Hargrove claps me on the shoulder. He doesn’t need to say anything. With a nod, we head in.
At first, it’s all smoke. I forget about the camera strapped to my chest, forget about everything except following my captain’s lead, listening to my instincts, and relying on my training.
The main fire seems to have caught in the front left apartment. The hallway is dense with smoke, and I double-check that my oxygen is on. Together, Hargrove and I maneuver smoothly around a low blanket of flames catching fast on the outdated carpeting.
“Electrical fire,” comes crackling through on my radio. “It’s in the walls.”
“Shit,” I say out loud, though not even Hargrove can hear me right now.
The door to 1D is at the end of the hall, and it’s hanging wide open. Hargrove heads in first.
Inside, fire is already chewing up the cheap, brittle plaster on the left side of the apartment. Wires spark in the smoky dimness where they’ve been exposed.
Suffice to say, that’s pretty bad.
Luckily, we find the civilians easily. It’s a tiny apartment, and it only takes us a minute to search the kitchen, the bedroom, andthe living room before we share a look to confirm that the last place to look is the bathroom, which is currently guarded by a sizable blaze.
They must have been shut in there while the fire grew, and by the time they realized they had to get out, the doorknob was too hot to touch.
Hargrove, unbothered by the flames, reaches right through the fire and yanks open the door.
There’s a woman huddled on the bathmat, cradling a boy who must be three or four years old to her chest. He’s swaddled in a towel printed with cartoon ducklings and is wearing blue pajama pants, clearly having been in the middle of bath time when the fire started.
The woman starts sobbing the moment she sees us. Hargrove stoops and reaches for her son. Her instincts tell her to fight back, holding on tight to the boy for a few seconds before her mind catches up and reminds her that we’re here to help. The boy is already crying, but the captain is unbothered as he hands the kid off to me.
“It’s okay! It’ll be okay. I’ve got you,” I say to the kid, though it probably sounds freaky through the scary helmet on my head—if he can even hear me in the first place.
Hargrove helps the woman up. She seems to be having a full-blown panic attack, which means it takes him only a handful of seconds to decide it’s more efficient to carry her out.
I turn to go. The kid starts screaming at the top of his lungs, repeating the same syllables over and over. He kicks me as if trying to get down, reaching back toward Hargrove and the woman, who are now behind me.
“My mom,” he must be shouting.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I try to tell him, holding him tight against me so the flames don’t get him as I carefully navigate out of the apartment. “Everything is going to be okay.”
The boy screams the entire way out, fighting me with all his toddler strength. I can’t really blame him. I look pretty scary when I’m all geared up.
Outside, the father comes rushing forward. He takes the boy from me. I rip my helmet off as soon as my arms are free and gulp down real oxygen.
Hargrove carries the woman to the opposite side of the street, where Reyes and a Chinatown EMT are already waiting to treat her.
I glance down at the GoPro, the red light indicating that it’s still going. I scan the vicinity, ensuring that I’m not urgently needed, then explain for whatever online audience has gathered, “Not every response we’re called to is that dramatic, but as you can see, we’re quick and efficient and we never miss a—”
“Trent! The kid! The fucking kid!”
I whirl around at the sound of Sandy’s shout, my stomach dropping when I realize what I’m looking at. She’s currently working in tandem with another firefighter to hold back the father once again, who has lost his grip on his son and is desperately trying to go after him.
The toddler is more agile than any reasonable person would expect, and is running right back into the burning building.
I’m closest, so I shove my helmet back on, not caring to secure the oxygen mask properly before I run at full speed and dive back into the inferno.
I catch up to the kid when he’s already halfway down the hall. He shrieks so loud when I grab him that I think I go deaf for a few seconds. His tiny foot lands an impressive kick dangerously close to my groin, and he starts screaming those same two syllables again.
“Your mom is outside!” I say to him, trying to drag him back to safety. “Your mom is safe!”
“My dog!” hollers the boy.
“Dog? You have a dog in there? A real dog?”
