Chapter 59
fifty-nine
The alarm blares, cutting off whatever comeback Logan was about to fire at Brex. Overhead lights flash red, and everyone at the table scrambles as we all jump to our feet and rush down the stairs to the engine bay as a dispatch operator’s voice echoes through multiple walkies.
“Let’s go chase a fire, boys!” Kurtis barks, already grabbing his gear. “Engines One and Three rolling out in five.”
Logan locks eyes with me from across the room as he shrugs on his gear, and my stomach flips, warmth spreading through my veins as the adrenaline kicks in.
“Brex, you’re on the chopper,” Logan orders, stuffing his feet into his boots.
“Already there,” Brex responds. Halfway to the door that leads up to the helipad, he shoots me a quick grin over his shoulder. “See you on the mountain, Pretty.”
As Brex disappears, Logan hurries over, tugging on his helmet. “Follow Dave’s lead. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Green eyes blaze into mine as his lips twitch. “We’ll see how well you can ‘sir’ me when our shift is over, yeah?”
Fifteen minutes later, Dave and I are tearing down a winding road toward the mountain in the LFSR ambulance, sirens wailing, red and blue lights flashing.
The sky above the ridge is already turning yellowish-orange. Ugly black smoke billows up in thick, rolling plumes, blotting out the fading light and the stars just starting to wink to life.
Dave’s got both hands on the wheel, jaw set as he navigates through tight switchbacks.
Adjusting my headset, I check the radio for the third time. “Dispatch, this is Ambulance One. ETA to staging area is approximately twelve minutes. Copy?”
“Copy, Ambulance One. Be advised, ground crews are already on scene. Engine Three and Engine Five have established a perimeter on the east flank. Chopper making its first drop now, so watch your six.”
My gaze flicks to the sky, and sure enough, I can just make out the silhouette of LFSR’s helicopter hovering over the ridge, a long plume of red fire retardant pouring from its belly tank like a bloody waterfall.
God, I hope Brex stays safe up there. The winds have picked up at least two knots since we left the station.
The past few days have been a nightmare.
Storms rolling through every afternoon, lightning strikes all over the county.
LFSR’s been running nonstop: flooding in the Oakridge neighborhood, a kitchen fire at Lakeside Grill that could’ve taken out the whole building if the guys hadn’t gotten there in time, and three separate boating accidents on the lake after a freak microburst capsized a fleet of rental pontoons.
“So, Logan and Brex, huh?” Dave yells over the sirens.
His question comes so far out of left field that it has me squeaking, “What?”
Dave rolls his eyes as he cranks the wheel, squealing into a turn as we chase after one of LFSR’s fire engines.
“Please. We all knew even before you told us.” He shrugs.
“Well, about Brex anyway. We suspected Logan, but we were having a hard time agreeing on which one of them it was. Guess we were all correct.”
“Jeez, Dave. It almost sounds like you guys had a running bet.”
He throws me a quick side-eye.
“Oh, fuck off. No you didn’t.”
“It was Alan’s idea.”
The soft spot I had for Alan dwindles a few notches as my lips twist in annoyance.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I grip the oh-shit handle as Dave takes another hairpin turn, ambulance leaning hard to the right. “There actually was a bet?”
“Not exactly.” Dave has the decency to look somewhat sheepish. “More like... a pool? Alan organized it after what he witnessed at the gala. Everyone threw in twenty bucks.”
“Everyone? As in, everyone, everyone?”
“Alan, Kurtis, Taylor, Justin, a few of the guys from C-shift...” he says, ticking each one of them off with a small nod.
I press my palm against my forehead, equally mortified and amused. “Unbelievable.”
“Don’t look at me. I had my money on Brex from day one,” Dave grins. His easy, lopsided smile makes it impossible to stay mad at him. “The way he looks at you? Dude, it’s like watching a golden retriever with his tongue lolling out begging for a T-bone steak. No offense.”
“Some taken,” I grumble halfheartedly, shaking my head with a grin.
These fucking guys. Sasha did warn me they were nuts. Up until now, I had no idea to what extent.
“Anyway. Alan’s the one who cleaned up. He had both of you on his ticket. Walked away with almost four hundred bucks.”
“Of course he did.” I shake my head, but I’m fighting a smile. “That sneaky little—”
The radio crackles to life, cutting me off.
“Ambulance One, this is Engine Three. We’ve got a firefighter down. Second-degree burns on his right arm. Possible smoke inhalation. Staging area is half-a-mile east of your current position. Over.”
Dave’s expression sobers instantly, all playfulness draining from his face as he reaches for the mic. “Copy, Engine Three. We’re two minutes out. Over.”
My stomach tightens. Firefighter down. Those words instantly suck the air from my lungs and I have to remind myself that it could be anyone. “You don’t think—?”
“I’m sure Logan is fine,” Dave assures me when he sees my face transform. “He’s over on the west flank.”
With a nod, I duck, getting out of my seat to climb in back.
Grabbing the burn kit from the cabinet, I double-check to make sure everything’s stocked and ready.
Gauze, saline, burn gel, pain meds. Working on autopilot, muscle memory takes over while my brain tries not to spiral into worst-case scenarios.
“We’re here.”
I glance up just as the staging area comes into view, ambulance rocking from side to side on the rocky terrain as we pull to a rough stop.
“Let’s go!” Pulling on my safety mask, I sling the burn kit over my shoulder as I grab the oxygen tank from its mount. “You got the trauma bag and the portable monitor?”
“On it!” Already on the move, Dave snatches up the heavy black bag and hoists it onto his shoulder.
Shoving the back doors wide open, we hit the ground running. The air—thick with smoke and heat—smacks me in the face, the acrid bite burning the back of my throat even through the confines of my mask.
The staging area is in chaos. Fire engine hoses snake across the ground like giant pythons. Crews are dotted all over the ridge, shouting over the distant crackle of flames eating through timber as they hack at the ground, digging a containment line.
The med tent is set up about fifty yards away. Through the white canopy flapping in the wind, I can see a couple of yellow turnout coats huddled next to someone sitting on a cot.
“Coming through!” I call, ducking under the flap, Dave nipping at my heels.
A firefighter I don’t recognize, soot streaking his face, waves us over frantically. “Over here! He seems to be getting worse!”
We rush over, each dropping to our knees on either side of the cot.
Right arm cradled against his chest, the firefighters sleeve has been cut away, and the skin underneath is an angry, blistering red from wrist to elbow.
But what really has my pulse spiking is his shallow, rapid breathing.
It has a wet, rattling quality to it. Which means his lungs are full of smoke.
“Hey, my name is Reyna. What’s your name?” I ask, gentle but firm, as I snap on a pair of latex gloves.
“Cody,” he wheezes, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Cody Reeves. Station Five.”
“Cody, I’m going to need you to focus on me, okay?” I set the oxygen tank down and crack it open, grabbing a non-rebreather mask from the kit as Dave starts preparing to check his vitals.
Dave scoots over, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around his left arm before pressing his fingers to Cody’s wrist, searching for his radial pulse.
Carefully fitting the mask over Cody’s nose and mouth, I adjust the strap. “Breathe slow and deep for me. That’s it, buddy. Good job.”
His chest hitches with each inhalation as I press the stethoscope to his chest and listen. A deep rattle hits my ears on the inhale, wheezing on the exhale confirming smoke inhalation.
Damn it.
“BP’s one-forty over ninety,” Dave says, reading the monitor. “Heart rate one-twenty. SpO2 is eighty-six.”
Shit. That’s too low. The oxygen isn’t saturating his blood like it should. His body is struggling to fight the toxins he’s inhaled, and it’s quickly losing the battle.
“Okay, bud. I’m going to need to start an IV,” I warn, tearing into the kit. “We need to get some fluids and medication in you, which should help speed up the process. I know you’re tired. But we need to keep you sitting upright so your lungs can work better, okay?”
Cody nods, and we get to work.