Page 24 of Burn Protocol

“Doesn’t that kill you?” The kids look nervous now, their eyes on me.

My nod is slow and purposeful this time. I knew this question was coming, it always does. The younger the audience, the faster it happens. The soft laugh I release through my nose gets rid of all the anxiety that was left. Good, now breathe.

“It can. That’s why we wear protective clothing.” I look around the circle of kids. “Who wants to see the gear?”

The eruption of delighted screams is so loud that I have to cover my ears for a moment. I can’t help but laugh. A cheerful sound that erupts from my belly. My eyes dart up to meet Maya’s gaze again. The expression on her face is unreadable, yet it still makes my stomach flip. I frown and return my attention to the kids.

“So, this here is a turnout coat. It is made out of a special material that doesn’t melt under heat. Go ahead, feel it.”

I pass the coat around and watch as their tiny hands greedily touch it. The fabric is rough and stiff. The coat is heavier than they expect. I grin.

“We have pants and boots like that too. It keeps us safe from the heat.”

“So, you’ve never been on fire?”

“No,” I chuckle, “but what should I do if I were?”

“Get water?” The answer comes almost instantly from at least three kids at the same time.

I gently shake my head. It spurs other kids to react too. Their responses range from anything like running outside to taking the jacket off. I shake my head again. Then one soft voice stands out.

“Call 112.”

My eyes find those of the small girl hiding a bit behind the other kids. Her green eyes are watching me intently. The boy next to her huffs and tries to elbow her, until he notices my gaze on him. He mumbles something under his breath and her face falls. I grit my teeth, and breathe in slowly. They are just kids, Gonzales. I slowly incline my head at her.

“That’s right. When there is a fire, you always call 112.”

The boy eyes her jealously, but her chest swells with pride. Good.

“When your clothes are on fire, you need to put them out first though,” I add softly. “You can do that when you STOP, DROP, and ROLL.”

The words fall from my lips and my hands naturally make the motions to go with it. I have done it dozens of times. But these kids see it for the first time. Their eyes are wide, so I slow down and repeat the motion.

“Can anybody show me how that’s done?”

Before I can pick one kid, they are all up on their feet. One by one they crash dramatically to the floor and start rolling around. The teacher and I lock eyes for a moment, both snickering at the sight. Why the fuck were you so nervous about this? This might just be the best part of my job.

***

At the end of the presentation, the kids are exhausted and their voices are hoarse from excitement. I smile slightly at myself. My eyes dart toward Maya, who is still tucked away in her corner.

She is no longer alone. One of the girls is nestled comfortably in her lap. She has her thumb in her mouth and her head is resting against Maya’s chest.

A weird feeling of jealousy comes over me. What if that was you? Wait, what? Don’t you want to know what she smells like? Feel her hair between your fingers? Taste her on your lips? I blink rapidly. My cheeks flush, and I tear my gaze away.

What the hell is happening? The kids around me are still bouncing in place, but suddenly I need to go. I put the smile back on my face and ask their favorite question one last time.

“So, what do we do when our clothes are on fire?”

“Stop. Drop. Roll!” The kids scream in unison as they jump up one more time to dramatically roll over the floor. I grin and push myself off the ground. The teacher starts clapping and soon the kids follow.

“Thank you, señora Gonzales. That was wonderful,” the teacher exclaims.

She places her hand on my arm and smiles warmly. I return the smile and give her a small nod.

“Our pleasure. Bombers de Barcelona are here to protect, but also to serve.”

In my peripheral vision, I see how Maya gently puts the girl on the floor and hugs her, softly saying her goodbyes. Her hand ruffles the dark strands of hair, before she saunters toward me. I am about to ask her if she is ready, when the teacher opens her mouth again.