ChapterTwo
Noah
It's a busy day.Nothing major, fortunately, just a lot of fender benders with minor injuries, if any, small fires, minor medical emergencies, and a kid who got his head stuck between the bars of a staircase railing.That one we get at least once a month.Noel did it, once, matter of fact.
Kyle, the lone probie, is shadowing Doug Hermann.Doug is tall and whipcord lean, with a shaved head and a mustache, once ginger and now shot with silver.He's currently putting Kyle through hose drills, still using the same old-school track-coach-style stopwatch that he's had since we were probies.We used that very stopwatch to time each other on hose attacks and ladder runs.
Kyle is struggling with the hoses, and Noel, watching from nearby, jumps in and takes over, demonstrating proper technique and speed, moving with characteristic speed, power, athleticism, and intensity.Every movement reveals the fact that he was, until recently, a professional athlete whose every waking moment was dedicated to the maintenance of his body.
I scan the bay and notice I'm not the only one watching Noel go through his paces; Rob Halligan—yes, a firefighter named Halligan—who only left probie status behind early last year, looks visibly shocked at the speed with which Noel accomplishes every task.But then, Rob wasn't the best probie we've ever had.He just barely passed the written exam and struggled mightily with certain portions of the CPAT; he had to take it twice before he passed.He's a hell of a cook and an even better driver, though, and while he's not particularly fast or agile, he can carry Sam, the dummy, up a dozen flights of stairs at a steady plod…and then back down.I've seen him do it.He's fearless, reliable, and steady, and it's why I put so much effort into making sure he passed.
Tests can only reveal so much about a person, after all, and cannot possibly measure a person's true potential and ability.
I head over to him and watch Noel with him.
"Makes me look like a sluggish sack of shit," Rob mumbles, unconsciously rubbing his belly.He's six feet tall and almost two-fifty; he's powerfully built but a little overweight, something he's self-conscious about.
I slug his arm."Belay that shit, Rob.This ain't a contest.He's a pro athlete."I grin at him."If it makes you feel any better, he makes everyone feel inadequate at some point or another.Even me."
Rob nods, shrugging."Still.He makes it look easy."
"Rob, buddy.When you were in training and a probie, you were also looking after your folksandyour kid sister.Noel has the luxury of being able to devote every waking moment to practice and training.You were showing up for a shift on three to four hours of sleep, running your sister to school, packing her lunch, and checking on your parents.Give yourself some credit."
He sighs, nodding again.His is a tragic story—his parents had a late-in-life pregnancy, resulting in Rob's sister being almost twenty years younger than him.His aged parents had a carbon monoxide leak that wasn’t detected until they'd both been unconscious for who knows how long.Both suffered irreversible brain damage and required round-the-clock care, which fell to Rob, along with caring for his elementary school-aged sister.
That he had the wherewithal to manage all these responsibilities on his own as a teenager,andstrive for a career for himself?I find it inspiring, personally."I'm proud of you, Rob.You're turning into a hell of a firefighter."
He offers me a grateful smile." ‘Preciate it, Cap.I wouldn't be here if it weren’t for you in my corner."
“Bahhh, yes, you would’ve.Just may've taken a bit longer, is all.You did the work."
The tones go, then, and it's an organized scramble as the guys jump into turnouts and board the engine, Rob behind the wheel with me beside him.I relay the info from dispatch—four-car accident at the intersection of Mapleview and Carlisle, multiple injuries reported.
When we arrive on scene, one of the cars is nearly engulfed, and bystanders are trying to get close enough to get the driver out, to no avail.
The vehicle is an older-model F-250 with a bed cap, and the entire bed is ablaze.There must have been a flammable substance back there that got ignited somehow—a propane pig, possibly, or rec fuel.
Barking orders even before we've braked to a halt, I send my guys into motion—extinguishing the flames is priority number one, obviously, but there are several injured civilians in addition to the driver of the truck.I divide my forces, putting Noel to work pushing the onlookers back out of harm’s way, in case the truck was to explode; Rob and Jerry are already connecting a hose to the nearby hydrant and attacking the fire while Doug, a certified EMT, assesses the injuries.I hear sirens—police and medics en route.
The call goes smoothly enough—the driver of the engulfed truck escaped with relatively minor burns and a broken femur, which is pretty incredible if you'd seen the mangled condition of the truck.The rest were minor, not even requiring a trip to the ER.
Back in the firehouse, I'm working on the paperwork attendant to the call when Noel leans into my office and raps on the frame."Cap?"On duty, I'm usually Cap rather than Dad—his choice and my preference, although he does slip sometimes, still.
“Yeah, bud?"I look at him over the rim of my readers—I don'tneedthem, exactly, but they reduce eye-strain, considering the amount of time I spend on paperwork and staring at the stupid computer screen.Some days I wish I’d stayed an LT, like Doug.Especially days like today when I feel buried under an avalanche of bullshit paperwork.
Noel swaggers in, removing his TFFD ball cap and raking his fingers through his hair—still too long for my liking; I expect my guys to maintain a high level of grooming standards, and his current hair length is pushing that."You were late today," he says, plopping heavily into the chair in front of my desk.
I eye him, tugging the readers off and tossing them onto the desk."What am I supposed to do with that observation, Noel?"
He shrugs; his expression isn't exactly amused—he's still too emotionally shut down after his mother's passing for that."I don't think you've been late to anything in my entire life, ever.As I recall, you were forty-five minutes early to a colonoscopy last year."
I narrow my eyes at him."I got the appointment time mixed up, if you must know.And why I was late is none of your business."
His eyes flick to the floor just inside the doorway, where my skates lay, guards on, laces loose, tongues lolling—we had a call the second I arrived, and I barely had time to toss them into my office.I usually leave them in my truck."Got some ice time in, didja?"
It's honestly good to see him attempting to banter like we used to—his sense of humor has suffered since Taylor's death, and he's still not quite back to normal, even three years later and after therapy.
I shrug, nodding."The game is only a few months away, and I was half dead by the end of it last year.Gets harder and harder to keep up as I get older.So yeah, I'm putting in some extra time so I don't have a fuckin' heart attack in front of all of Tomlin Falls."
