I reach the top and pull my self–contained breathing apparatus down over my face as I hear Chief calling through the radio to me.
“Go on ventilation, Bert.” And that’s all I need to know. I’m good to go.
Smashing the glass window with my Halligan, I duck down as low as I can on the ladder. The hot thick air, full of smoke and potentially toxic gases, rushes out through the broken glass.
“Go, go, go!” Rosco calls from below me on the ladder, as he has a better view of the window than I do.
Quickly clearing the jagged glass around the edges of the window, I lift my leg in and maneuver through to stand inside the building. Monitoring the floor for structural stability, I start moving forward, checking for anyone who might still be stuck up on this level. Rosco is now inside the building, doing the same as me. We work from room to room, clearing each one and not finding any squatters thankfully. We shut the doors on the rooms we’ve checked, trying to cut off the oxygen that’s feeding the fire. I can hear the chief’s voice through the radio warning us that we’re running out of time. The fire is raging underneath us now, and at any moment, we could lose the floor below us.
We’re at the end of the hallway, and I signal to Rosco that I’ll take the room on the right and he’ll take the left. The smoke is blanketing the room, obscuring my vision but at the last minute,I see what looks like a body curled up in the fetal position under the window.
“Rosco, I’ve got one adult,” I call into my radio as I rush over and crouch down to check if they’re still alive. As I roll the woman onto her back, I realize she’s clutching onto what looks like a baby wrapped in a blanket, face covered. “Plus, a baby,” I scream into the radio as I hear Rosco stomping into the room behind me.
“Take the baby,” he yells while he bends down and checks on the woman.
“Woman is breathing, very shallow,” Rosco calls into the radio, and I try to unwrap the bundle in my arms. I’m guessing Mom was trying to protect her by wrapping her up and keeping her safe from the smoke. As I finally uncover the baby’s face, I’m shocked to see their eyes open and close again, looking up at me.
“Baby’s breathing too,” I relay in the radio.
“Ladder 19 and Engine 25, evacuate now. I repeat, evacuate now!” Chief’s booming voice comes through the radio, repeating his orders over and over again as I help Rosco stand with the unconscious woman over his shoulder. Then we’re off down the hallway toward the window as fast as we can.
If the evacuation order has been given, then we don’t have time to mess around. I can see the shadow of one of my crew at the window, ready to help. Getting closer, I see it’s Adams, and he’s standing just inside the window, straps in hand to help with getting the patient down the ladder. He gestures at me to get out and take the baby with me down the ladder while he and Rosco maneuver the woman.
There’s no time to second-guess anything in these situations. I tuck the baby inside my fire jacket and am out the window, pushing my oxygen mask off and sliding down the rungs with speed because I can see Russ at the bottom waiting for me to get down. The moment my feet hit the roof of the truck, he runsup the ladder to see if he can help getting the patient moving. Rushing down the steps on the truck, I run to one of the waiting EMTs who are ready with a clear gurney and what looks like a pediatric-size oxygen mask.
Ripping my jacket open, I can feel the movement against my body of this little one, which is a huge relief, although they’re far from out of the woods yet. Smoke inhalation can kill so easily.
Laying the baby down on the gurney, the EMTs quickly strip the blanket and the baby’s clothes off to check for any injuries. That’s when I see it’s a little boy, and he protests loudly at being naked and everyone poking and prodding him, looking down his throat for smoke burns.
He’s so tiny, I’m guessing only a few weeks old, although we don’t know anything about the mother and her background. If she’s a drug-user or a heavy drinker during her pregnancy, it can lead to a smaller baby. Or sadly, she could just be malnourished which will also impact the baby. Either way, hopefully she’ll be fine too and the doctors will get her some help. A better place to stay, food, clothing, and support for her and the baby.
I can’t help but have a quick thought of what my birth mother’s life was like before she left me in the safety box at the fire station. Would this have been what my life was like if she’d kept me? But I can’t go there right now. Once I’ve handed over the baby, I know he’ll get the best care possible, and I have a job to do. Blocking out distractions is vital in a job like this. I turn and head back toward the trucks where our station captain is accounting for everyone.
And then we hear it.
The deafening crash of the floors collapsing inside, and Chief orders the water cannons onto the building, trying to get the fire under control. I’m listening as he gives out the next orders, but at the same time, I can’t stop watching the EMTs working on the little boy. His mother is on a bed with another crew besidehim. I’m praying so hard they both survive. But like with most victims, we never know the outcome of the people we rescue. It’s just the way it is.
No matter how hard you scrub your skin with soap or your hair with shampoo, some days the smell of smoke never leaves you. Finally, the shift’s finished, and I’m standing in the end shower cubical of the firehouse’s common bathroom, trying hard to wash away the day. I just want to go home, crawl into bed, and binge watch The Real Housewives of NYC. It’s a show I don’t need to think about, I can just zone out. It’s either that or doom scroll on my phone. Just something that takes no brain power or physical effort.
Most of my crew has already left the firehouse, but I had some reports to finish writing up about the first job of the day. I had an interaction with the victim’s neighbor who was abusive to me when we tried to rescue an old lady who had fallen down the stairs in her apartment block. He wanted us to move so he could get past and head upstairs to his own apartment. We were there to assist getting her out of the building, as it was a narrow staircase, and she was in an awkward position. This guy was an arrogant jerk, more worried about getting upstairs to watch the start of the baseball game than he was about his neighbor. So not only am I trying to wash away the smell of smoke, but the memory of an absolute asshole too. Letting the water run down my skin and disappear down the drain is cathartic and helps me let the stress of the day go.
The shower is now shut off, my body dried, and as I slide my pants up my legs, I hear footsteps and then Kyra’s irritating voice that to me is like fingernails on a chalkboard. It’s not thepitch of her voice, it’s just that I don’t like her, and her very presence makes my skin crawl. We’re work colleagues and that’s it. There will never be a friendship outside of this firehouse, but I can be professional. Hell, I’ve been doing that around Dean since we broke up.
“There’s no one here, and the next shift is already out on a call. Sooo…” Kyra is obviously not alone.
“Get your ass in that shower cubicle, get on your knees, and suck me off,” Dean’s voice commands, and I almost throw up hearing it. He likes to be dominant, but I wanted more than that. I wanted the whole package of intimacy and emotion in the relationship too, but I’m not sure he’s capable of either of those things.
“Don’t bother getting on your knees, you won’t need that long before it’s over,” I call out from my shower stall and start laughing. If I’m going to be subjected to hearing their sexual flirting, then they can take the ribbing I throw back at them.
“You’re such a bitch,” Kyra mumbles.
“Just admit it, you want to stay and listen, remember what you’re missing out on.” Dean is trying to keep his macho image in front of his new little girlfriend, but his bravado does nothing for me.
Pushing open the door on the shower stall, I look him in the eye with the coolest demeanor, not letting him get any read on my emotions as I deliver my final comment before I leave them to it. “There’s a reason I moved on. If she has any brains, she’ll work that out soon enough.” The creases on his forehead are enough to tell me that I pissed him off with my words.
“Bathroom’s all yours, kids. And by the way, real men don’t fuck in dirty communal showers. They invite you into their bedroom so your knees are on a nice soft carpet. So I discovered recently. Like I said, moved on tobigger… and better things.” Turning away, I start walking out of the bathroom, ignoringthem both as they tell me in lots of not-so-nice words what they think of me, and Dean insisting that no one would want me.
And there it is again.
