Page 41 of Burn Protocol

“I have a question.”

He snorts. “Wasn’t Gonzales able to help you with that?”

“Actually,” I draw out the word, and his eyes widen slightly.

“Spit it out.”

“Well, I see the other crews drinking water and resting in between. But she’s gone in and out back-to-back twice.”

“Without…breaks?” His nose wrinkles at that, but he schools his face so quickly that I almost miss it.

“That’s just Gonzales, rookie. No need to worry about her.” He grins. “She hates me. I made her life hell when she first came to the station. She was cocky, full of herself, and knew everything better. I made it a point to show her she isn’t always right. So you better not tell her I said this, but if there is anybody who knows what they are doing, it’s her.”

I chuckle a little at that, the feeling of unease still gnawing at my stomach.

“Thank you,” I whisper before returning to the engine. As I set my foot on its metal step, I hear a crackling from a radio nearby, and Elena’s voice comes through.

“South team at collision point. Conditions deteriorating, flames coming through floor. Three confirmed entrapments still alive. Initiating extraction.”

“South team, PAR and airtime?”

“PAR 3, airtime 16.”

“Rotate out at 7.”

“Copy.”

My mouth runs dry, knowing that somewhere below my feet Elena is now rushing through the flames to rescue victims of the crash. When the hell did this become so frightening? It always was, but before Elena seemed to be in control. And now… now she seems to push herself and her team to the edge of exhaustion. Which means danger. For the first time since we’ve met, Elena is being reckless.

I pick at my cuticles again as the minutes seem to drag by. Several victims are being carried out on stretchers, some of them covered in ash and welts. Even from a distance I can see the angry red flesh covering their arms, torsos, and sometimes even their faces. The EMTs are running back and forth, and the sirens seem to howl even louder. I shudder as a wave of stress flushes over me. My eyes prick, and the feeling of desperation takes hold deep inside my gut. I want to jump out of the rig and help those in need. It takes all my self-restraint not to act on that impulse, because I know I will most likely do more harm than good.

“Civilians mean well, but they tend to get in the way.” That’s what Elena said when a group of twenty-somethings tried to help after a car crash. They were everywhere, slowing the responders down.

The tangy taste of iron fills my mouth. Blood. I blink and stare at my hands, as if they can give me answers, before I realize I have been biting my lip. I unclench my jaw and let my eyes wander to my watch. I swallow. It’s been ten minutes since I heard Elena over the radio. My head whips up at the exit, but no one is coming out. I feel my stomach drop and slowly slide out of the rig again. Nothing is wrong. They are almost here. It was only a minute ago that they had to rotate out. Any second now.

“South team, PAR and airtime?” A voice crackles over one of the radios, but no reply follows. “No response,” the same voice crackles again.

I move toward the exit without even noticing it, my nails pressing little crescents into the soft flesh of my palms. My breathing is faster than it should be, but I barely even notice. I just keep my eyes peeled for Elena. And Díaz and Rivera. Yeah, all of them. A quick glance at my wrist tells me twelve minutes have passed. They only had sixteen minutes left. I move faster now, and there is nobody there to stop me. My jaw clenches and my eyes prick.

I see the Chief move in front of his laptop anxiously, as he radios Elena again.

“South team, PAR and airtime?”

My chest hitches as there is only static on the other side. I feel my blood turn to ice when high, shrill tones and a loud, constant bell pierce through the air. The Chief whips his head toward the exit and every single firefighter seems to be immediately on their guard. My heart beats erratically as Díaz, Rivera, and Elena emerge from the dark blazing hole. They are covered in ash and the smoke still curls around them, but they carry three people to safety. Three people who are still breathing thanks to them. A wave of profound pride and gratitude washes over me. Even if it cost me about ten years off my life.

Elena only raises her eyebrow when she passes me on her way to the EMT. She hands over the victim before pressing buttons on her gear to make the shrieking stop. It must be the most terrifying sound I’ve ever heard, even if I only realize it now that it has stopped. I reach out for her, but Elena doesn’t stop. She twists the empty tank out and strides toward the engine. I actually have to run in order to keep up. One of the EMTs holds out a bottle of water for her, but she ignores him completely. Instead, she jumps inside the rig and tosses the tank in the compartment so hard that it makes my teeth clatter.

“Elena,” I breathe out, scared to the bone.

She whips her head toward me. Her eyes blaze, but she doesn’t stop. With her right hand she grabs a new tank, while she lifts her index finger to point at me with her left.

“You were supposed to stay in the rig,” her voice rasps.

It’s impossible not to hear the exhaustion in it. She has been going nonstop for hours, without a single break. Behind me, Díaz and Rivera enter the engine quietly. Their eyes travel from Elena to me and back again, their lips pressed in thin lines, but neither of them speaks.

“You were supposed to come out four minutes ago,” I shoot back at her.

This freezes her for a moment, but then she turns from me and swaps out the tank so rapidly I can hardly even follow it. My hand shoots out toward her, grabbing her by the elbow. The heat of her jacket singes the palm of my hand, but I refuse to let go. She startles and turns to face me again.