Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
POPPY
My feet feel so heavy in my boots. Earlier today was one of the most intense fires I have ever attended since I graduated from the training academy. Yet there’s no time to stop.
I’m sitting in the back of the ladder truck, quietly staring out the window just trying to process the last fire, when the radio that is a constant background noise calls out our engine number.
“Engine 25 and Ladder 19, three-story building fire on the corner of Watson and Apollo Streets. Unknown number of possible occupants inside, is a known homeless building.”
The call booms into the cabin of the truck, and Lieutenant Rosco hits the siren and lights as he responds over the two-way radio.
“Copy that, dispatch, Engine 25 and Ladder 19 on route. ETA five minutes.”
“That’s the old Xerox factory, isn’t it?” Dean, who we all call Volk when we’re on the job, shouts out above the sirens from the driver’s seat as he negotiates traffic to get us to the site as quick as possible.
“Yep, so oxygen masks ready,” Rosco calls to us. “Fuck knows what chemicals are still in that building from the old days of medical imaging machines they manufactured there,” He picks up the radio to relay the same information to Engine 25 that’s right behind us.
I didn’t think I had one ounce of energy left, but already, the adrenaline that was crashing as we left the last fire starts to perk back up, and I’m ready to go.
Someone’s life might depend on me being at my best, and this fatigue is what I train to push through, in preparation for days like this.
Before we have a visual on the fire, I can smell it.
Which is crazy when we all stink badly in this truck of smoke from the last fire, but a raging fire has a different smell to it, and we’re tuned into that.
Dean swings the truck into Watson Street, and we can already see the flames and smoke at the other end of the street.
Cars are pushing to the sides of the roads the best they can so we can get through, and as much as I hate Dean these days, I have to admit he’s good at maneuvering this big truck fast through the tight spots.
I hate the sight as we get closer to the building.
A column of dense black smoke rises from the top floor.
There are people staggering from the doorway on the front of the building that looks like it was boarded up.
But that board is now lying on the pavement, and everyone is trampling over it to escape.
“Shit,” I mumble as we pull to a stop, and Rosco steadily starts shouting instructions through the radio as we scramble from the truck, the other crew on the truck that’s pulled up behind us doing the same.
Although it’s a matter of urgency, we know not to go rushing into the building.
We all know our roles, and Rosco reinforces them with his orders.
We start grabbing equipment off the truck.
Fires are loud, wood exploding, structures are falling, plus the terrified shouting of people trying to escape. Or even worse, the panicking scream of someone who’s still trapped inside. We need to listen to it all to help us assess the scene quickly.
“Bert, you’re with me on the ladder for ventilation and entry.
We need to keep the flames contained on that third floor as long as we can to give us time below it.
” Rosco calls all of us by our nicknames that are usually short for our surnames, mine coming from Bertrum.
It saves precious time when we’re calling out to each other in the middle of a fire and every second counts.
“Lee and Russ, search-and-rescue ground floor. Adams and Whits, you follow them and then move to search-and-rescue on the second floor, with the backup crews to join you when they arrive. Bert and I will cover the third floor. Volk, you’re on the ladder controls.
” As I hear the words leave Rosco’s lips, I’m already up on the back of the truck waiting for Dean to get the ladder into position.
We have several ambulances already here and assessing the people who are still stumbling from the doors.
Our battalion chief has arrived, taking over control of the scene from our station captain.
Chief’s loud voice comes from where he’s standing on the ground below us yelling, “How many people are still inside?” But I can’t hear any answers as people are scrambling past him.
The truth is, in a squatter’s building like this, no one probably knows.
“Locked and ready,” Dean calls above the sirens that are still filling the air from the backup trucks and crews that are on their way, but we’re running out of time.
Fire moves so quickly, and if we want to have any chance of rescuing anyone on that top floor, we need to move right now.
The thick smoke I can see coming out of the roof, meaning it would be so hard to breathe in there, tells me we might already be too late.
As soon as I hear the words, I’m scaling the rungs of the ladder with speed, but still conscious of doing it safely.
I’m usually the first one up the ladder because I’m fast. Being smaller and lighter than most of the guys on my crew, Rosco knows I can be up and start ventilating the building quicker than the others.
I reach the top and pull my self–contained breathing apparatus down over my face as I hear Chief calling through the radio to me.
“Go on ventilation, Bert.” And that’s all I need to know. I’m good to go.
Smashing the glass window with my Halligan, I duck down as low as I can on the ladder. The hot thick air, full of smoke and potentially toxic gases, rushes out through the broken glass.
“Go, go, go!” Rosco calls from below me on the ladder, as he has a better view of the window than I do.
Quickly clearing the jagged glass around the edges of the window, I lift my leg in and maneuver through to stand inside the building.
Monitoring the floor for structural stability, I start moving forward, checking for anyone who might still be stuck up on this level.
Rosco is now inside the building, doing the same as me.
We work from room to room, clearing each one and not finding any squatters thankfully.
We shut the doors on the rooms we’ve checked, trying to cut off the oxygen that’s feeding the fire.
I can hear the chief’s voice through the radio warning us that we’re running out of time.
The fire is raging underneath us now, and at any moment, we could lose the floor below us.
We’re at the end of the hallway, and I signal to Rosco that I’ll take the room on the right and he’ll take the left. The smoke is blanketing the room, obscuring my vision but at the last minute, I see what looks like a body curled up in the fetal position under the window.
“Rosco, I’ve got one adult,” I call into my radio as I rush over and crouch down to check if they’re still alive.
As I roll the woman onto her back, I realize she’s clutching onto what looks like a baby wrapped in a blanket, face covered.
“Plus, a baby,” I scream into the radio as I hear Rosco stomping into the room behind me.
“Take the baby,” he yells while he bends down and checks on the woman.
“Woman is breathing, very shallow,” Rosco calls into the radio, and I try to unwrap the bundle in my arms. I’m guessing Mom was trying to protect her by wrapping her up and keeping her safe from the smoke.
As I finally uncover the baby’s face, I’m shocked to see their eyes open and close again, looking up at me.
“Baby’s breathing too,” I relay in the radio.
“Ladder 19 and Engine 25, evacuate now. I repeat, evacuate now!” Chief’s booming voice comes through the radio, repeating his orders over and over again as I help Rosco stand with the unconscious woman over his shoulder. Then we’re off down the hallway toward the window as fast as we can.
If the evacuation order has been given, then we don’t have time to mess around.
I can see the shadow of one of my crew at the window, ready to help.
Getting closer, I see it’s Adams, and he’s standing just inside the window, straps in hand to help with getting the patient down the ladder.
He gestures at me to get out and take the baby with me down the ladder while he and Rosco maneuver the woman.
There’s no time to second-guess anything in these situations.
I tuck the baby inside my fire jacket and am out the window, pushing my oxygen mask off and sliding down the rungs with speed because I can see Russ at the bottom waiting for me to get down.
The moment my feet hit the roof of the truck, he runs up the ladder to see if he can help getting the patient moving.
Rushing down the steps on the truck, I run to one of the waiting EMTs who are ready with a clear gurney and what looks like a pediatric-size oxygen mask.
Ripping my jacket open, I can feel the movement against my body of this little one, which is a huge relief, although they’re far from out of the woods yet. Smoke inhalation can kill so easily.
Laying the baby down on the gurney, the EMTs quickly strip the blanket and the baby’s clothes off to check for any injuries. That’s when I see it’s a little boy, and he protests loudly at being naked and everyone poking and prodding him, looking down his throat for smoke burns.
He’s so tiny, I’m guessing only a few weeks old, although we don’t know anything about the mother and her background.
If she’s a drug-user or a heavy drinker during her pregnancy, it can lead to a smaller baby.
Or sadly, she could just be malnourished which will also impact the baby.
Either way, hopefully she’ll be fine too and the doctors will get her some help.
A better place to stay, food, clothing, and support for her and the baby.