“Uhhh, Garrett?” I ask slowly. “Why are you green?”
He looks up at me, then heaves into the trashcan with a sickening splash.
“I don’t think the gas station hotdog I ate for lunch is sitting right, chief,” he says weakly, emerging from the depths of the can and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
“Why would you even eat a gas station hot dog?” I ask, my nose involuntarily crinkling in disgust. “How long have you been like this?”
“He’s barfed no fewer than five times in the last twenty minutes,” Tyler says, looking queasy himself. “I think it’s only a matter of time before it starts coming out the other end.”
“Don’t say that,” Garrett moans, resting his forehead on the edge of the bin. “Don’t put that into the universe, man.”
“Garrett, go home,” I order. “No offense, but you’re absolutely useless like this. We don’t need you puking–or worse–out in the field, and I don’t trust you not to yak all over any paperwork either. Go get some Pedialyte and sleep it off.”
“But then it’s just the four of you,” he argues. “And you’re not going into the field right now.”
“We’re not the only station in town anymore, remember? There’s always back up. We’ll be fine without you. Now go home,” I repeat, pointing at the door.
He nods, coming to terms with his plight.
“Are you going to be okay to drive?” I call after him as he starts walking through the open garage door.
“Yeah man,” he says, waving me off. “It can’t be any worse than every hangover I’ve driven home with before. I’ll pull over if I need to.”
“Alright, keep us updated. Feel better dude.”
With a noncommittal grunt, he gets into his car and drives away.
“You sure you’re okay with this, boss?” Tyler says, concern etched on his face. “With the possibility of going into the field?”
“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’ll be fine, Tyler. I don’t need you to babysit me. I can do my job.”
“No one is saying you can’t,” he says calmly. “But you haven’t been out since Aaron. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”
“Like I said,” I snap. “I’ll be fine.”
The first twenty hours of my shift pass by uneventfully. Every call has been a minor one, and the guys have managed those going out just the three of them. In the home stretch of my twenty four hours though, the inevitable happens–a house fire that could require the two-in, two-out rule.
“Alright, let’s go,” I shout, hopping into the truck as Tyler turns on the sirens. We speed down the main street of Larkspur before turning into a neighborhood, where there’s a single-story house with smoke billowing out of one of the windows.
“I don’t know what happened,” a woman says through tears. “I heard a popping noise, and my son came running out of the kitchen screaming fire, and next thing I knew there was smoke.”
“Is anyone else inside?” I ask while Tyler and one of the new guys work quickly to connect to the fire hydrant.
“The dog,” she sobs. “I didn’t have time to grab him.”
“We’ll do what we can, I promise,” I say, the sound of spraying water filling the air. Tyler and I work quickly to drag the hose into the house, hoping that the fire is still contained to the kitchen. When we get inside, there’s a slight haze, with the smoke getting heavier as we hustle to the kitchen.
An appliance on the counter is up in flames, which have spread to the curtains, but at first glance that seems to be the worst of it. It doesn’t take long to quench the blaze, leaving the room covered in water and blackened from the heavy smoke damage. The missing dog comes barreling into the room with us, barking loudly and rolling around in the puddles of water now standing on the linoleum.
"Guess he's fine," Tyler mutters, reaching down to scratch under the pup's chin.
Once the hose is shut off, we look more thoroughly at the source of the fire. The appliance turns out to be a microwave, the front completely burned away to reveal a melted bowl covered in a sheet of charred metal.
After making sure everything has been unquestionably contained, we head back outside. The woman looks wistfully at her house, her tear-stained face taut. Her son peeks around from where he’s hiding behind her legs, looking distinctly guilty.
“Hey kiddo,” I say, kneeling down until I’m eye level with him. “Do you think you might know what caused the fire?”
His mom whirls around, anger replacing the distress of a few moments ago.
