Which means my job just got a hell of a lot harder.
The alarm blares through the firehouse.
“Engine 53, house fire, 563 East on Second. Engine 53, house fire, 563 East on Second.” The automated female voice sounds through the house, reverberating the speakers.
The crew flies from their bunks, rushing the suspended bridge that hangs over the back of the engine bay. Sanderson is first down the pole and stepping into his turnout gear as we drop down after him. The two new recruits don’t miss a beat, Tennison going first and Davies second. I follow them down and call out roles as we gear up.
“Sandy, you’re engine. Tennison and Davies, you’re hoses with me. Owens, water and perimeter.”
“Copy,” the four of them chant back.
We’re loading into the truck, sliding the headsets on, when Schmidt finally walks down the stairs, not bothering with the pole—or response time, apparently.
Sandy fires the old girl up and we all sit at an idle while Schmidt pulls up his turnout with one hand, downing his coffee with the other.
Motherfucker.
So, this is his tactic—make the shifts I’m running point the slow response ones.
No wonder 41 wanted him gone.
If I was as petty as him, I’d play the same hand. But people’s lives, homes, and livelihoods are at risk. I’m not playing any game that threatens those things.
I duck my head through the window. “Move it, Schmidt!”
His heated gaze swings up to me as he pulls on his jacket.
“What the hell is he doing?” Sandy says, turning back, shoving the engine into gear, the roller door already fully up and clear.
Schmidt climbs into the back, strapping his belt over his lap. “Keep your panties on, Hammond.”
He chuckles, winking at Tennison like he’s the school bully who just showed up the class nerd.
I grind my molars down so fierce, I swear one cracks.
Tennison, to her credit, ignores him and sets her focus straight ahead.
I study her side profile. Even with the headset on and the city blurring past outside as Sandy sends us down Third Avenue, I don’t miss the small details. The traditional tattoo that sits behind her ear. The way her hands turn the helmet around between her fingers.
It’s her first callout. On her first shift.
I flick my attention to Davies. He’s gripping the seatbelt like a goddamn lifeline.
I raise the microphone on my headset to my mouth. “House fire. What’s our plan, probies?”
Tennison and Davies both snap their gazes to me. Davies glances at Tennison, who meets my gaze as she says, “Perimeter sweep. Reaffirm the roles, which you gave out earlier—Sandy is engine. Davies and I are on hoses with you. Owens is on water and perimeter, sir. Assess the situation, mainly residents.”
“If the house is not clear?” I hold my gaze.
Tennison holds hers but doesn’t respond.
“Internal sweep in pairs.” I break my eye contact and look to the second probie. “Davies, you get all that?”
“Absolutely, si—Hammond.”
I raise a brow, and he grits his teeth with a wide-eyed, cringy expression. “Absolutely, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Tennison’s face flinches, as if holding back a smile before she shifts her gaze out the windshield.
