Fear lances through me. For the first time in my career, I may not make it out alive.
“Don’t even think it,” Cal snaps. “We’re gonna get out, and we’re gonna get him out. I’ve got too much to live for.”
“Two and a half. Get him loaded and get out,” Chief barks. My heart stutters at the tension in his voice.
Too much to live for.
Of the two of us, Cal has a whole life outside of the department. A woman. A kid.
I’m just the fly-by-night guy with no strings anywhere.
“Go.” I snap out of my freeze response and push Cal away. “Get out of here. I’ll keep trying to get him out.” I will pick this man up and run if I have to, backboard be damned.
“I’m. Not. Leaving you,” Cal fires back.
My stomach pitches, and I want to vomit. This can’t happen on my watch. I can’t watch another friend die. And that’s what’s going to happen in mere moments if we don’t move.
Everything speeds up and goes into slow motion at the same time. Images of Maggie fill my head as we double-time pulling him onto the backboard, trying to be careful of his broken legs, but at the same time working faster than we’ve ever had to before.
Mags.
Why are we playing this game? Why are we pretending to be something we aren’t? Why does it matterif Alice gets mad? What about what I want? What Maggie wants?
Cal laces the security straps over the victim’s torso and claps the guy on the shoulder. “Hang tight, Phil. Almost ready.”
“Two feet.”
I’m not as efficient as Cal with the lower body straps. It takes two tries for me to get them into place, straightandsecured. I should’ve kissed Maggie at least once when we were both sober. Why didn’t I fucking kiss her the last time we were together?
“Patient secure,” Cal calls into the radio as I shift my weight to lift. “Let’s go. Phil, stick with us, bud. We’re gonna get you out.”
“One and a half. Get out. Now.” Chief’s voice is as commanding as I’ve ever heard, and the drive behind it forces me into action.
We lift the patient over the debris and breach the hallway that allows us clear access to the rear of the building, sliding the backboard onto the stretcher and racing to safety.
We sprint to the ambulance at the secure area as Chief runs out of the building. Any second now, that secondary explosion is going to happen.
Seconds shift to minutes to what feels like an hour, while Kate, Leo, and Cal get the stretcher loaded and the medics begin working.
No explosion happens.
“I’ll drive them to the LZ,” Cal says.
“Life flight’s been called?” Reality feels fuzzy, like everywhere I look, the edges of the world are slightly out of focus.
Still no explosion from the facility behind us. Over theradio, Chief relays that the team cooling the extruders was able to get the thing cooled down, and the flow stopped its progress. Mere inches from destruction.
“Yeah, on standby at the soccer fields.”
Numbness blankets me as my friends pull away, taking our patient to meet the helicopter at the landing zone. I head back to my truck, standing by, waiting for the next shoe to drop.
I didn’t die today.
“Jackson.” Chief’s growly voice pulls me back to reality. “You okay?”
I didn’t die today.
“Yeah, sure thing, Chief,” I lie through a thick throat.
