Federal Emergency Management Agency
Washington, DC
I glance across the room at Hallie. She’s making a snack. I have to tell her about this. As soon as we’re able to grab a few minutes to ourselves, I’ll let her know I applied and they made the offer. We can decide what I’ll do together. She deserves to know. And she should have a say in my decision.
I’m standing to ask her if we can meet in the kitchen after everyone heads to their bunks when the tone sounds.
Dispatch comes through the station alerting system overhead. “Engine one—respond to a reported structure fire. Abandoned textile mill, Mill Creek Road. Reports of interior fire conditions. Possible occupants—teenagers inside. Use caution, structure is high risk.”
We’re at our turnouts in a blink, focused and moving with practiced efficiency, grabbing helmets, gloves and hoods, checking SCBA packs and shouldering them on the way to the engine.
I grab the handset off the dash. Patrick pushes the buttonto lift the bay doors and flicks the siren and lights on the engine.
“Copy, Dispatch,” I say into the mic.
“Confirming Mill Creek Road,” Dispatch says. “Presence of at least one teenager in the structure confirmed. Additional units and EMS en route.”
We roll through town, slowing at red lights and then blowing through them as soon as the coast is clear. Every second counts in a rescue. I pull on my remaining gear while Patrick drives.
Dispatch continues her updates. “No sprinklers in structure.”
“Copy that,” I say into the mic.
We arrive on the scene. Smoke is rising in plumes out the upper windows of the old mill. Flames are visible inside the building. We position for water supply access. Patrick hops out and sets the pump.
I notify Dispatch over the radio, “Abandoned textile mill, active fire, possible entrapment. Engine one on scene, working fire, making entry for search and rescue.”
“Copy,” Dispatch responds.
We perform a quick three-sixty assessment around the structure, checking entry and exit points, assessing fire spread and structural integrity.
The volunteer crew arrives, including Cody, who had left for the day, a few of the guys from our alternating crew and some trained townspeople. They set up a drafting hose near the river with the second engine.
The attack line is pulled from our engine, and the hose is flaked out toward the entry point. We mask up and check with our partners. Hallie and I are paired to go into the building. Patrick mans the line and Dustin’s on entry support. The backup crew will throw ladders and vent windows once their line is set.
Hallie and I advance the hose line into the mill. The visibility is low, heat intense. Debris clutters our pathway. We stay low, orienting to a wall, staying anchored to the hose, physically feeling ahead for the next step. I shoot water at flames and occasionally send a burst overhead to take the heat down.
“Firefighters!” I shout. “Call out if you’re in here!”
We stop and listen.
Nothing but the sound of flames cracking weathered wood.
“Hello? Fire Department here!” I shout again.
Hallie and I pause.
“Hello! Help!” a voice comes from overhead.
“Hear that?” I ask Hallie.
“Yes. They’re upstairs.”
“Head that way,” I tell her. “Stay with me!”
“Stay low!” I shout into the smoke toward the victim. “We’re coming.”
Hallie and I make our way through the building feeling around for a staircase.
