Chapter 17
As soon as I enter my apartment, I kick off my shoes and shrug off my heavy jacket.
There’s sweat and grime sticking to my skin.
I can’t wait to wash it off, but I do the one thing I’ll regret in a minute instead.
I reach for the phone in my back pocket, open the messenger app, and stare at the words on my screen.
Hey, uhm, I wanted to thank you for being there for me yesterday. I know it probably sounds silly to you, it being so long ago and all, but… well it shook me. You made me feel safe… so… thank you.
I made her feel safe. That thought alone warms me.
It’s just that the words ‘being there for me’ throw me off.
Is this like a friendship thing? I don’t have much experience with female friendships.
Even when I was younger, I preferred hanging out with boys.
Does Maya think it was a platonic kiss? Or worse, that I took advantage of her when she was vulnerable? Did you?
My breath hitches. Maya was in shock and I kissed her.
The fact that she even bothered to text me at all is a miracle on its own.
Because she needs you for her article. No, she isn’t like that.
Is she? And why the hell didn’t I answer her message.
Because you panic. Every. Single. Time. Like now.
I inhale a sharp breath and squeeze my eyes shut.
I can’t believe I’ve gotten myself into this mess.
On the day that I’d chosen to be a professional, just like her, no less.
But when she was shaking like that, all I wanted to do was make her feel safe. To wrap my arms around her. And Maya looked at me as if she needed that to come from me. Like only I could offer her comfort. But maybe she just needed a friend. Not some riled up woman taking advantage of her.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes. The groan that leaves my throat is feral and raw with frustration. Because what do I do? Text her back, idiot. I need to salvage whatever’s left. Maya is sensitive. She’s given me hurt looks more than once. My silence might make her question herself.
“No,” I whisper hoarsely to myself. “That wouldn’t be fair.”
I open the app again and stare at the message one last time. Then I take a deep breath. My fingers fly over the screen and I press send before I can stop myself.
16:45 E. Gonzales –
Honestly, not silly at all. Trauma doesn’t follow a timeline. Even when you’ve given it a place, it can flare up. There’s no shame in that. I was worried, but you’re safe now. That’s all that matters.
Right after sending the message, I am already regretting it. What if it’s too much? What if I am scaring her? I groan again, toss my phone onto the couch, and make my way to the bathroom. I need to scrub this day off of me.
***
Maya responded to my message with a thank you and a hugging emoji, which lifted my unease for a brief moment. But now that I am ready to walk into the cantina, my heart starts racing. What is wrong with you, Gonzales? Why does the thought of seeing her again make me so nervous? Why?
Right as I put my foot on the iron stairs, my radio crackles, followed by the overhead speaker. Fuck. I didn’t even have coffee yet. Without a second thought, I turn on my heels and rush to the bay. Already peeling off my jacket.
“Placa Espanya station, Sants-Montju?c. Metro collision in tunnel. Smoke and flames sighted. Engine 2, ladder 1, rescue 4, command 2, respond. Additional response from Station 3, 5, and 8. Battalion 1, engine 12, engine 1, engine 7, ladder 3, ladder 7, rescue 3, rescue 5, rescue 7, rescue 9—en route. Two train cars involved. Multiple injuries, multiple entrapments in tunnels and vehicles. Civilians evacuating. Proceed with urgency. Time out 08:32.”
Halfway through the call I freeze. Only for a second.
Then everything kicks into an even higher gear.
A citywide response, multiple casualties—this is big.
Not routine. My mind snaps into focus. We are about to walk straight into hell.
I jump into my boots and pull up my pants.
Flames in tunnels. Entrapped people. Citizens evacuating.
Fuck. There will be chaos and panic. People outside of my control. Which means danger.
“Move it.” I order in a clipped, steady voice.
My heart is thudding against my ribs as I grab my helmet and gloves.
I move toward the engine and Maya follows, her eyes large.
She hasn’t even closed her jacket yet, but she clearly understands the urgency.
We look at each other briefly, before she hoists herself inside.
I shove away the need to reach out for her.
To touch her. My focus needs to be on what lies ahead, or we could all be in danger.
I have to trust that she understands that.
I clench my jaw as the sirens rip through the air.
The engine bolts out of the bay first, followed by Ladder 1.
The tires screech as we make a sharp turn.
I feel the straps cut into my shoulders, and I grasp my gloves.
The crew is silent. We are all preparing for what is to come.
Crying people, injuries, blood. People scrambling over the plaza, cars honking, civilians thinking they can help.
Smoke curling out of ventilation shafts.
Screams from underneath the pavement. I keep my jaw clenched so that I don’t shudder.
Not with their eyes on me, looking for direction.
My radio crackles as we blast out through a narrow street.
“Battalion 1 to all responding units. Placa Espanya station confirmed. Smoke visible from multiple exits. Metro personnel reporting multiple injured and trapped. Command post to be set up south side.”
I inhale and nod softly to myself.
“When we arrive, we have to move fast. Expect many casualties. Our first priority is moving those near the fire. Anyone that can’t self-evacuate. I expect constant communication. Don’t try to be smart. Do not play the hero. Pair up and stay with your partner at all times. Understood?”
“Yes, lieutenant.”
Their answer is clipped. Humorless. I catch Rivera’s eyes, his knuckles white around his gloves. I nod at him once, letting him know he will be fine. I need my crew to keep a cool head. He nods back and I see his shoulders relax a little, before the radio crackles again.
“Rescue 7, on scene. Heavy smoke, large number of passengers self-evacuating. Unknown number still inside. Establishing command, beginning size-up.”
There is a tightness in my chest. My thoughts finally travel to my biggest fear.
How many children will there be? I raise my eyes and catch Maya looking at me intensely.
There is a softness in her eyes. Her blink is slow.
Almost as if she sees the nerves that rush through my veins.
As if she wants to calm me. And the odd thing…
it’s actually working. I let go of the breath I was holding as we pull up at the plaza.
Díaz has to maneuver the engine around people so that he won’t drive into them.
Dazed and confused faces look up. White and shocked.
Too rattled to understand they need to move.
At this point it is faster for us to walk, but we need our rig.
I growl, but Díaz doesn’t seem impressed.
He barely reduces his speed as he zig-zags, and I feel a flash of pride rush through me.
Only a few seconds later, I yank open the door as I look over my shoulder.
“Let’s go. Radio on channel 5. Maya, stay near the rig. Do not engage with any of the victims. That’s an order.”
The words slip from my lips before I can stop myself. There is no time to apologize, but she just nods in affirmation. I nod back and then turn to face the chaos.
***
The smoke curling out of the stairwells is thick and gray, smelling like electricity and plastic. Fernandes and Rodriques are ordered to enter from the northern side, while Díaz, Rivera, and I make our way inside via the south.
As soon as we move underground, our vision is obstructed by the gray clouds and flickering lights.
Bodies crash into us as people rush toward the exit.
When our feet hit the platform, the real chaos hits us square in the chest. There are flames coming from down the tunnel, somewhere at the front of the train.
People are lying on the platform, in puddles of blood and God knows what else.
The lights in the cars flicker on and off, and there are multiple bodies inside as well.
Some of them are moving, others not. My fingers tremble slightly as I grab for my radio.
“Engine 2, south side, on scene,” I say, voice flat with focus. “Fire at front of the train, multiple entrapments.”
I glance at my meter. Eighteen minutes of air left.
“Engine 2, south side, initiate triage. Air time?”
“Eighteen.”
“Give me PAR and air at two-minute intervals. Move out when air time is at seven.”
“Copy.”
I nod at Díaz and Rivera before we move toward the front of the train.
We don’t run, but we move swiftly. We get lucky.
The door is already pried open and clear for us to enter.
When our boots hit the floor of the train, we push forward.
We tag the injured at the back, telling them to stay low and wait for extraction, before we press forward.
My eyes scan each and every victim. How bad are the injuries?
Can they move? Do they need immediate assistance?
If they don’t, we move on. We need to move those near the fire and assess the risks. I glance at my watch.
“Engine 2, south train. Nearing the front. Multiple victims in need of extraction. PAR 3, Air 16.”
“Update on fire?”
We step into the second-to-last car when the sudden heat blazes at us. We all brace as the hot air curls around us. One glance outside tells us the flames are beneath us. Moving on from here will not be safe.
“Engine 2, south train, heavy fire under floor of car 5. Holding. Multiple victims located. PAR 3, Air 15.”
“Engine 2, hold position. Attack team on the way. ETA 2 minutes.”
I reach into my pocket and grab my tags.
Díaz and Rivera are already moving through the compartment with theirs.
My eyes fall on a black one. An older woman, curled around one of the poles in an unnatural angle.
I swallow and move on. My eyes find another victim, a young man, and I rush over.
Blood is trickling down from a gash at his forehead, and his eyes are searching—blurry but present.
“Hey, can you tell me your name?”
His eyes find me, dazed and confused. For a moment, they roll back in his sockets, and I immediately reach for my red tag. He needs help as soon as possible. When I attach it to him, a slender hand tugs at my sleeve. A young woman stares down at me, shaking and shivering.
“Please help my mother,” she pleads as she gestures to a woman behind her.
“Can you move?” My voice is calm and soothing.
She nods, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Please help her,” she begs again, and I find myself nodding.
“I will, but I need you to get off this train and onto the platform right now. Can you do that for me?”
“No, no, I won’t leave her. Please.”
“Carino,” the woman croaks weakly. “Listen to her. Get out. Help is here now. Get to safety.”
The woman stares at her mother, her eyes large and wet.
I swallow, but place my hand against the small of her back.
I guide her softly forward, toward one of the open doors.
She protests, glancing over her shoulder once again.
Only the determined nod from her mother convinces her otherwise.
My heart sinks into my stomach as she exits the train.
I push the feeling aside and make my way over to the older woman.
Her eyes are warm and gentle, like my own mother’s.
“Hi, I’m Elena,” I find myself whispering.
“Hola, chica, soy Marta,” she whispers back, her voice broken on the words.
My eyes scan her body. Her arm is broken, and there is a bloom of blood on her shirt. I gently lift the fabric. There is a piece of glass sticking out of the soft flesh. The flow of blood seems to have stopped for now, though.
“Marta,” I ask her, “do you think you can hold on a little longer?”
“Sí,” she croaks back. “Take care of those who need it first.”
“You’re a caregiver.” It’s not really a question.
Her smile, though weak, is bright.
“A nurse at De Bellvitge. My daughter just came to pick me up from work.”
I nod. She understands triage, safety. That’s why she didn’t hesitate to send the woman away. I attach a yellow tag around her wrist and nod again. She grabs my arm and squeezes lightly. Nothing about today will be easy—we both know it.