Chapter 02
My boots hit the ground as I whip my head up, taking in the building. My gaze sweeps over it rapidly, with trained eyes. Light smoke comes out of the third-floor window, and there are flames on the left side. Probably one of those fires starting in a kitchen.
“Did everybody get out?” I ask one of the shaken residents.
I nod at her and look at the building again. The familiar jolt of adrenaline rushes through my body as I reach for my radio.
The radio crackles with a confirmation from dispatch and an ETA for the other trucks.
I listen with half an ear while I dash out the commands to my crew.
They listen and respond the moment their task is clear, like a well-oiled machine.
These are the people I trust with my life, and for good reason.
“Rodriques, on the attack. I want those flames hosed down as quickly as possible. Take Fernandes and Rivera.”
He nods and they dart off instantly.
“Díaz, with me.”
He is already following my lead toward the building. We check each other’s gear and oxygen tanks, before we push on.
I grab my radio one more time.
“Rescue entering building, two crew now inside.”
With a short nod toward Díaz, I push the door open, bracing for the roaring fire.
The flames push out and then recoil again, like an ocean of heat.
Their warmth curls around the door frame.
When I step over the threshold, I feel the scorching heat smacking into me, like I am driving into a wall at full speed.
I gasp, as I always do when entering, while the world around me narrows.
People often think that because of the fire it must be bright, but the truth is that it brings a whole different kind of darkness with it.
The inferno blocks out everything from view while it curls around you, dark and twisted, as if you stepped through the gates of hell.
You can’t see further ahead than a few steps, and that is what makes my job so incredibly dangerous.
I gaze up at the ceiling, the white and orange heat licking at it. We have to move. With the building plans etched in my brain, I move forward with certainty. Díaz and I only have about twenty minutes before our oxygen runs out. We have to push ourselves.
We crouch low, trying to avoid most of the heat, until we reach the staircase. It still looks solid, so I glance over to my crew member. He nods and up we go.
It takes us about two minutes to reach the third floor, carefully testing the steps on our way. I take an immediate left and see all doors are open but one. 302.
Díaz doesn’t need an order. He rushes forward and brings his shoulder down to the wood. Compromised by the heat and flames, the door shatters open on impact.
We enter the apartment that so far seems to have been spared from the flames, although there is no way these ladies will walk out without smoke inhalation.
The first body lies near the kitchen. I sink down to check her pulse. It’s there but weak. I hoist her over my shoulder while Díaz enters the bedroom.
The other woman sits slumped down against the bed. Her eyes are open but dazed. He says something to her, and she wraps her arms around his neck.
Together we work our way back to the stairs, holding both women safely against our bodies.
We don’t run—we can’t—but we move fast with big and certain strides.
We are down faster than it took us to get up, and I am relieved when my boots hit the ground floor.
Stairs crumble way too easily and I always dread having to rely on them.
We push our way back to the threshold and are greeted with EMTs who take the occupants from our hands. I release a sigh of relief and turn toward Díaz, who has the same glint in his eyes I must show right now. We got them out. No casualties on our watch today.
***
I hoist the heavy hose onto my shoulder, before putting it back snugly into its place in the truck.
Sweat trickles down my face, drawing streaks in the soot that’s still smudging it.
The smell of burned hair, plastic, and wood smoke is still sharp in my nose and clinging to my body.
I can’t wait to take a nice hot shower to flush it away.
Right as I am about to turn on my heels to make my way to the locker room, a deep voice cuts through the hall.
“Gonzales, in here. Now.”
Rodriques raises an eyebrow at me, but I simply shrug. I have no idea either. The extraction went according to plan, there were no hiccups during the operation, and everyone walked away safely. It was really just another day at the office.
My boots thud against the tiles as I follow the Chief.
He left the door ajar, so I slip in without knocking.
Salisar is already back behind his desk, so I sink into the worn leather chair on the other side.
He glances up from his paperwork and I see the corners of his lips curl slightly before he speaks.
“Good work out there, Gonzales.”
“Thanks, sir. The crew did an amazing job.”
“Under your instructions.”
I huff, nearly insulted by his statement. “They would’ve done the same on their own,” I retort, and now he really smiles.
The Chief shuffles around some more papers on his desk and then leans back, his gaze finally fully on me.
“How long have you been a bomber now, Elena?”
“About six years, sir.”
“And look at how far you have come.”
I shuffle uncomfortably in my chair. It did take me a while to get used to this place, to get over my own ego of being stationed elsewhere, but now I believe it was the best thing that ever could have happened to me.
Right now, I am finally finding joy and satisfaction in my work again, and I guess it is starting to show.
I swallow, because suddenly a cold fear grips my heart. They aren’t going to send me back, are they? Or worse… promote me?
Fernando Salisar seems to notice the shift in my demeanor and he raises his hands, open palms facing me.
“Don’t worry, kiddo. You’re not going anywhere. Just letting you know I am proud of your progress.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say, not being able to keep the caution from lacing my voice.
“Elena, you are a decorated firefighter. People notice your work.”
I grunt an uncommitted reply as he holds my gaze. He seems to bite back a chuckle and softly shakes his head. Then his eyes dart back to the paperwork in front of him again.
“You’ll meet with a reporter from Woman at the Front tomorrow morning at nine AM sharp. I expect you to be accommodating.”
Wait, what? A reporter. My eyebrows shoot up in high arches as the confusion floods my brain. Why the hell would I meet up with a reporter? Does she want a tour, a ride-along?
“Sir?”
He looks up again, all hints of playfulness gone now. I am looking at my Chief, who is about to give me a direct order.
“Miss Carter will write a profile on you. She will shadow you for several weeks and sit down with you for multiple interviews. I am arranging the paperwork for ride-along clearance right now.”
“A… a profile? Sir, I am hardly the right person for that…”
The muscle in his jaw rolls before he speaks again.
“You are the perfect person for it, Elena. It’s about female first responders, and frankly, you are the best one this station has seen in years.”
“Sir, really, I don’t think this…”
His hand slams on the table, making me jump.
“It’s an order, Gonzales. You will meet with her tomorrow morning, and you will give her all your cooperation. Do you understand me?”
Taken aback, I feel my jaw tighten. I affirm between clenched teeth, my hands now balled into fists at my side. He doesn’t say I am dismissed, but simply returns to his paperwork again.
I have to pull on every bit of self-restraint not to storm out of his office like an angry teenager slamming the door. I walk away, looking calm on the outside, but internally I am fuming.
What the hell just happened?