Chapter 28 #2
The ghosts of every life-threatening emergency she’d taken on warred in her mind.
She was not one to back down, especially when it came to fires.
The bistro manager might be in here somewhere, but, as much as she wanted to save her, her crew’s lives weighed heavier.
“You’re a lieutenant now. There are more lives than yours on the line. ” The words rang through her chest.
For a few hesitant seconds, she and her crew continued to pour water into the roaring inferno’s mouth, determined to quench it. When black drops rained down from the ceiling, she knew it was time.
“Everyone, fall back,” she ordered, taking a backward step toward the door they’d entered through.
“But the missing manager,” Waylon yelled through his mask. “There could be an office on the other side of this. We can’t leave her there.”
“The manager is an unknown variable, but this roof is coming down any second,” Flash declared. “Fall back now, and that’s a direct order from your lieutenant, Adams.”
She saw her reflection in his scowl and in the curses he muttered, because a month ago she would have done the same.
No sooner had the four firefighters cleared the kitchen than the entire blazing roof crashed into the space they’d just occupied.
The pain of loss accompanied the gratification she felt for making the right call.
Still, it was a hollow victory until they knew the fate of the missing manager.
Freed from the kitchen, the flames raced across the wall and onto the bar ceiling. The firefighters immediately redirected their streams. The kitchen and whatever was above or behind it were lost, but they still had a chance to quench the blaze before it consumed the rest of the building.
Flash pressed a button on her radio while aiming the hose with her other hand. “Dispatch, can you spare another engine to this location?”
After a few crackling seconds, an answer came back. “There are currently no other engines available in that area. I can put you on a waitlist.”
“Roger that. We’ll try to contain this and report back if we get it put out before another engine arrives.”
“How’d you know the roof was about to come down?” Flores asked. He wasn’t a rookie, but pretty new to Station Eight. He hadn’t studied under Smokey or spent the past nine years under Captain O’Riley’s leadership.
“Experience,” she said, “and the best trainers a firefighter can get. Read the smoke and listen to the signs. A fire will tell you what it’s going to do if you pay close enough attention.”
“Lieutenant Cash has this special relationship with fires,” Waylon said, most of the anger drained from his voice. “They talk to her, and sometimes they even listen.”
Keeping the pressure on the ceiling, the team slowly beat back the flames. A second engine never came.
A man in a long black coat, wrought with worry, rushed up to Flash when they walked out. “Where’s Susan?”
A police patrol car had arrived, and the officers were keeping the small crowd back, but the owner, Flash supposed, had broken through.
“Is that the manager who’s disappeared?” she asked.
“Yes.” He wiped a hand across his brow, beaded with sweat, as steam puffed from his mouth into the frosty air. “She went in to check on things, and she didn’t come out. Don’t tell me you left her in there to die!”
A sick feeling roiled in Flash’s gut. “Flores, Woods, check the perimeter. Waylon, with me. You stay here,” she instructed the frantic owner.
Without masks or hoses, Flash and Waylon trudged back inside, where little trails of smoke drifted up from blackened piles of what were once walls, the bar, and the ceiling.
Light poured in from the tremendous hole where the kitchen roof had been, charred beams broken.
The floor was already getting slick under their feet as the water had begun to freeze.
“Sorry I yelled at you,” Waylon said, bumping her shoulder with his.
“I’d have done the same,” she replied. “Where could that woman be?”
“No one ever went upstairs,” said Waylon.
Flash sighed, shaking her head. “Let’s check there first.” She’d hate to uncover charred remains in the kitchen.
Together, they climbed the steps in silence, the plight of the missing manager weighing heavily on Flash.
They found a small cleaning closet and a large dining area, mostly intact.
The far wall, nearest the kitchen, had blackened from smoke, and the wallpaper was singed around the edges.
Then Flash noticed a short hallway, barely perceptible beyond a potted tree.
Venturing down it, she spied men’s and women’s restrooms. She and Waylon each took one, meeting each other back in the small hall.
“Nope,” Waylon said. “Listen, Flash. You were right. If we’d stayed, that would have all fallen in on us—maybe killed us.”
“Maybe,” she responded. There was one more door, scorched and brittle, nearest the burned-out kitchen.
When she pushed it, the wood broke apart, its pieces clattering to the floor.
Inside was a small office. A strip of floor about three feet wide had collapsed along with the kitchen roof, and she could see the rubble beneath it.
The accompanying wall lay in flame-licked, smoke-blackened tatters. Her chest tightened.
Flash eased one boot onto the office floor. It flexed beneath her weight. “Wait there,” she told Waylon, who was much heavier than her. “The floor feels spongy.” He stayed because every firefighter knew what that meant.
Dread settled deeper with each step as she slowly navigated the floor.
A large desk blocked her view of what might lie on its other side.
Flash’s breath hitched. She realized she’d slowed for no tactical reason.
Instinct dictated that she run around the desk; something inside begged her to turn around and leave.
“Do you see anything?” Waylon called.
Flash took another step, hugging the wall farthest from the damaged portion of floor. She spotted the UGGs first. Then she rushed, the hope the victim would still be alive clawing against the fear.