Chapter 5 Carmen
CARMEN
Teacups was a scene out of a nightmare. Smoke poured from the front windows, thick and dark, and the smell of burning wood, sugar, and something chemical hit Carmen the moment they got close.
Fire trucks crowded the street. People stood in clusters behind barriers, faces pale, some crying, some filming on their phones.
Willa slowed near the perimeter, and firefighters waved her through when they saw her. She drove in, parked, and then killed the engine.
Carmen’s hands were already moving, grabbing her medical bag, checking her radio, slipping into the role that had been drilled into her for years.
“Did you tell your mother this?” Carmen demanded suddenly as they climbed out, because the question still burned. “Or Director Dillinger?” She glanced at Willa. “About your suspicions.”
“Most of it,” Willa admitted, and then her gaze flicked to Carmen, serious. “But Margo and I don’t know how much we can trust Director Dillinger with the last part yet.”
Carmen frowned. “Which last part?”
Willa’s expression tightened. “Not now,” she said quickly. “Please don’t say anything to Mom or the director.”
Carmen swallowed her frustration. “I won’t,” she promised. “And you don’t have to worry about me saying anything to Director Dillinger. We’re not friendly.”
Willa looked like she wanted to respond, but a firefighter rushed over, face flushed, eyes wide.
“Captain Parker,” he called, relief flooding his voice. “Thank goodness you’re here.”
Willa’s posture shifted instantly, command settling over her like armor. “Fill me in on what’s happening,” she demanded.
Carmen didn’t wait to listen because June’s voice and the sirens and the chaos had already pulled her toward the ambulances.
“We’ll chat later,” Carmen called quickly to Willa, because she meant it. She did want to hear more. She wanted to drag the whole story out into the light and shake it until the truth fell out.
“Of course,” Willa said, already turning away, and then she looked back at Carmen for a heartbeat. “Be careful.”
“You too, sweetheart,” Carmen replied, and then she jogged toward her rig.
June was near the barrier, flanked by Holt and Zane Evans, all three of them watching the building with the kind of tense stillness that said they were trying not to imagine what was happening inside.
June’s face was pale, eyes bright with fear and fury, and Carmen’s chest tightened because it didn’t matter how old June was or how sharp she’d become. Carmen would always see her as her younger sister first.
Carmen moved quickly toward them. “June.”
June turned, relief flashing across her face for half a second. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Where are Margo and Rad?” Carmen asked.
Holt’s gaze flicked toward Carmen. “They’re still inside,” he said, his voice controlled but tight. “Ace has just gone in to find them.”
Zane’s eyes stayed fixed on the building. “We’ve got crews in position,” he said, tone clipped and professional. “We’re trying to keep the fire from rolling into the roofline.”
Carmen’s gaze swept Teacups, taking in the way the smoke was pouring out, the way the heat shimmered near the windows. She could hear the crackle of fire even over the alarms.
“Tell me what happened,” she demanded.
“I arrived at the same time Rad was leaving,” Zane was the one who answered. “We were catching up when customers started rushing out of the coffee shop right before the fire alarm went off and smoke started billowing out of the shop.”
“How did Margo get trapped inside?” Carmen asked, her heart thudding.
“A customer who ran out just before Margo realized her daughter was still in the bathroom,” June explained. “Margo told the customer to go and that she’d go back in and get the child.”
“Margo managed to get the little girl out of the bathroom window, but Margo couldn’t fit through it,” Zane finished the story.
“By then, the smoke inside was already very bad,” June continued. “She managed to call me and ask if the little girl was okay. Zane told me to tell Margo to get low, cover her mouth with a wet towel or piece of material.”
Carmen’s stomach dropped.
“By then, Rad had already rushed in after Margo with Ace not too far behind him,” Zane told Carmen, then turned to Holt. “I’m sorry, Holt, I told Rad not to go, but he ignored me.”
“That’s what he does,” Holt muttered, and Carmen could hear the fear under the slice of anger, “My son tends to jump in both feet first.”
Carmen’s mind raced with what they may be treating. Smoke inhalation and heat exposure, hopefully, no burns. Medical scenarios stacked in her brain like cards.
“So who all is in there now?” Carmen asked.
June’s voice cracked. “Ace, one other firefighter, Rad, and Margo.”
“No, the firefighter came back out,” Holt told her.
“Oh,” June said. “I didn’t see that.”
Just then, Carmen felt June stiffen and suck in a breath. Carmen followed her gaze and frowned. She watched a firefighter move near the entrance, pulling on gear, and in the chaos, Carmen couldn’t immediately identify who it was, but the way June’s face changed told her enough.
“Willa,” June breathed, and the word sounded like a prayer and a curse at the same time. “What on earth is she doing?”
“Don’t panic. Willa knows what she’s doing.” Carmen moved closer to her sister, their shoulders brushing, grounding her. “She’ll be okay. ” Her voice was firm and positive as she needed June to believe what she just said. Heck, Carmen needed to believe it herself.
June didn’t reply. She just stood stiff-shouldered, staring ahead.
The next minutes stretched into something that didn’t feel like time anymore. It felt like waiting in a hallway outside an operating room, listening for footsteps that might tell you whether your world was about to shatter.
Firefighters moved like machines, controlled and fast. Hoses sprayed, the smoke shifted, and someone shouted orders that Carmen couldn’t fully hear.
And then, finally, a shape appeared near the entrance. It was Willa.
She burst out of Teacups, coughing, hauling someone with her, and Carmen’s breath left her lungs as she recognized Margo’s limping form.
Margo was coughing a lot, and her face was grey with soot. Her chest rose and fell, but shallowly, and Carmen didn’t need a monitor to know she’d inhaled far too much smoke.
“That’s my cue,” Carmen muttered, and she turned sharply toward her crew, voice snapping into command. “Get the gurney. And have enough oxygen ready, as well as the nebulizer kit on standby. We’re treating smoke inhalation and possible heat exposure. Move!”
Her team surged into motion, younger than Carmen liked, but trained, and adrenaline made them quick.
A second ambulance arrived at the same moment, and Carmen’s eyes flicked toward it as the back doors opened.
Dr. Lucy Tanner climbed out, already in medical mode, and Carmen’s chest tightened again because Lucy’s presence meant the clinic ambulance had come too.
Lucy’s gaze locked on Margo instantly. With no hesitation and no unnecessary questions, Lucy moved fast toward her.
Margo was laid onto the gurney with care, Willa hovering for a second, coughing hard, her eyes wild, and then Willa stepped back as Carmen’s team took over.
Lucy checked Margo’s airway in one smooth motion, her hands steady, her voice calm. “Margo, sweetheart, stay with me. Breathe if you can. Don’t fight it.”
Margo made a weak sound that might’ve been a cough or a sob. Lucy didn’t flinch.
Carmen’s gaze snapped back to the building because she was still missing two others, and then relief flooded her when Ace appeared seconds later, stumbling out with Rad.
Rad was coughing violently, soot streaked across his face, his shirt damp with sweat and smoke. Ace looked worse than he should have, and Carmen’s EMT brain registered it instantly. Ace’s breathing was too fast. His cough was too deep. He’d pushed too hard.
But Rad was the priority, because Rad looked like he might collapse at any second.
Carmen’s crew moved in, guiding Rad toward her rig, and Carmen’s hands were already on him, checking for burns, checking his pulse, checking his breathing.
“Rad,” Carmen said sharply, forcing eye contact. “Stay with me. Don’t sit down until I tell you.”
Rad’s eyes were watery from smoke and heat. “How’s Margo?” he rasped.
Carmen shoved the oxygen mask over his face, securing it quickly. “Breathe,” she ordered. “In through your nose if you can. Slowly.”
Rad’s hand lifted weakly, trying to pull the mask off. Carmen caught it. “No,” she said, firm. “You keep that on.”
“Margo,” Rad tried again, voice thick. “Is she…”
“I don’t know yet,” Carmen answered honestly, because lying to someone in that state was cruel. “We’ll find out at the hospital. Lucy’s with her.”
Rad’s eyes squeezed shut as if the relief hurt. Carmen kept her hand on his shoulder, grounding him as her crew loaded him into her ambulance.
Margo was already being loaded into the clinic ambulance with Lucy, and Carmen watched for one heartbeat as Lucy climbed in with her, face set in that focused, clinical calm that only cracked when nobody was watching.
Then Carmen turned back to Rad, because she didn’t have the luxury of watching anything else.
Inside the ambulance, Rad sat on the gurney, oxygen mask on, his chest heaving. Carmen adjusted the flow, checked his pulse ox, and listened to his breathing with her stethoscope, her brow tightening at the wheeze under the cough.
“You inhaled a lot of smoke,” Carmen told him, keeping her tone calm but serious. “Your lungs are irritated, and your throat’s going to feel like sandpaper. You keep that mask on.”
Rad nodded weakly, then pulled the mask off anyway, coughing so hard his whole body shook.
Carmen snapped it back over his face, not gently. “Rad,” she warned, “you’re going to make this worse if you keep pulling it off.”
His eyes met hers, glassy and desperate. “How is she?” he rasped.