Chapter 27
MILES
Iturn the page and release a bored sigh. Another budget form. Another mind-numbing set of numbers to crunch. I have no idea how Laws does this for a living. It’s a killer.
The numbers start to dance over the page, and I glance at the clock.
This man needs another Milo.
I wonder what coffee would taste like mixed in?
I can imagine the face Sandy would pull. I chuckle at the thought. Reaching the top step of the internal stairs, I find Cap at the kitchen sink, standing rigid. The guys from Ladder 43 are sitting by the comms in the corner.
“What’s cooking?” I ask, making a beeline for the Milo tin left on the counter by the kettle.
Howard snaps his attention to me briefly. “53’s out on Third Avenue.”
The radio squeals.
Owens is snapping out a request to base for an ambulance.
Nothing new.
Guess it figures, Schmiddy can’t even make his own ambulance calls.
Lazy motherfucker.
I open the cupboard and pull out a mug. Inspecting it, I decide it’s far too small. This old man is tired. I slide it back and grab the biggest one I can find.
Better.
I spoon three tablespoons of Milo into the mug as the radio squawks away. The three guys from 43 huddle closer.
Okay, I’ll bite. “What’s happening?”
“School fire. Multi-story. 41 was on scene first,” Howard says, not looking away from the radio.
Good, at least Barratt is better than Schmiddy, slightly. I turn and head for the stairs, budgets wait for no man.
“Fi—firefighter down. MAN DOWN!”
I freeze, mid-step, mug raised halfway to my mouth.
My heart takes off, flinging against my rib cage, desperate to flee the space.
“Davey is down, I repeat, Davey is dow—”
The radio squeals before it dies out.
The mug leaves my grip, hitting the top step as it shatters.
43 rushes the hallway, heading for the pole.
Cap spins back, gaze pinning me where I stand.
Oh fuck no.
I take the steps three at a time, round the foyer, and burst into the garage. I’m pulling on my turnouts before Cap makes it through the doorway. “Absolutely not, Hammond.”
I spin back, a growl rattling my throat. “You put him in charge. This is on you.” My finger stabs his chest before I turn back and jump up into 43.
London is the only thing I have left to lose. Like hell I’m sitting on my damn hands while she’s out there, following dangerous orders.
Davey. Fuck.
Howard glances at me before shifting the engine into gear.
We roll out into the night, and I pray to whoever the hell is listening we’re not too late.
Hold on, beautiful. Fucking hold on.
The night floats past too slow, like it knows I’m not where I’m supposed to be. Like it’s betting on Schmiddy to win, too.
“Remember your promise. Please remember, London,” I utter to no one. The headset that’s supposed to be on my head sits in my lap, cradled in my hands.
Mathers nods to the set and I slide it on. “Three minutes out, Cap.”
His empathetic smile may as well be an axe to my beating heart.
Like 43 was rooting for me.
Howard rolls the engine onto Third, and the scene is worse than I expected.
Barratt is scanning the burning structure as crews stand helpless by the curb. The last defense, the hoses, stream toward the building, the water turning to steam instantly.
Howard’s hot on my heels as I stalk for Barratt.
“Report,” I bark.
“Nice to see you, too, Hammond.”
“Fuck around and find out, Barratt. My crew’s in there.”
“Not anymore, it just blew past 450 Fahrenheit.”
Holy Christ.
“Owens, Sanderson, report.”
Heids is in front of me, pulling her helmet off. “Tennison and Davies were on the roof venting when it collapsed, Cap.”
I haul on a SCBA mask.
“Don’t even think about it, Hammond.” Barratt moves toward me.
“How many minutes?” I snap out.
“Two minutes, max. You got two minutes before their equipment fails.” Barratt relents.
I start the timer on my watch and take off running for the mouth of the building.
“Northeast quarter, third or fourth floor we think, Cap!” Owens yells. I lift my axe in acknowledgment.
I burst through the double doors, and the heat is almost too much.
I make a left turn and take the internal stairs to the second floor. The smoke is bad, visibility almost zero.
“Tennison, report.” I snap out on the radio.
Only static answers me.
Dammit, London.
I search every room, calling out. Radioing her and Davies every ten seconds.
Silence and the fire breathing down on me are my only response.
I stop dead and listen.
The beep of a PASS device echoes through the hallway faintly.
Got you.
I head for the sound.
Glad that I can hear it. Terrified at what it means.
Firefighter down.
The sound splits as I move closer, two sounds growing louder. I’m heading in the right direction.
The sound is coming from behind a classroom door. I test the handle before opening it—
It doesn’t budge.
Fucking no.
I throw my axe into it by the handle. Ten seconds later, it flies open. The flashing lights of the two PASS devices light up the smoke that fills the classroom.
I rush for the closest one.
Barely able to see, I wave a hand over the mask, desperate to know who it is.
The mask is wrecked. The shield cracked and caved in.
My throat closes over.
I check for a pulse. Nothing.
I check again.
My watch beeps, halftime.
“Dammit, London.”
I move to the next flashing amber light, stumbling over legs as I maneuver around the strewn-out limbs.
Heat flares over my face where my mask is sealed.
The mask is starting to disintegrate.
“Hold on,” I growl.
I hunt for a pulse on the next firefighter down.
I hold my breath, like that will make it more palpable.
A thready beat pushes against my gloved hand.
“Thank fuck.”
I kneel at their side and slide my arms underneath before pushing to my feet. My watch beeps again.
Ten seconds.
Fuck.
I spill from the classroom and head for the stairwell.
The limp firefighter my arms bobs with every hurried step I take.
My alarm shrieks.
We’re out of time.
The roar behind me picks up.
I run down the flights of stairs, arms screaming from the burn.
Everything slows down as I close in on the front doors. I push harder, legs searing. My mask warps, the rubber melting to my cheeks, over my temples.
I burst through the doors and stumble over the footpath before my legs give way, and I lay the limp body on the sidewalk.
“Hammond!” Owens is running for me. She kneels by our firefighter’s head, tugging at the mask.
Sandy is walking toward the building, hands in his hair.
Schmidt watches, mouth slack.
Barratt snaps out orders on the radio, calling for an ambulance, the sound so far away.
My ears ring.
My body burns.
My face stings from the melted rubber.
Owens is removing the thing from my head as I stare at the face below me now free of the mask, as the body limp in my arms starts to move.
Somebody walks to where I kneel, standing over the three of us.
Their shadow drapes over me as they stand unmoving, like a tree in the park over the lush grass. Quiet and stoic.
The medics rush us, and I lie her on the sidewalk, not leaving her side. Orders snap through the air around us from 43 and 41, and the hoses continue the battle until the building is reduced to ash, smoke, and rubble.
Owens never leaves my side, and as Sandy masks up, my heart breaks.
Recovery.
London moans, moving on the hard sidewalk, her head turning from side to side. Dark hair tousles as she lurches forward, gasping for air.
My face breaks.
Her brown eyes widen as they meet mine.
“No,” she sobs.
I’m shaking my head.
Her face contorts as she clings to my jacket. I wrap myself around her, like I can protect her from the world. But I know I can’t. There will always be things out of my control.
The more I try to control, the more chaos I create.
This could have been prevented, had I not sabotaged Schmidt. I would have been here. I would have gone with one of them. I could have been in that building the second the roof collapsed.
Because I clung to control with an iron fist and used any tactic possible to not let it slip through my fingers, this is what resulted.
“Miles?”
“Yeah, beautiful. Right here. Always, remember.”
She sobs hard before raising her gaze. “Where is he?”
The doors to the building open under 43’s hands, as Howard and his crew hold the path open for Sandy and the precious cargo in his arms.
Davies is draped over Sandy’s carry hold.
A combination no firefighter ever wants to witness, let alone be a part of. Helmets slide off heads, held to chests, and each officer dips their chin, gazes dropping to the ground.
London struggles to her feet, her arms shaking as her palms push off the concrete, and I hold her up.
“Davey,” she sobs. “No, Davey . . .”
She sags, and I fold my body around hers.
She tries to tear away, and I tighten my grip. “He’s gone, beautiful,” I choke out.
“No . . . No, no, no, no.”
She sinks, and I follow her down to the sidewalk.
Every set of eyes swings between us and Sandy carrying Davey toward us.
If Cap wasn’t aware of London and me before, he is now.
But that’s the least of my worries.
My focus is on the woman in my arms, who I know is going to blame herself for this. She just will, even though it wasn’t her decision. It wasn’t her place to argue.
I know I made her promise me, but there was no way she could have disputed both Schmidt and Barratt’s orders. Neither could the rest of my crew. The only person who could have changed this outcome was Schmidt.
He could have sent a probie and an old hand. Someone who would have had a better idea of what that roof was going to do by the signs it no doubt was giving.
Sandy releases Davey to the ambulance, and they undo his helmet and mask before peeling the tank and jacket from his back.
It’s damn hard to watch, and he wasn’t my friend. I wasn’t forged through fire with the guy the way London was. She doesn’t look as they lay him on the gurney and slide him into the ambulance to wait for the coroner.
The fucking coroner.
This should have gone a whole lot different.
My crew shouldn’t be down a firefighter.
I settle London on the sidewalk, and Owens reads my mind before I even stand, moving to take my place as she wraps an arm around London.
I stalk for Schmiddy and Barratt.
Barratt holds his hand up, tilting his head like he’s about to argue.
I smash my fist into Schmiddy’s face.
He falls to the sidewalk like the sack of goddamn shit he is.
Yelling starts around me, and arms hold me back. I shrug them off and walk away, moving as far as I can without putting too much distance between London and me.
Fuck.
“FUCK!” I rip my jacket from my body and throw it to the ground. Cap is right behind me. I turn on him, and I’m in his face.
“I told you this would happen. I fucking told you, and you were more worried about the damn department than the lives—”
My throat closes over.
“This is not the place, Hammond. You’re all in my office the second we’re back at the station.”
Fucking oath we are.