Yet, weirdly, no matter what scenario runs through my imagination, I really can’t bring myself to feel jealous. Lilashouldbe showered with attention from multiple men. Isn’t that what all women deserve?
If they want it, that is. If they even like men.
Like I said earlier, I’m an ally.
“The fuck are you doing, kid?” Sandy asks from beside me as soon as she’s done barking a response to the captain into her radio.
“Thank you for asking, Sandy. I’m being a genius.”
The older woman lifts an eyebrow at me, but I continue what I’m doing.
Which is, more precisely, trying to figure out how to attach my GoPro harness around the bulk of my firefighting equipment without compromising the functionality of it all. We only have a handful of minutes until we make it to the site, since Clarausually drives this thing like she’s in a real-life game ofGrand Theft Auto, and I refuse to let this brilliant idea of mine fuck up my response time.
When I get the durable little camera secured to my chest, I grin.
“I’m going to livestream it,” I tell Sandy, fumbling for my phone. It’ll stay in the truck, of course, but I can connect my TikTok account to the GoPro and go live.
Just yesterday, I overheard Lila on a call with her coworker Lou, talking about how the fundraising page had hit a plateau. It’s definitely Banks’ fault. With all his ranting and raving about cutting off our funding, why would people be motivated to provide us with private funds?
Of course, Save A Hero and all the other content that Lila has gathered is geared toward showing the public that the people of Station 47 are capable, respectable, and dutiful. We’re focused on saving lives and supporting a safe community more than anything else, as proven by the three main episodes.
But what better way to prove to the people of New York that Station 47 are their dedicated servants than to take them right into the thick of things?
I just had to wait for the right moment, and when the alarms went off to summon us to respond to a big blaze, I knew it was time.
“And we’re live!” I exclaim.
“Don’t you dare get me on camera, boy,” Sandy warns me.
Obediently, I angle my body away from her, instead showing a stream of the city through the engine’s front windshield.
“That, ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between and beyond, was my lovely fellow firefighter, Sandy, who is currently with me in Engine 3 responding to a fire down in Chinatown,” I say into the GoPro, hoping it picks up on my voice despite the cacophony of noise coming from all directions. “And I’m Noah Trent. I’ll be taking you right into the action, showing you all what it’s really like to be a New York City firefighter. It’s the best job in the world, and it’s an honor to get to do it.”
Clara chuckles behind the wheel. “You got a big heart, Trent.”
“Good thing he does, too,” mutters Sandy. “Balances out his small—”
“And what a joy it is to beliveright now,” I quickly interrupt, shooting Sandy a look. “Showing everyone who tunes in every single thing that’s happening.”
Sandy scoffs. “Brain. I was going to say smallbrain.”
“Sure you were,” laughs Clara.
But as soon as we arrive on the scene, the time for laughter and smiles is over. I let all thoughts of the GoPro and the livestreamdrift away as I throw myself out of the engine a few seconds before we’ve fully stopped.
Organized chaos reigns.
The first floor of a classic brick apartment building is glowing with flames, and the second floor has started to smoke up from what I can glimpse through the windows. Worse than that, however, is the fact that the first floor of the building to the left of it is also smoking up, thick and black and menacing, which means the fire has already eaten through the adjoined wall in at least one area.
Dozens of residents have already been evacuated, and many more from Chinatown’s FDNY crew are being carefully guided down the fire escapes of the smokeless building on the other side. They were likely pushed to the higher floors by the smoke, and some are even peering down from the rooftop.
I spot Hargrove jogging toward Chinatown’s captain, who is giving orders to tap the nearest fire hydrant. I hurry over.
“—couple of civilians still inside,” the other captain is saying.
“It’s my wife and son!” shouts a man nearby, currently being held back by another firefighter so that he doesn’t go racing right into the flames. “Apartment 1D! The back of the building! They’re trapped!”
“What he said,” confirms the other captain.
