The alarm goes off. The high-pitched beep feels like a needle going into my brain.
Manny tosses the magazine to the side and stands up.
Titties, crosswords, and fighting fire—just another morning at Station 37.
Jax enters the bay, his face displaying a profound worry. “Guys . . . the address . . . it’s Dennis’s place!”
We peel out from the station like a race car. We’re all focused on our brother who might be in dire straits. Please let him be okay. I just got one hell of a pit in my stomach, because Jax just received more information over the radio about the situation at the lieutenant’s house. Apparently, there was some kind of explosion.
Dennis lives in Skokie, in a house on the same block where he grew up. It’s a nice, quiet, residential neighborhood, filled with modest, one-story houses and well-manicured lawns. We turn onto Dennis’s street and see the blaze right away. The flames roar into the sky like they’re trying to ignite the clouds above. There’s a cluster of cops hanging out by the curb. My heart’s in my mouth.
And then I see him, sitting on the curb, surrounded by the officers. Dennis. Alive and well . . . or if not well, in one piece at least. And definitely not on fire. Right next to him is his golden retriever, Newman (named after Paul, Dennis’s favorite actor). The loyal dog is on edge, understandably, and keeps barking at the raging flames. Dennis tries to sooth the animal, patting him on his side.
Manny pulls to the curb and we all hop out. Action stations. Jax approaches Dennis, who stands up and gives him a wry smile.
“Took you fellas long enough,” the mild-mannered lieutenant says.
“Yeah, well, blame the probie,” Joey says, appearing behind Jax. “Guy gets into his turnout gear like he’s trying on a wedding dress. Ain’t that right, probie?” Joey slaps him vigorously on the back.
The blonde rookie opens his mouth to protest but Jax cuts him off.
“He can make up for it by helping you get on top of the hot spots inside. Ventilate, ventilate, contain, contain. I’m worried about that spruce tree on the Charlie side. If that goes up it could ignite the neighbor’s house. Let’s move, boys!”
After calling for another engine over his two-way radio, Jax turns to me and says, “Let’s get a line going, see if we can’t get on top of this thing before it makes Dennis’s ugly house even uglier.”
I’m ready. I feel anxious, sure, but it’d be worried if I didn’t. Fear is good, just not too much of it. And I don’t feel that overwhelming sense of dread that took over my body and at the last time.
Jax and I set up the line and drag it over to the Delta side, where the flames are densest. A not-too-friendly fireball greets us as we approach. It passes right over Jax’s head, causing him to lean back quickly and fall onto the lawn.
“She’s feisty,” Jax says, standing back up and adjusting his helmet.
“Let’s give her hell,” I respond. I’m filled with purpose. Every part of me locked in on the task at hand.
Me and Jax move methodically along the wall, trying to get on top of this thing. But we’re outmatched. It’s like trying to trip an NFL running back with a straw. We need another line and we need it fast. That second truck better haul ass if we want to leave behind more than a patch of rubble.
“Knock out that window!” Jax shouts.
With a pike pole in hand, I run up to the house and thrust the six-foot tool at the glass. Shards fill the superheated air like an evil batch of confetti and out of sheer instinct I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my head. As I do, a piece of glass slashes across my visor. I don’t feel any pain from the wound, just the blanketing sensation of heat.
“Whoa!” Jax cries out. “You alright?”
“I’m dandy.” I’m not gonna let a little scratch get between me and salvaging what’s left of Dennis’s home. I don’t care how anxious I am. I’ll deal with it. I turn back to the intense blaze.Is that all you got? ’Cause it’s gonna take a lot more than that to break my spirits today.
Jax directs the hose stream through the window into the bedroom on the other side. I think I see movement in the hallway, but there’s a thick plume of greyish-black smoke making it impossible to make out what’s going on inside.
You do this job long enough, you start to develop a kind of sixth sense for things. And my sixth sense is telling me that whoever’s inside better get out. Right. Now. Was it a sound that tipped me off? Some creaking overhead? Or was it the heat, trapped in the bedroom like an angry genie that just wants out?
Who knows. But I don’t hesitate or question what my gut is telling me. I spin around. Jax is talking into his two-way. “Transmit another alarm. I need more manpower!”
“Jax!”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going in. I think someone’s inside.”
Fear flashes across the lieutenant’s features but he quickly makes his expression stern—the look of a true leader.
Next thing I know I’m through the front door, inside the house. The hallway is a tunnel of smoke, with flames pressing in on me from the right, spilling out of the bedroom and threatening to engulf the entire house. I hear a voice and move toward it.
