Page 42 of Burn Protocol

“Please, Elena. Take a break. Please. You’re going to kill yourself if you keep pushing like this.”

Elena’s eyes darken a little and she glances at the men quickly. For a moment I am hopeful that she will take at least five, but she shrugs off my hand with a violent motion.

“There are still people inside. Near the fire. Breaks are for later.”

She pushes past me, but glances back over her shoulder before jumping out of the rig again. There is something weary in her eyes, but she blinks once and then turns away. My heart pounds against my ribs as I see her disappear into the smoke again, followed by her two crew members. I close my eyes and, for the first time in years, I pray. Pray that I will see them all back again in one piece.

I can barely see anything through the visor, as we crouch across the platform again. The fumes are thicker and the heat is rising. Luckily, most of the victims have been extracted, but there are still a few people trapped in the train. I try to peer through the smoke. There is an orange hue coming from the tunnel. Its colors are no longer muted, but flashing bright.

“Move it,” I hiss at Díaz and Rivera.

There is an uneasy feeling nestling in the pit of my stomach. It’s a feeling I have only experienced once before on call. Dread. We are in direct danger, and I know it. Maya’s words echo in the back of my mind. You are going to kill yourself if you keep pushing like this. Of course she is right, she hardly ever isn’t. I can’t leave those people to die, though. That’s not why I became a firefighter.

“South team, location?”

The Battalion Chief does not sound too happy. I saw his glare when we came out. If we hadn’t gone back in as quickly as we did, he would not have allowed it. All three of us know it. Díaz and Rivera hop on the train as I grab my radio.

“South team entering the southern train. Extracting last victims. PAR 3, airtime 17 minutes.”

“Goddamn it, Gonzales! This is your last round, do you copy?”

I swallow hard at the reprimand.

“Copy.”

There is no sense in fighting it. Not every unit pushes their people like this after all. But at stationhouse 2 we do—especially when there are lives on the line. I can’t help but look at my two crew members though, who both glance over their shoulders. Are they grinning?

“Let’s go, boss. Before we turn into crispies,” Rivera taunts.

I huff out a fake-offended breath and motion for him to keep moving. The corners of my lips are tugging up, however. This man, who is now pushing himself to the point of exhaustion to save others, was a rookie only four months ago. I am proud of how far he has come.

We reach the second-to-last wagon and step in. The heat presses against my chest and the light is so bright it hurts my eyes. I clench my teeth and step forward to Marta, whose face is now dripping with sweat. Her eyes dart to mine. She seems tired.

“Cariño,” her voice is strained from stress, but her eyes are still gleaming.

“Hola, Marta, you are a sight for sore eyes,” I smile at her, hoping she can see it through the visor.

I reach out my hand, but before I can place my fingers against her arm, there is a deafening sound. I am being pushed back with such force that it knocks the wind straight out of me. Flames push through an opening in the front of the wagon. An opening that wasn’t there before. They roll toward us, and I feel the intense heat engulfing me, before it pulls back and clings to the ceiling.

“Marta!” My scream is hoarse.

Díaz grabs me just in time, as I try to rush forward. The floor crackles under my boots. The woman’s body lies unmoving. Her flesh is scorched, her eyes are white. Still, I push for her. To at least bring her home to her daughter. I promised. God, I promised.

“Let me go,” I snap at Pedro, but he only tightens his grip on me.

“We need to evacuate. Now, boss.”

His voice leaves no room for argument, even if he is lower in rank. He is right. His call is just. I push against his hands one last time, my eyes on Marta. How can I leave her behind? This woman—who made her daughter leave, who helps people day in and day out—now lies there, helpless and alone. Dead. Because I made her wait.

Díaz doesn’t budge. He just steps in front of me, breaking my gaze. I shake my head once, then twice, and snap out of it. He is right. There is nothing I can do for Marta. The flames are closing in on us. We need to leave, and we need to leave now. If we don’t, we will all die down here. I nod at him and reach for the radio.

“South team, flashover. Explosion in tunnel, collapse risk. Retreating, PAR 3.”

Right as I speak, a piece of the roof crashes down. I yank Díaz backwards and we tumble into Rivera, who was standing in the doorway. Somewhere I hear the radio crackle. A sharp pain shoots through my hip and I let out a scream.

“Elena!”

Rivera scrambles to his feet and pulls me backwards. The pain intensifies. It rolls over me in waves and I feel bile rise up in my throat. Drops of sweat roll down my face as everything turns white for a moment. Only a second later, Díaz and Rivera pull me back to my feet. You can still stand, Gonzales. So, suck it up. I glance down and see a large gash in my uniform. It’s stained red around the edges.