Schmiddy huffs, waving a hand at me and Davey. “Up you go.”
No independent assessment. No sending a probie and a seasoned firefighter... Just, up we go.
I don’t move.
“Don’t take any orders you can’t walk out of... promise me.”
God, where is Miles?
“Come on, Tenny. Before the geezer blows a fuse and reports us, too.” Davey hands me a pike pole and NY hook.
We don SCBA masks and test the seal before ascending 41’s ladder.
The heat is searing. My turnouts quickly turn warmer than is comfortable. I climb over the roof’s lip and tap the first panel with the pole, testing it for sturdiness. It’s solid, and I step onto it.
Davey follows my lead.
We work our way across the roof, testing, stepping. Until we come to the built-in vents of the flat roof.
They’re melted shut with the heat.
Not surprising.
I flip the pole around to the sharp point and start making a new hole for the steam, smoke, and heat to release through.“Make as many of these as we can by the rafters. Don’t destroy the integrity of the roof.”
“Got it.” Davey starts ramming his pole into the greyed roof.
I bash the pole down and the roof crumbles, creating a hole the size of an apple. I step back as the steam, smoke, and heat billows through it like a geyser.
“Good one, Tenny!”
I twist back, not moving my feet. “Focus, Davey.”
He stares at me for a beat before he returns to ramming his pole through the roof. A minute later we have a second vent made. An infinite number to go.
I tap the roof with the blunt end of my pole once more, tracking my way to the center of the large space. When I’m sure I’m over a junction in the rafters, I flip the pole and start on the next vent hole.
Ten minutes later, we have seven vents in the large roof. Not enough, but at least some of the heat is escaping, which should work in deescalating the fire’s ferocity and damage.
Hoses are raining toward the windows of the second floor, their shimmering arches spilling from the hoses metal mouths.
Down on the ground, Owens is yelling at Schmiddy as she works the hose with Sandy. Her gaze alternating between Davey and me on the roof and Schmiddy.
Something’s off.
I raise my hand to the radio on my shoulder as prickles run up my spine.
Davey moves. “Tenn?—”
I snap my gaze to him. His foot slips through the vent he made. The roof caves, and he disappears down into it.
A second later, smoke and steam rush up like a volcanic event.
“Davey!”
I rack my brain to where my footsteps went on the way to where I am. I tap the roof frantically as I track toward the gaping hole in the roof. The end of his poke pole has wedged between the rafter and adjoining beam.
Smoke puffs out in a rhythmic plume.
