for the bus before I have a chance to say . . .
I have no idea what, actually.
A voice clears behind me.
I turn back to find the man from before, his weathered face etched with mirth. He nods to Tennison as she steps back into the bus. “Make sure you marry that one, son.”
The hell?
I tug my helmet off, wiping my brow. “You mean my subordinate officer? With all due respect, probably not, sir.”
He simply chuckles and shakes his head.
“You think life cares about your rank? If you do, you’re more clueless than that guy.” He points to Davies, who is trying to shove the jaws into a side toolbox half their size.
“Dammit,” I say, glancing between the old man and my probie whose brain has left the scene, apparently. “Thanks for the advice, but I assure you, this time, it’s unwarranted.”
“Whatever you say,” he says as he fucking winks at me.
“Did Owens put you up to this?” I ask, hand gravitating to my hips.
“Who?” he asks, his brows dropping as the jaws almost slip from Davies grip.
Crap on a cracker.
“You take care, you hear.” I stride for the jaws before the tool that’s worth thousands of dollars is reduced to mangled metal. Ironically.
“Davies! Other side of the engine!”
His eyes widen. How the hell did this guy graduate from the academy?
“S-sorry, sir. My . . .” he clears his throat, scrunching up his face. “My grandma . . . the bus, s-sir . . .”
“Fuck, why didn’t you say so?”
I remove the jaws from his grip before he drops them.
“No. I mean, I thought she might have been—”
“She is a resident at the home?”
“No, we live together, but she volunteers.”
“Right. Well, be back in five, okay? We still have more passengers to disembark.”
“Yes sir.” He nods, swallowing.
Damn, this job has more tension than a tightrope with these two probies. Rite of passage of the new recruits, but still, it’s a mental toll.
I make a note to talk with Tennison about it later.
“Cap!”
Speak of the devil.
“Coming, Tennison.”
As I pass the group of old folks sitting with the medics, the old guy from before smiles at me.
I shake off the sentiment and step up into the bus.
We arm carry out the remaining passengers, and my grip around her hands tightens with every step we take on the last person. Like I know I have to let her hands go soon.
A current of warmth and something else travels from my palms upward as I step back out of the bus. I scan the area for fumes.
That must be it.
Fumes are fucking with my senses, sending my head aloft.
It’s not the touch of the probie who hates me.
It’s not the rare smile she gifted me.
It’s simply the tension of the situation that has every officer in their feels. This could be anyone of our grandparents. It hits close to home.
That’s exactly what this buzzing feeling in my chest is.
Period.
With forty minutes left of shift, I can’t be in the same space as the probies. Or Owens and her defective damn winking eye. Not a minute longer. I strip out of my turnouts and position them for the next callout before downing a gut full of water.
“Cards, Cap?” Sandy calls, halfway up the stairs.
“No, I’m good.”
“Let the man blow off some steam, Sandy. God knows he needs it after—”
Sandy clips the back of Heids’s head playfully, and she chuckles before they both disappear into the hallway.
Fuckers.
Am I that goddamn transparent?
I stride for the back door of the house. The morning sunshine hits my face, and I haul in a long, steadying breath.
Fuck, I needed that.
Stalking for the watchtower, I bend down en route and tug a hose onto each shoulder before taking off up the stairs. I’m at the top before the burn catches me.
I spin around and sprint back down.
Adjusting the hoses with a shrug, I turn right round and sprint back up the flights. On the fourth lap, I slow, my legs on fire. My shoulders aching with the weight. But I will not stop.
Double.
That’s what I do.
Double of everything I ask of my probies.
What kind of leader asks more of their team than themselves?
Tennison’s smile bursts into my mind.
With a low growl, I push my legs faster. My breaths pant quicker.
Up. Up. Up.
Down. Down. Down.
I double over, sides screaming with the slicing pain over my ribs.
Tennison’s hands in mine, the touch ghosting over my palms . . .
Grunts puff out with every breath.
I spur back into movement.
Up. Up. Up.
Down. Down. Down.
The hoses fall from my shoulders. Still, every sense clings to her.
The scent in the shower.
Her fingers over mine.
Her expressions as they changed, and I watched each damn one.
Her breath as we carried folks from the bus.
Her words . . . that tone that—
“Yes sir.”
Six laps wasn’t enough.
Time for a cold fucking shower.
Fuck.