“Mick?” she called out, her voice sounding strange. But it couldn’t have been him. As chief, he didn’t have to climb ladders, at least not regularly, and after she’d put herself in this situation, he had no reason to volunteer.
“Rachel?” a muffled voice called out.
Its owner climbed in through the office window and dropped to the floor, where Rachel had let the dispatcher know she was trapped after a test of the hot doorknob told her it wasn’t safe to go into the hall.
“Over here,” she said and then dissolved into a coughing fit. She tried to shift to a crawling position, but her limbs were heavy, uncooperative.
The firefighter said something else she couldn’t make out but then crawled along the wall, brushing hands over the carpet in broad sweeps. In the space of the broken window, another first responder appeared, backlit by daylight.
As the first one reached her, Rachel peeked over her sweater collar. It wasn’t Mick.
“Ma’am, we’re going to get you out.”
Though still garbled, she understood the voice this time, and it turned out to be a feminine one. Felicia. The firefighter shifted her onto her side and started pulling her toward the window. Rachel flailed her arms to make the woman stop.
“I have to…get…boxes—” She couldn’t help breaking into another round of coughs.
“Sorry, ma’am. There isn’t time.”
“No! I have to—”
Ignoring her pleas, the firefighter dragged her toward daylight. Near the window, she hoisted Rachel off the floor and put her through the opening headfirst. Mick was on the ladder, set against the frame.
She jerked again as the first firefighter tried to shift her into Mick’s arms.
“Stop fighting,” he call out in a muffled voice. He shifted her around so that she was in front of him on the ladder, facing the house, and leaned his body heavily on hers, his thigh pressing into the back of her leg. “You’ll make us both fall.”
She continued to fight, her chest tight with desperation. “But we have to get the boxes… I found—”
“We have to get you out. That’s all.”
“No!”
He pressed tighter into her back until she finally slumped forward. Then he started descending again. She had no choice but to move with him. Felicia followed right behind them, an ax still in her gloved hand.
Once on solid ground, Mick wrapped his gear-covered arm around her shoulder and half guided, half dragged her over to the squad truck. Another crew member wrapped a Mylar blanket around her shoulders and covered her nose and mouth with an oxygen mask, securing it with straps. Mick and Felicia seemed to have vanished.
The first responder turned out to be veteran firefighter and certified paramedic Brice McMillan, his words at first seeming garbled to her though he wasn’t wearing a mask.
“We’re going to take good care of you, Rachel,” he said in a calming voice while directing her to sit on the skirt of the truck. “Let’s get your vitals and let me check for injuries before the ambulance arrives.”
“I’m fine,” she tried to say through the oxygen mask.
“Even so.” Brice tucked in the ear tips of his stethoscope. “We won’t let anything happen to Chief Hoffman’s daughter.”
A sob escaped her before the man could even bring the chest piece close to her. Several hundred feet away, flames shot out the roof of her childhood home that had served as both prison and sanctuary to her. Firefighters trained massive sprays of water on both sides of the house, the hoses dousing her memories and the truth. They were only focused on the exterior now, as though trying to contain the blaze and prevent it from spreading to the garage. They appeared to have conceded what was called an interior attack.
Her chest heaved under the weight of it all, her already sore eyes burning even more as tears blurred the scene all around her.
Mick suddenly reappeared in front of her, his helmet and mask probably back on the fire truck, his dark hair soaked, and worry etched in his features. Though Brice had stepped away, giving them space, he lowered his voice.
“You okay?” He paused and took two long breaths before continuing. “You’ll have to go to the hospital to get checked out.”
“Brice already said that.”
He blinked over her curt comment but kept talking. “I’ll get word to your friend. It’s Stacy, isn’t it? Then we’ll call the school so that she can pick up the girls. Just give me the number and—”
“I’ll take care of it,” she said in the same tight tone as before.
