Chapter 32
Greyson
A hero is no braver than an ordinary man,
but he is brave five minutes longer.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
I’m at Mo’s before Hallie arrives, drinking coffee at the counter and trading jabs with him while the few regulars watch like we’re their morning entertainment.
“So, your lady wised up and found someone better looking?” Mo teases.
“She’ll be here in a few minutes,” I tell him.
“That’s the problem with small towns,” Mo sighs dramatically, wiping a spot on the counter.
“What’s that?” I ask, willingly taking his bait.
“Not a lot of men around. The women have to settle for guys like you.”
I chuckle into my mug.
“If I were twenty years younger …” he muses, trying to get my goat.
“She still wouldn’t give you the time of day,” I say.
“Oh no?” He laughs.
The bell over the glass door tinkles and Hallie’s smiling face appears.
“Good morning, Mo,” she practically sings her greeting.
Hallie waves around at the three other customers, all older people from the outskirts of town—the ones who naturally protect our secret because they keep to themselves.
“Good morning, everyone!” Hallie says in her sing-song morning voice.
“What’d I tell you?” he says. “She greeted me first.”
“You’ve got coffee,” Hallie says, taking the stool next to me and kissing me on the cheek.
I give Mo a smug look.
His face softens. “My Dixie would have loved you, Hallie girl.”
“Dixie? Was that your wife?” Hallie asks.
“Yeah.” He nods. “Orneriest woman in the state, but she knew good people when she met ’em. She would’ve eaten you up with a spoon.”
He pours Hallie’s coffee, adding flavored creamer just the way she likes it. “You know I don’t go fixin’ anyone’s coffee for them but you,” he tells her.
“I appreciate it, Mo. I love a man who fixes my coffee.”
Mo gives me a look of triumph and I smile. I know how to make her coffee too. And I’ve got her creamer in my fridge.
Hallie sets her hand on the counter between us. I place mine over hers, holding it while we order biscuits and gravy to share. She smiles over at me and instantly all’s right with the world.
After we eat, I leave an extra large tip on the counter.
“Too bad your mom’s sharing TV time with Jonathan these days,” I say when Hallie and I are standing in the parking lot. “She and Mo would be a pair.”
“Oh my gosh!” Hallie’s laugh bursts out. “Can you imagine? Mo would give Mom a run for her money! But, yeah. I think Jonathan is actually growing on her.”
“How can you tell?”
“She’s complaining about him more.”
“Always a good sign,” I say, reaching over and brushing her hair over her shoulder.
“I don’t complain about you,” she says, her voice softer after my touch.
“Give me time. You will,” I say, leaning in to kiss her.
My chest releases when our mouths connect. She never fails to do that to me. I wrap my arms around her and draw her close. Kissing her to make up for lost time.
When we separate, she looks up at me. “I’d miss coming to Mo’s.”
“Why would you have to miss it?”
“If we ever get to the point where we can tell Mia about us … I guess I figured we’d stop all these secret rendezvous.”
“I never considered that. I just thought we’d bring her with us sometimes.”
She smiles. “I like that idea.”
Hallie follows me to the station. I check my rearview regularly, just to catch a glimpse of her.
We walk from our cars toward the station together.
Dustin shouts over, “You two are like little synchronized swimmers arriving right at the same time.”
I shout back, “Since when did punctuality become a crime?”
He catches up to us and walks in step. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days? I always just called it dating, myself.”
I send him a warning glare, which only serves to make him laugh.
“Don’t you call it dating, Hallie?” Dustin asks.
Thankfully, we’re at the kitchen door.
“I’m just playing with you two,” he says before we open the door.
“We know,” Hallie assures him. “It’s sweet.”
“I don’t know about sweet,” I say.
“Come on, Grey Grey. You think I’m sweet. Gimme a hug, buddy.” Dustin extends his arms and I walk past him into the kitchen. Hallie’s laugh follows me through the door.
The morning rolls forward with shift change, breakfast and equipment checks.
We take a few midday calls. Then we’re back for dinner and some chores.
We’re in the kitchen relaxing a few hours after dinner.
I haven’t checked my email all day. I open the app on my laptop.
One subject line catches my eye. I read it again: Official Offer of Employment – FEMA Office of Response and Recovery. A knot forms in my gut.
Dear Mr. Stone,
On behalf of the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), I am pleased to extend to you a formal offer of employment with the Office of Response and Recovery.
After careful review of your experience and qualifications, we are confident that your background, skill set, and commitment to service make you an excellent fit for our mission to support communities before, during, and after disasters.
Position Title: Emergency Management Specialist
Office: Response and Recovery
Duty Location: Washington, DC
Start Date: TBD
This offer is contingent upon the successful completion of all pre-employment requirements, including background investigation, verification of credentials, and any applicable federal hiring documentation.
As part of our team, you will play a critical role in coordinating response efforts, supporting recovery operations, and helping communities rebuild with resilience. Your contributions will directly impact lives across the nation.
Additional details regarding compensation, benefits, onboarding procedures, and required documentation will be provided in your official offer packet.
Please confirm your acceptance of this offer by replying to this email within five business days. Should you have any questions, feel free to contact our office directly.
We are excited about the possibility of you joining FEMA and contributing to our mission of helping people before, during, and after disasters.
Sincerely,
Barbara Sterling, Human Resources Division
Office of Response and Recovery
Federal Emergency Management Agency
Washington, DC
I glance across the room at Hallie. She’s making a snack.
I have to tell her about this. As soon as we’re able to grab a few minutes to ourselves, I’ll let her know I applied and they made the offer.
We can decide what I’ll do together. She deserves to know.
And she should have a say in my decision.
I’m standing to ask her if we can meet in the kitchen after everyone heads to their bunks when the tone sounds.
Dispatch comes through the station alerting system overhead. “Engine one—respond to a reported structure fire. Abandoned textile mill, Mill Creek Road. Reports of interior fire conditions. Possible occupants—teenagers inside. Use caution, structure is high risk.”
We’re at our turnouts in a blink, focused and moving with practiced efficiency, grabbing helmets, gloves and hoods, checking SCBA packs and shouldering them on the way to the engine.
I grab the handset off the dash. Patrick pushes the button to lift the bay doors and flicks the siren and lights on the engine.
“Copy, Dispatch,” I say into the mic.
“Confirming Mill Creek Road,” Dispatch says. “Presence of at least one teenager in the structure confirmed. Additional units and EMS en route.”
We roll through town, slowing at red lights and then blowing through them as soon as the coast is clear. Every second counts in a rescue. I pull on my remaining gear while Patrick drives.
Dispatch continues her updates. “No sprinklers in structure.”
“Copy that,” I say into the mic.
We arrive on the scene. Smoke is rising in plumes out the upper windows of the old mill. Flames are visible inside the building. We position for water supply access. Patrick hops out and sets the pump.
I notify Dispatch over the radio, “Abandoned textile mill, active fire, possible entrapment. Engine one on scene, working fire, making entry for search and rescue.”
“Copy,” Dispatch responds.
We perform a quick three-sixty assessment around the structure, checking entry and exit points, assessing fire spread and structural integrity.
The volunteer crew arrives, including Cody, who had left for the day, a few of the guys from our alternating crew and some trained townspeople. They set up a drafting hose near the river with the second engine.
The attack line is pulled from our engine, and the hose is flaked out toward the entry point.
We mask up and check with our partners. Hallie and I are paired to go into the building.
Patrick mans the line and Dustin’s on entry support.
The backup crew will throw ladders and vent windows once their line is set.
Hallie and I advance the hose line into the mill.
The visibility is low, heat intense. Debris clutters our pathway.
We stay low, orienting to a wall, staying anchored to the hose, physically feeling ahead for the next step.
I shoot water at flames and occasionally send a burst overhead to take the heat down.
“Firefighters!” I shout. “Call out if you’re in here!”
We stop and listen.
Nothing but the sound of flames cracking weathered wood.
“Hello? Fire Department here!” I shout again.
Hallie and I pause.
“Hello! Help!” a voice comes from overhead.
“Hear that?” I ask Hallie.
“Yes. They’re upstairs.”
“Head that way,” I tell her. “Stay with me!”
“Stay low!” I shout into the smoke toward the victim. “We’re coming.”
Hallie and I make our way through the building feeling around for a staircase.
“Secondary team has entered the structure,” Cody says through the mic.
“Copy,” Hallie answers him.
Debris falls from overhead. We pivot to avoid it. I locate the staircase and test the stairs.
“It still looks solid,” I tell Hallie.
“Let’s go,” she says.
I head up the stairs first, spraying upward to take down the heat and flames and staying low and to the wall. Hallie comes right behind me.
“Hello?” I shout into the flames and black, sooty smoke. The heat’s intense up here.
“Help!” The voice comes from the corner.
I carry the hose in the direction of the voice, staying low, spraying short bursts to control the heat and flames. Hallie is right behind me on the hose.
I call out to the teen. “We’re right here!”
“I’m here! Help!” A boy’s voice comes through the smoke, followed by a series of coughs.
I feel through the darkness, making contact with his leg.
“I’ve got him!” I tell Hallie.
“Releasing the hose on three!” I tell her.
“Bracing,” she replies, taking the weight of the charged hose and widening her stance. We’re right at the wall.
“One, two, three!” I count, releasing the hose.
“Got it!” she says, taking full control of the line, continuing to spray the fire back and controlling the heat.
“I’ve got you,” I tell the boy. “We’re getting you out.”
I use a drag technique to move the victim to the top of the stairs. Then I shift to an assisted carry, lifting him, looping my arm around his back and under his arm and draping his arm over my shoulder. Hallie continues to spray in bursts around us.
“We’re going down!” I tell Hallie.
“Got you,” she says, spraying above the stairs.
I take the steps one by one. I’m halfway down when a step flexes softly beneath my foot. I hear a creaking. Then a crack. In an instant, I tug the teen into my body, tucking him tightly as the stairs give way.
I hit the ground with the teen still in my arms. The wind is knocked out of me. I hear a snap and feel a pain so sharp I shout into the mic.
“Greyson!” Hallie’s voice is panicked.
“I’m here,” I moan. “Victim safe.”
Hallie’s voice comes through the radio, “Firefighter down! Firefighter down! First floor. Stairs gave out.”
Me. She’s talking about me.
Cody’s voice is next. “Where are you, Hallie?”
“Second floor,” Hallie answers. “Stairs collapsed. Grey went down with the teen. I’m trapped.”
“Grey, are you with me?” Cody asks.
“Yeah. I’m here. Get him out. Get to Hallie!”
My vision starts to blur. I fight to hang on. Everything fades.
Then Dustin is over me. “Which leg, Grey?”
“My right leg.” My words are clipped and strained. I cough.
Cody looks at Patrick. “We have to get him out of here now. No time for the Stokes basket.”
“We’re doing a three-man carry,” Patrick says. “Dustin, you get his torso. Cody, get his good leg.”
Dustin crouches down behind my head, looping his arms through the SCBA straps and holding me. Cody holds my good leg. Patrick stabilizes the one that’s probably broken.
“You with me, Grey?” Patrick asks.
I nod, reflexively. Then I say, “Yeah. I’m here. Where’s Hallie?”
The three of them count and lift. Then we’re moving. Smoke and flames everywhere.
“Second engine’s got Hallie,” Cody assures me.
I close my eyes. Pinching them shut and focusing on squeezing instead of the shooting pain radiating up my leg.
“Still with us?” Patrick asks as we burst into the night, the cooler air a stark contrast to the inferno inside.
“I’m here,” I tell Patrick.
They set me on a stretcher. An oxygen mask is slipped over my face. Someone cuts my turnout pants and applies a traction splint.
“Where’s Hallie?” I ask, sputtering out a cough. An EMT is talking about smoke inhalation.
And then she’s there. Hallie. Holding my hand and staring down at me.
“You made it,” she says softly, running her thumb over the top of my hand while the gurney is raised into the back of the ambulance.
She goes with me, her hold on my hand firm, her eyes soft with tears.
“How did you get out?” I ask.
“Ground ladder.”
“You saved me—calling in my rescue.”
“You saved that boy, so let’s say we’re even,” she says. Her smile is strained.
“Never,” I say, coughing into the oxygen mask. “The boy’s okay?”
“Yeah. Smoke inhalation. But otherwise, he seems good.”
I cough again.
“Stop talking for now,” Hallie orders.
“I’ll stop talking if you don’t.” I cough. “I need to hear …” I cough some more. “... your voice.”
“Okay,” she nods. But then she’s quiet, her eyes roving my face as if she almost lost me.
Not this time.
Not ever if I have anything to say about it.