The building groaned above me. Metal expanding in heat, joints failing, the structure starting to buckle. I knew that sound. Knew what it meant.
I had minutes. Maybe less.
"AVA!"
Then, a shape through the smoke. Pale against the dark floor. An arm. Fingers curled against the tile.
I knew before I reached her.
I was there in seconds, dropping to my knees.
Ava.
She was unconscious, slumped against the base of the bar like she'd tried to crawl toward the exit before the smoke took her. Her face was pale beneath the soot, her lips tinged blue. Not breathing. Or barely breathing—I couldn't tell through the gear, couldn't feel for breath with my gloves on.
No time to check. Only time to get her out.
I hauled her up, got her over my shoulder in a fireman's carry. She felt impossibly light. Made my muscles forget they were supposed to be tired.
The front door was blocked. Flames had spread across the entrance while I searched, turning my way in into a wall of flame.
I turned. Scanned the smoke. There—a window on the side wall. Glass cracked from the heat.
I crossed the room in four strides, used my elbow to knock out the remaining shards, and pushed Ava through first. As gently as I could. Then I was following, hauling myself over the sill, hitting the pavement outside.
Cool air. I hadn't realized how much I needed it.
I ripped off my mask, dropped to my knees beside Ava, fingers already searching for a pulse.
Weak. But there.
She wasn't breathing.
I tilted her head back, cleared her airway. My hands knew what to do. The rest of me was falling apart
Rescue breaths. One. Two.
"Come on," I muttered between breaths. "Come on, Ava. Don't do this to me. Stay with me."
One. Two.
Her body convulsed. She coughed—a horrible, wracking sound, but the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard—and then she was gasping, sucking in air, her eyes fluttering open.
"That's it." I pulled her onto her side, let her cough out the smoke. "Breathe."
Shane dropped beside me with an oxygen tank and mask. I grabbed it from him, pressed it to Ava's face, and watched the mask fog with each exhale.
"Medics are two minutes out," Shane said. His voice broke. "Brian?—"
"She's breathing." I couldn't look away from her. Couldn't stop watching her breathe, tracking each inhale like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. "She's breathing."
Behind us, the restaurant groaned and collapsed inward. A shower of sparks erupted into the night sky, flames roaring higher as they found new fuel.
I didn't look back.
Engine 295 and two other companies worked the blaze. Hose lines snaked across the pavement. Water arced into the flames with a hiss and roar. Rodriguez's voice carried over the chaos, calling commands. Garrett was somewhere in the rotation, doing the job we'd trained for.
They'd fight until the last ember was out. That's who we were.
