Schultz leaned into the horn, sending about the blaringbaaamp-baaampto accompany the wailing siren. Adrenaline pumped hard and strong through her body. By the time they reached the scene, she was raring to go.
Being assigned to the engine meant working the line. Schultz pulled the engine up to the scene, and sure enough, dark smoke floated into the air surrounding the brick townhome. She disembarked, inhaling the pungent odor of burning wood and plastic while fitting her SCBA. The ladder was already there, trying to get roof access to the fire. More sirens screeched in the distance as other departments were called in. Schultz hopped out of the driver’s seat and scurried on top of the engine to the pump panel. Ambrose shouted orders.
“Let’s go,” Ambrose said, nodding to another engine on the scene. “I need two for rescue, 71.”
“Yes, sir.” Two firefighters from 71 ran toward the burning building.
“Evans, Desai, grab the lines. Move in!”
“Yes, sir.” Evans grabbed the line.
Movement swirled around her, as if in slow motion, as firefighters took their assignments. Her radio squawked. A man and a woman were trapped inside. Ambrose sent in another unit of two firefighters to aid the rescue. Paramedics stood close by.
Flames floated out from the windows over the garage. The floor above glowed orange in the setting sun. Smoke continued to rise. Sweat dripped down Riya’s back, and she shivered as a chill slid through her body. Then she froze.
Everything slowed down and faded. She was fifteen, standing outside in her nightgown, her mother’s arms around her. Her father had run toward the house.
“My son! My son! Inside! Undher ché. Bicharo, eklo ché!” In his fear and panic, her father had reverted to Gujarati, his English broken. The firefighters had kept him out, assuring her father that they were searching for the boy. And they were. Young Riya had stood frozen with awe as two firefighters had gone into the house while the others had worked the line.
One of the firefighters had carried Samir out. He was barely conscious from smoke inhalation, but he was clutching her necklace. A firefighter had handed the necklace to her before the paramedics loaded him and Riya’s mother onto the bus. Just before they closed the ambulance doors, she saw them put an oxygen mask on his face. Relief had flooded over her. Her brother, her personal hero, was out of the fire. He was going to be fine. She clutched the necklace to her chest, knowing that their brother-and-sister bond could never be broken. She had these firefighters to thank for that. Her throat was sore, as she had also inhaled some smoke, but she wasn’t scared anymore.
Two hours later, Samir died in the hospital, and when she found out, Riya felt the ground beneath her give way. She lived like that for years, no sure ground, no footing.She had held on to that necklace so she could feel her brother beside her.
The Rakshabandan when he had given her that gift was imprinted on her mind.
“Riya, this necklace took me a month to make,” he’d said. “But I put all my love for you and all your love for me into it, so it’s special. Even when I go to college, I want you to know you can always count on me. I will always have your back.”
She had believed him. He had gone back into the fire for this, and now he was dead. She was unable to part with it, and she kept it as a reminder of his sacrifice and her responsibility.
The first time she had gone into a fire after that was where she had found her footing, her solid ground. She had been working as a paramedic, and her bus was first on the scene of a house fire. She had run in without thought and had brought a young boy out by the time the first engine had arrived. She had received more than a few lectures for that, but the next day, she had applied to become a firefighter.
“Desai! Desai! Grab the line!” a man was yelling at her. “Riya! Snap the fuck out of it.”
She left that past fire as she felt strong hands on her arms, shaking her. Her breath was coming heavy, she felt tears on her cheeks, and acid churned inside her. She looked at the man as if she were in a dream. He was familiar: dark skin, blazing eyes filled with anger as he continued to shout at her. She failed to understand who he was or why he was yelling at her.
“The line, Desai! Riya! It’s Marcus! Can you even hear me?” Panicked hazel eyes glared at her, and in a flash she was back. Evans.Oh, shit!She needed to take the line in with Evans. That was her job. She grabbed the line. She wasn’t sure where they were supposed to be going, so she followed him.
“You with me now?” Evans yelled at her. His mouth set in an angry line, and rightly so. She had spaced out. Just a few seconds, but in a fire, seconds counted.
“Everything okay over here?” Ambrose eyed her, his brow furrowed.
“Yes, sir,” she shouted back over the noise and turned her focus to the task at hand, afraid to even look at him. She had almost dropped the ball, not done her job. People died if she wasn’t on top of her game. Lieutenant Ambrose had been right that day. She had to deal with her issues with fire.
“What happened out there, Desai?” The captain’s baritone, while not harsh, demanded an answer. Ambrose stood behind her, giving her space. The captain had insisted the lieutenant be in the room.
Multiple firehouses had been called, the fire had been put out, and there were no injuries, no fatalities and only moderate damage. It was a good outcome. Once the engine had returned, they had set about cleaning and restocking the rigs. She was just contemplating the possibility of a shower when Captain Davis had summoned her to his office. Her stomach had dropped. She’d been anticipating this. There was no way to hide what had happened. Ambrose had had to tell the captain that she’d frozen on the job.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought I’d dealt with it.”
“With what?”
Riya looked into her captain’s kind, dark brown eyes. She tried to forget that Ambrose stood just a few feet behind her. Her stomach roiled, and she swallowed hard, but she had to answer. “The house fire.”
“What house fire?”
She was unable to meet his eyes. “I was fifteen. And there was a fire.” She paused to breathe. “In my house.”
Captain Davis nodded for her to continue.
