10
Unfit For Duty
The locationof the fire is in Jefferson Park. Jax mentioned some asshole out there is setting fires to apartment buildings. The police still haven’t figured out who’s behind it. Great. Just what my anxiety needs. The alarm goes off more often these days. Maybe there’s a pattern to this maniac’s method? As a firefighter, you’re always looking for patterns in things where there are none. Fires can happen anytime, anywhere, and to anyone. That’s why this job requires a certain amount of comfort with chaos. When I started, I laughed in the face of danger. But after too many brushes with death, my perspective changed. How many times can you get lucky?
There’s an icy tension in the jump seat. It’s me, Joey, Jax, and the probie sitting in a single row, our knees bumping together as the truck barrels over the pothole-ridden roads. Dennis and Manny are up front with the latter at the wheel.
Since no one’s in a chatty mood, we let the sirens do the talking. They’re louder today for some reason. Like they’re burrowing into parts of my brain they haven’t reached before. What I wouldn’t do for some peace and quiet right now. All this noise fills me up with tension from the inside out.
Joey’s words play on repeat in my head like a broken record. “But you’re cool risking all of our lives, huh?”
I close my eyes and go to a happy place. A white-sand beach. Turquoise water shimmering in the sunlight. A pina colada in my hand. The rhythmic slap of the surf against the shore. Penelope at my side.
Thinking of her washes away some of my anger about being ambushed this morning. At leastoneperson’s on my side. And there is, of course, Kailee. All I need in life is my daughter and the woman of my dreams. Everyone else can go to hell in a hand-basket.
“All right, fellas,” Dennis shouts, “clear your heads. Fire doesn’t give a damn about our personal bullshit.”
Can’t argue with that.
Manny swerves right. We’re getting close.
I stretch my shoulder and it immediately lets me know I’m still in a world of hurt.
My lungs haven’t fully recovered either. I can feel it when I try to take a deep breath, like someone poured concrete into my chest and it’s taking up precious space where oxygen belongs.
But that’s not what’s getting to me. I can deal with physical pain. No, it’s not my body. It’s my mind. It’s the constant worry that grows in size like a balloon. I just want to rip off the top of my skull and let it all out.
Be cool.
I’m hyperventilating and getting dizzy too. Not good.
I try to focus on the scenery while controlling my breath. We’re in a drab, middle-class neighborhood filled with brick buildings, most of them the same sickly shade of pale yellow. The sun, so lively and full of promise this morning, seems to have given up on brightening the day. Everything looks dull and colorless. Washed out.
Next, we pass a school. I stare at the grounds, the dead, yellow grass, the snow that has been pushed toward the edges of the field against the chain link fence.
Once we pull up to the fire, I hop off the truck with the others. Jax assess the blaze. It wouldn’t take an aficionado of flames to see that this fire is out of control. Flames rage out of every window, curling eagerly up and over the flat roof in search of more oxygen. We’re a good seventy yards away, but I can feel the heat against the side of my face just the same as if I leaned a little too close to the grill on a Fourth of July weekend.
“Joey,” Jax says, “there’s a plug on the southwest corner. See if you can get a line going with probie.” He turns to me, concern burning in his eyes. “Harp, you’re with me. Let’s see if there’s a way in. Mask up.”
Along with the lieutenant, I hustle into an air tank and throw the oxygen mask around my necks. I seal myself in.
The sound of my own breath is loud. But the fire is even louder.
Jax calls for help over the radio. “We’ve got a 10-75. All hands on deck!”
A 10-75 is a code transmitted when a fire is so severe that it requires the response of four engines, two ladders, two battalion chiefs, one rescue company and squad company.
Joey runs past me, the probie in tow. I notice fear in his eyes.Welcome to the shitshow, rook.
Manny stands on top of the truck and positions the aerial ladder, which swings slowly toward the second-story of the apartment building. On the ground, Dennis waves his arm to help Manny align the ladder.
Pulaskis at hand, me and Jax move around the perimeter of the building in search of an opening.
But there’s no way in, and the flames are getting bigger and angrier. They better hurry up with that line.
We make another pass around the entire building, but still can’t find a viable point of entry. Manny and Dennis climb the angled aerial ladder, holding the side rails and moving with caution. When Manny reaches the second-story window, he jabs at it with his Halligan bar. He clears the shards of glass and proceeds through it.
Jax grabs my shoulder firmly. Even with his oxygen mask on, I can see he’s staring daggers at me. “Enjoying the view, Harp? Let’s get a move on!”
