Chapter Nineteen Fight for the Last Breath
Chapter nineteen
Fight for the Last Breath
Trent was having a blast.
Not an actual blast, God forbid. But a quiet, solid kind of day. One that eased him back in without chewing him up. Exactly what he needed after a week off that felt more like rehab than rest.
No trauma. No blood. No adrenaline.
The stuff he liked best. Community falls, non-emergency transfers, friendly faces and familiar addresses.
It was the rhythm he’d trained for. The part of the job that made people smile when they saw the ambulance, instead of panic.
And Liv, crewmate, part-time cynic, full-time menace, handled every call with the calm confidence of someone who’d seen everything and didn’t give a toss what came next.
And she didn’t handle him with kid gloves, either.
Their current was a welfare check on Mrs Dot Buchanan, eighty-four and sharp as vinegar. She’d pressed her fall alarm because she couldn’t reach the teacups above her microwave. Not exactly an emergency. But, as Liv said, “Old bones, hard floors, we check it out.”
Dot answered the door in her slippers, a cigarette in one hand and a mug in the other. She had a cloud of white hair, a suspiciously youthful face, and a tongue that could slice through steel.
“Oh, good.” She let them in. “The cute one with the bubble hair is back. You didn’t tell me your lad was this bloody handsome, Liv. If I’d known, I’d have fallen harder.”
Liv rolled her eyes. “He’s gay, Dot.”
Dot grinned, flashing yellow teeth. “Oh, darling, so’s my dishwasher. Still gets plenty of action.”
Trent choked on his laugh.
Inside, Dot’s bungalow was a time capsule of warmth and chaos. Crocheted blankets draped over every surface, tartan coasters stacked with precision, and the lingering scent of bleach, talcum powder, and cat food clinging to the heat.
They checked her vitals, all solid, and confirmed she hadn’t actually fallen, but panicked when her teacups played hard to get. Trent moved them down to a reachable shelf while Liv reset her personal alarm.
Dot flirted the entire time, tried to pinch Trent’s arse twice, and pretended not to notice when he sidestepped the third attempt with a blush and a cough.
“You got a boyfriend, lad?” she asked once they’d helped her back into her favourite armchair and hunted down the TV remote.
“Uh…” Trent hesitated, caught off guard.
Was Reece his boyfriend? He supposed so. Sort of. But they hadn’t exactly said it out loud. And somehow, slapping that label on a man like Reece to an eighty-four- year-old felt…premature. Or dangerous. Or maybe too precious to risk cheapening.
Besides, if he had to call Reece something, boyfriend didn’t quite cover it.
Medicine came closer.
“He’s got a big, strapping fireman, Dot,” Liv cut in, passing her a fresh cup of tea.
Dot’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yeah? Got a big hose, has he?”
Liv sipped her tea, deadpan. “Apparently it’s regulation size.”
Dot cackled so hard she spilled her tea.
They left her in the doorway, waving them off with her mug in hand.
“Send him back next time, Liv! I want a turn on the stretcher! Maybe I’ll have a bit of trouble with the gas fire. See for myself how big regulation size really is!”
Trent nearly tripped over the front step.
They took a break after Dot. Parked up outside the Tesco Express, leaning on the bonnet of the rig, sipping lukewarm coffee from corner shop cups. The street was quiet. Overhead, the clouds thickened, low and heavy, dragging the light out of the afternoon.
Rain was coming.
Trent tilted his head, sniffing the air. There was something sharp in it. Burnt and bitter, riding beneath the usual petrol and pavement.
“You smell that?” He narrowed his eyes at the horizon.
Liv took a lazy sniff. “What is it? Weed again?”
Trent pushed off the front of the rig, frowning. “Not weed…”
A thick column of black smoke rose in the distance. Dense. Fast-moving.
The radio crackled.
Both of them froze .
Control’s voice followed, clipped and urgent:
“All units—major incident declared. Structure fire reported at Worthbridge Academy. Multiple persons unaccounted for. Immediate assistance required.”
Trent’s heart dropped.
Across the rig, Liv tossed her coffee and swung herself into the driver’s seat, all humour gone. The drizzle turned suddenly purposeful, tapping the windscreen. But it wouldn’t be enough to stop a fire.
Trent climbed in beside her, the seat creaking beneath him. He swallowed hard, working around the lump in his throat as he clicked his seatbelt into place. “I thought we were off major incidents.”
Liv didn’t look at him as she started the engine, the lights flaring to life. “If it’s a school fire, they’ll need everyone. Hundreds of teens, teachers, chaos… Triage nightmare.”
She pulled out fast, the radio barking more updates. Structure compromised, multiple unaccounted for, incident command requesting maximum medics. The sirens kicked in, low and mournful.
Trent stared out at the blurred world rushing by.
Worthbridge Academy.
His old school. He imagined the corridors.
The ones he’d roamed before his life went to fuck.
Filled with smoke, heat bending the air, ceilings groaning under pressure.
Fire didn’t care how young you were. Didn’t care who loved you.
It took. The thought came uninvited, crashing through the fog of professionalism like a punch to the gut.
Reece
He could be there. Could already be inside.
Trent yanked his phone from the pocket on his thigh, tapped the screen.
Nothing .
Liv didn’t need to look. “Anything from your man?”
Trent shook his head. “No.” He locked the screen and shoved it back in his pocket.
His palms were clammy, despite the heater blowing warm across the windscreen.
He flexed his fingers, trying to steady his breathing.
In. Out. Count the seconds. Ground himself.
Reece would be fine. He had to be. Probably already in the thick of it, mask on, gear up, dragging someone out and cracking a joke while he did it.
That’s who he was. The firefighter. The hero.
Not the body they’d carry out.
Trent clenched his jaw, forcing the thought down hard.
He had a job to do. People to treat. Lives to hold together.
The school loomed through the smoke. Worthbridge Academy.
Three stories high, half-hidden behind walls of black.
The third floor was ablaze. Flames licked the sky.
Sirens screamed. Children and staff swarmed the playing fields under emergency blankets, teachers calling names, trying to account for them all.
Everywhere was motion. Chaos. Radios buzzed. Shouted orders cut across the roar of water cannons hammering the building.
Liv skidded the rig to a stop outside the fire cordon where smoke curled thick over the scene, licking across the road. Sirens wailed, radios crackled, students screamed in the distance.
“Grab trauma kit, O2, burns pack.” Liv flung the rear doors open.
Trent jumped out, yanked the stretcher from its mount, and snapped the legs into place with a practiced shove.
He slapped the trauma bag on top, along with the oxygen cylinder, monitor, and airway kit.
Liv caught up beside him, gloves already on.
Then they pushed into the chaos. Past hoses snaking across the road, a wall of black smoke climbing high behind the shattered windows.
Someone waved them down. “Two casualties incoming. Boy and adult male! Smoke and burns. Everyone else is tied up. Can you take them?”
“We’ve got it!” Liv called back.
They rounded the engine, boots skidding in soot and water as two firefighters emerged from the smoke, dragging a kid in school uniform between them.
Alfie. The same kid Trent had seen months ago.
The boy whose dad had taken a knife for him.
Behind them, another figure stumbled forward.
Face streaked with ash, a melted rescue hood still clinging to his head. A teacher. Mr Ellison. Jude .
“We need O2 and burns cover!” Trent dropped to one knee, tugging the oxygen mask from its straps and pressing it to Alfie’s face as Liv unrolled the burns dressings beside him.
“He stopped breathing. We got him back,” Jude gasped, shaking.
A shout tore through the smoke behind them.
“Alfie!”
Trent glanced up to see Nathan, the kid’s dad, barrelling through the cordon, the police trying and failing to hold him back. Freddie was right behind him, his uniform half-buttoned, radio swinging from his shoulder as he caught up.
Nathan dropped to his knees beside Alfie, brushing soot away from his son’s face with trembling fingers. “Jesus, Alfie, look at me, son. Please look at me!”
Freddie grabbed his shoulders from behind, steadying him even as his own voice shook. “They’ve got him. He’s alive. Let them work.”
Nathan looked up at Trent, his face contorted with panic. “Where’s Reece? ”
Trent’s throat clenched. “What?”
“Reece went in to get them!” Nathan said. “Where is he?”
Jude coughed. “He’s still inside. He… he gave me the mask. He stayed behind.”
Freddie’s expression shattered.
Trent’s lungs locked.
Liv grabbed the monitor and started assessing Alfie’s airway, but her eyes cut sideways to Trent. “Trent.”
He didn’t hear her. Couldn’t.
He was already backing away, scanning the smoke for the nearest fire officer.
“He’s still in there!” he shouted. “Reece is inside!”
A soot-streaked firefighter intercepted him, helmet and mask still on. “We’ve got a team going back in now.”
“I’m coming.”
“You’re not. You’re not trained for BA. You go in, you go down, we all go down.”
“I’m a medic!”
“You’re not fire crew.”
Trent’s jaw clenched so tight it ached. “He’s my—”
But the word stuck. Boyfriend didn’t feel right. Not enough. Not in this moment.
“He’s mine,” Trent whispered.
The firefighter gave him a grim nod. “Let us bring him back to you, then.”
Then he turned and disappeared into the smoke, swallowed by the building as if it had claimed him too.