That meant back through the stairwell. Back through the flames.
Warren hauled Jude tight to him, his arm a cage around his waist, then hooked his other hand into the back of Radley’s collar. The man cursed, hopping on his ruined leg, but Warren dragged him forward all the same. The stairwell loomed through the smoke, sagging beams and cracked plaster spilling across the steps, heat rolling down it in waves, scalding, choking, but it was the only way. Warren braced his shoulder under Jude’s ribs, adjusted his grip, and shoved them both up. Every muscle screamed. Jude’s weight was slack, head lolling on Warren’s shoulder. Radley stumbled, grunted, swore, the dead weight of him dragging Warren’s balance.
“Move, you bastard,” Warren growled, hauling him higher. “Or I’ll leave you for it.”
They clambered over splintered timber, glass crunching beneath their boots, the air thick and sour with burning chemicals. Warren’s lungs tore for breath, every inhale scalding, but he kept moving. One step, then another, dragging Radley while keeping Jude tight to his chest. A beam groaned overhead, threatening to come down, when lights cut through the smoke below.
Firefighters.
Figures in full kit and BA, helmets low, torches slicing through the haze as they pushed down the stairwell.
“Two casualties,” Warren called out, lungs burning. “Priority one—head injury, smoke inhalation. Priority two—leg injury, possible fracture. Basement clear!”
The lead firefighter’s beam cut across Warren’s face, paused. “Warren?” The voice carried muffled through the mask, disbelieving. “PE teacher?”
Recognition hit. Reece.
“Long story.” Warren hauled Jude tighter into his arms, blood and soot streaking his curls. “DS Beckford. I’ve cleared it. Repeat, basement clear.”
Reece gave a sharp nod, turning his head. “Steph, priority two.”
The second firefighter stepped in, crouched beside Radley and got him upright in a practiced lift. Radley swore, clutching his leg, but they hauled him towards the stairwell.
Reece straightened, torch beam fixed on Jude. “Priority one’s mine. Hand him over.”
“No.” Warren clutched Jude tighter, voice iron. “He stays with me.”
A beat of silence. Fire roared overhead, timbers cracking. Reece’s visor glinted back at him, but he gave the faintest nod. “Fine. Stay on my shoulder. Don’t drop back.”
“Not planning to.”
“Move!”
They climbed, following the white circles of torchlight, Warren’s boots crunching glass. Each breath was fire. The stairwell groaned, heat pressing from every side, until at last cold air rushed across his face and they burst out into the open. Blue strobes slashed across the night, hose lines hissed, radios crackled, the house behind them still spitting flame into the sky.
“Over here!” A paramedic broke from the cordon, hi-vis catching the blue strobe, kit bag slamming his thigh as he ran. Warren blinked through the haze, recognising the shape of him even before the torchlight hit his face.
Trent.
He hit the gravel hard, dropping to his knees beside them, snapping gloves on with sharp cracks. “Lay him down. Now.”
Warren crouched, Jude locked in his arms. “He’s concussed. Head wound. Smoke inhalation. He needs oxygen.”
“And he’s not getting it while you’re crushing him like that.” Trent swept Jude’s face, hovering a hand over his kit. “Put him down, or you’re going to make it worse.”
Warren couldn’t move. He was locked there, Jude limp in his arms, smoke curling around them. If he let go, it would be over. They’d prise Jude away, work him over, and Warren would be hauled into briefing. He’d undergo another internal investigation. They wouldn’t let him near Jude. Then later they’d tell him he hadn’t made it. And Jude wouldn’t be his anymore. Not to rescue. Not to hold.
Fall in love with.
Reece’s visor caught the firelight as he landed his gloved hand on Warren’s shoulder. “I swear to you, he’s in the best hands Worthbridge has.”
As the fire howled around them, hoses hissing, radios barking, orders cutting through the roar, Warren knew the drill. The procedure. He’d handed casualties over a hundred times before. But this wasn’t any other casualty. This was Jude. And the thought of releasing him, even for a second, ripped panic through his chest like claws.
Trent glanced back, barking to his crewmate. “Liv! Take priority two!” He jerked his chin at Radley being dragged towards the cordon. “Broken leg, smoke inhalation. I’ve got priority one. Need police!” Trent turned back to Warren, his tone shifting, softer but cutting sharper for it. “If you want to help him, then keep hold of his hand. Let me do the rest.”
Reece was called back towards the hose line and another figure stepped in. Uniform, peaked cap, eyes wide. Freddie.
“Jesus, Jude…” He darted his gaze between them, to Warren. “What do you need, Trent?”
