So I briefly removed my respirator and fit it over her face. Then I thumbed the purge valve so fresh air hissed into her lungs.
Hot smoke clawed at my throat instantly, making my eyes water, and I was hit with the uncontrollable urge to cough. I quickly reined it in, then showed her how to hold her breath, encouraging her to do the same.
Her eyes widened and her muscles tensed. She was terrified, but at least she was coming back to me.
“Lawrence, this is command. Report.”
“With victim. Southeast office area closet,” I coughed out. “Request backup for extraction.”
“Command copies, en route. Clear a path.”
I showed her how to take shallow breaths of the smoky air to minimize coughing, then gestured to the door.
I took another hit from the respirator and had her do the same. Then with it back in place, I crouched low, hooked my arms under her shoulders, and dragged her. Every few feet, I stopped to give her a hit off my respirator, then moved as quickly and safely as I could.
As I slowly headed back the way I came, I kept my attention on her while also reading the fire as best as I could, noting the hisses of air, the pops of the joists, and the screams of the alarms in the distance.
We were about thirty feet from the exit when my teammates found us.
“This is command. Ceiling collapse. South hallway. Get them out now.”
“Got her,” Polanski shouted, taking Evie from me. He continued dragging her toward the doorway while Olsen pulled me along.
“He’s got her,” someone yelled from outside. “Move that line.”
Finally, we exited, and I tore my helmet and mask off, choking, my eyes streaming with tears as cool air slapped me in the face.
The radio crackled. One of the guys on my crew hauled me up. My vision was blurred, my ability to process hampered by all the coughing.
“Victim recovered. Extraction team is out. EMS, take over.”
I was lowered to the asphalt again. On my hands and knees, I coughed, my ribs screaming in pain.
Through the haze, I could see an ambulance. The medics were there. With Evie on a stretcher and an oxygen mask on her face.
Awake. Alive.
Chapter 39
Evie
The monitors hummed, one beeping steadily as Jasper’s chest rose and fell rhythmically. He looked wrong in the hospital bed, too pale against the sheets, too frail with an oxygen cannula taped under his nose and the IV snaking into the back of his hand.
His eyelashes were clumped with soot, his skin streaked black.
I lingered in the doorway in my borrowed hospital scrubs, my hair still smelling like smoke, my heart filled with so much love for this man. But also rage. White-hot rage.
The swollen door had actually helped keep some of the smoke and soot out of my tiny nursing room, so I’d only suffered minor smoke inhalation. Jasper seemed to have taken on more.
Josh sat near his brother’s bed, while Jess, who’d shown up shortly after we arrived, rocked Vincent in my hospital room.
“How’s he doing?” I asked Josh as he stood and shuffled my way.
“Dangerously high carbon monoxide levels and mild burns in his airway.” He shook his head.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmured. “He kept giving me the mask.”
I’d replayed the moment over and over. The door bursting open. His voice cutting through the fire, the hiss of air when he pressed that mask over my face. He could have died in there.
