Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
SAVANNAH
I bolt into the locker room to find Brodie and Springer already there.
Springer winks at me as he tugs on his pants. “Brodie’s joining us in Ladder Eight.”
“Copy.” My tummy flip-flops and I shrink under my coat.
I don’t know if it’s what we were just doing in the washroom, or his assurances that I won’t be handling my dad alone, or the idea of him seeing me doing the job for real, but I now have even more adrenaline than usual coursing through my veins.
I complete my routine and pace to the apparatus as Springer reaches the door on the opposite side, flinging it open for Brodie to climb in first.
Meaning it will be Romeo in the front with Choke, and then me, Brodie, and Springer wedged together on the rear seat.
My eyes meet Brodie’s as we land in our places. He gulps like he’s also dealing with some excess adrenaline.
Choke’s already positioned behind the wheel.
He turns back when we’re seated and grins as Brodie snaps on his headset. “Good to have you on board, buddy. Suspected code three. Residential structure fire. Three-story wood-frame converted multi-unit. Nine and Twelve also en route.”
It’s the only warning we get before he switches on the lights and heads in the direction of the park, Mullet and Trip following in the support truck.
Four blocks later, we screech to a stop outside a converted three-story heritage house, smoke billowing into the cloudy sky.
It’s immediately clear this isn’t a false alarm.
And worse, it’s an identikit-style property to the one I grew up in.
My pulse thuds, but I bury it. I have a job to do.
As ever, the drills, the PT, the camaraderie between us means we work as one unit with defined roles. Communicating in non-verbal signals. Anticipating each other’s moves.
In minutes, Ladder Eight’s aerial ladder is deployed, lines are unrolled, and our breathing apparatus set.
Romeo and Mullet lead the building recce. I work the hydrants with Choke. Scores of folks are on the sidewalk and Trip contains them as Nine arrives on the scene, bringing two additional engines and eight more crew.
The fire is currently isolated to the Bravo apartment on the second floor, but the unit’s interior front door is inaccessible with flame breaching the corridor. With access blocked, there’s a high probability people are trapped.
All of this happens in a flash. It’s something that took me a while to get used to without feeling like I had whiplash.
Lightning-fast but controlled. Every decision, movement, and action is measured, calculated, and economical, earning maximum results in the shortest time possible.
It’s the only way to operate when lives are at risk.
Springer’s in command and spits out the course of action. “East. Trip. Alpha window to initiate primary search and begin offensive attack when clear. Romeo. Mullet. Follow behind. Nine to approach the apartment’s Alpha door from inside the building. Let’s go.”
Armed with the nozzle end of the line, I take to the ladder, Trip spotting me from the lower platform.
Being the second floor, it isn’t far to climb, but it’s physically grueling work.
The weight of the line, the incline, the cumbersome protective equipment and breathing apparatus—it all ramps up the intensity.
In no time, sweat is pooling down my back.
I push on and reach the window. Step one: Check if it can be opened.
Step two: Break the glass if it can’t. I give the signal and then apply my spring-loaded punch to the bottom corner of the window pane.
The glass shatters instantly and I clear the shards, giving Trip the all-clear that we’re good to move on.
The room I enter is an open-plan living space complete with kitchen. It’s thick with gray smoke but clear of active flame. I get my bearings as Trip joins me, followed close behind by Romeo. We gesture to indicate our paths, Romeo and Mullet taking the Bravo wall, me and Trip on the Delta route.
Nozzle primed, I nudge my way through the dense air, bumping into furniture and tripping on a pair of shoes, when I spot something move.
A small foot poking from behind the couch.
I gesture to Trip and he steps up to lead the line while I check the casualty.
It’s a young girl, maybe around nine or ten.
Her face is streaked with tears and she’s struggling to breathe.
Jesus. She’s petrified.
Mullet joins as I review her vitals and we assess the course of action via shorthand gestures. He signals his plan to evacuate via Alpha window, but I’m distracted. This kid is young. There’s a high probability she isn’t alone in here.
I turn back to the girl and try to communicate. She recoils, her face crumpling in response. My breathing apparatus. She’s only seeing a mask. And to her, in this moment, I must look like a fucking monster towering over her.
Ripping my mask from my face, the acrid smoke immediately burns my throat. It’s a terrible decision and goes against the very core of my training, but I’m no longer thinking like a firefighter.
Gripping the girl’s arms, I yell over the background noise of the lines being deployed. “Mom? Dad? Are they here? Where?”
The girl doesn’t respond.
Mullet snatches at my mask, yanking it back into place before picking up the girl. I grab at him. I can’t let him take her. Not until I—
She raises her head and mouths one word. “Mommy.”
I launch myself at Mullet to stop him from leaving. Screaming over and over inside my mask. “Where? Where? Where’s your mom?”
The girl’s head falls to his shoulder as if she’s losing consciousness from the smoke but just as I’ve given up hope of a response, she lifts an arm and points.
Ahead and to the right.
Bingo.
I turn back to the room, my throat raw and lungs tight, but it doesn’t matter. I got what I needed. The girl’s mother is here and she’s not dying on my watch.
Romeo and Trip are both now battling active fire surging from a door to the left, near the apartment’s entrance point.
I barrel over, gesture that there’s another casualty, and push forward without waiting for support.
Through more smoke, darker gray in color, I locate a short corridor and two further doors.
Both are closed but one has heavy black smoke billowing from under it.
Fuck.
Adrenaline has my heart thumping. I need to get in there.
I try the handle but it doesn’t budge. I push against the door. Nothing.
I’m aware Trip is behind, likely indicating I should wait for the Halligan to pry open the door, but I don’t have time. I need to get inside this room. Now.
Putting my full weight behind my shoulder, I shove forward.
The door still resists. Panic uncurls inside my gut and I get the briefest flash of something else.
Another time, another door, the exact same situation.
But I was too young then. Too small. Too weak.
I’m not that girl anymore. I’ve trained for this moment. I’m strong enough to handle this now.
Clearing my head and killing the memories, I focus on putting all my energy into my third attempt to open the door, hitting it with full force.
This time it gives way with a crack, and I fall face first into the room.
Righting myself on my knees, I scramble to stand.
I’m in a bedroom with delicate yellow wallpaper and a ton of noxious smoke.
I scan the space, sweat and stress making my eyes sting behind my mask, and then I spot a woman’s lifeless body splayed on the floor by the bed.
And I also locate the source of the smoke: fire licking along the exterior wall toward her.
I dash to the woman.
A quick check of her vitals tells me things are not good.
She’s breathing, but barely. I need to get her out of here.
Gathering her into my arms, I attempt to stand, but it’s impossible.
My legs won’t cooperate. My muscles feel like jelly.
Any strength I had has been spent getting me to this point.
But the woman isn’t going to make it unless I get her out of here.
I make one last-ditch attempt to stand, frustration eating me alive.
Come on, Savannah. Move. Get the fuck up.
A hand lands on my shoulder, firm and steady. Trip. He hands off the line to me and then gently separates the woman’s limbs from mine, strapping her to his shoulder with ease.
I watch him disappear into the smoke and then turn my attention to the flames, directing the nozzle, opening the bale, and going into full attack mode.
Time passes. How much, I have no idea. Could be minutes. It could even be hours.
I sense other crew arriving. Movement around me.
But I remain in place. Numb. Reeling. And I stay like that until Romeo appears next to me, giving the signal that the fire has been contained.
I blink, the scene around me coming into focus, the blur of smoke clearing to reveal a drowned, blackened husk of an apartment teeming with an army of firefighters.
As if he can sense that I’m not quite okay, Romeo carefully removes the line from my hands and indicates for me to exit.
With the apartment’s Alpha door taped off, I return to the window I entered by.
Pausing briefly, I look out at the scene below. There’s a ton of emergency vehicles lined up, their red and blue lights clashing against the sky. It’s epic. Like something from an action movie. By far the biggest emergency I’ve experienced since it was my own house going up in flames as a kid.
I frantically scan for any sign of the little girl and her mom, my mask hot and suctioned tight to my skin.
Nothing.
I need to know if they’re okay. I need to know the mom made it.
Turning, I hit the aerial ladder at speed, my feet stumbling on the rungs until I reach the bottom platform and can jump to the ground. I tear my mask from my face.
Springer sprints over, face crumpled with concern. “East. You hurt? What happened?”
“The woman. Where is she?” My voice is scratchy and hoarse.
“The casualty Trip recovered?”