Within a few minutes, we’re suited up, and I take my place behind the wheel of the truck. Kyle climbs in the passenger seat shouting out instructions to the guys in the back.
“Karen Brown told the operator that she and her husband, two kids, and her mom are in the house,” Kyle informs us. “Dan and I will run point, assess the situation. You ladies offer us cover. In and out, provided nobody is injured.”
I focus on the road before me, nodding now and then. These are the moments I live for, the rush this uniform provides.
“You ready?” He grins, clearly also on an adrenaline high.
“As I’ll ever be. Buckle up, princess, it’s Showtime.”
Speeding through the darkened streets, all kinds of scenarios flash through my mind. How much damage are we talking about? How close are the other houses? Are they all upstairs in one area? I hit the gas, and my heart rate picks up the closer I get to it. In the distance, a large orange glow perpetrates the obsidian sky. We’re close. There are neighbors already gathered when we pull up. I hop out of the truck, leaving it running. The men get to work, dragging hoses toward the two-story house. It’s far enough away from the other properties. Flames lick through windows, and I hear shouting.
“Ma’am,” I ask a woman when we make it to the front of the small crowd. “Any idea how long this has been going on?”
She looks at me with frightened eyes, her blonde hair in disarray.“About half an hour . . . we live across the street.” She motions to her house. A tall, gangly man wraps an arm around her shaking shoulders, eyeing me in that protective way most husbands do who meet me.
“Thank you, ma’am, that helps.”
I jog over to Dan and Kyle, who are getting ready to enter the building. At least half of the first floor is ablaze; the windows glow a bright orange. I have no idea how much time they have before the fire spreads to the kitchen. I know it hasn’t because the house wouldn’t be standing if it had. “This inferno’s been going for half an hour now. You guys are pressed for time.”
“Got it,” Kyle shouts over the ruckus of the truck and the sirens from the police cars and ambulances. The two men check the door and kick it down when they think it’s safe to do so. Smoke tumbles out, engulfing them as they make their way inside. I know the anxiety they feel, and I am ready to move in if need be. There are days when all we do is sit around eating take out and watching sport all night, but it is these days, these moments that truly define who we are. The station is our home away from home. We have no idea when we will see the light of day in those seconds we’re in the fire.
Dan emerges ten minutes later, two kids covered in blankets in his arms. I take them from him, and he disappears inside once again. There is no time to give me status, no time to pause. I look down at their small tear-streaked faces. They’re trembling. The boy calls for his father and my heart aches.
“We’re going to get them out,” I try to assure him. When they’re in the capable hands of paramedics, I make my way back to the house.
“Come on, guys,” I mumble.
We could use some of that rain right about now. Thunder and lightning continue overhead, but the droplets are holding out on us. Freddy and one of the other guys strap on tanks and move in with a hose, spraying as they go. I hate being the one waiting, but it is the plan. I radio Dan and Kyle, just as Kyle bursts out of the front door with a coughing woman.
“My husband and mom. He went downstairs to get her . . . They’re trapped in there,” she wheezes.
“I’m going back in,” Kyle tells me. One of the guys wraps a blanket around the woman’s shaking form and helps her to the ambulance where her kids are.
After what seems like an eternity, Dan stumbles out. He and a man in soot-covered night clothes have their arms wrapped around the waist of an older woman. She looks frail and disoriented, and a paramedic hurries over with a stretcher. The man falls to the ground, and I move over to him. He’s blacked out, but he’s breathing. Smoke inhalation is the one thing more deadly than the flames themselves.
A medic straps an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. I look up and realize it’s been five minutes and Kyle is still not out of the house. Loud noises have me pulling down my helmet and bolting inside. I can barely see anything other than the angry flames covering the walls. Thewooden staircase has collapsed and lies across the floor. “Kyle,” I yell, but there’s no answer. I move through the house carefully; at any minute, a beam could collapse and bury me with it.
“Help,” Kyle yells. “Over here.” Following the sound of his voice, I make my way deeper into the house. I nearly trip on something — someone, I realize.
“Kyle.” I drop to my knees beside him. “I’m here, buddy.”
“The beam, man,” he tells me, his voice hoarse.
His helmet mists and I know he’s trying to suck in air. I strain to shift the beam off his leg, and he cries out in agony.
“It just caved under me, man,” he trails off, and I know I have to get him out of here. Wrapping his arm around me, I lift his bulky form to his feet. His hurt leg gives, but I prop him against me, my arm around his waist as we make our way to the door. We stumble out with seconds to spare as an explosion sounds behind us. I’m pushed forward, with my friend in my arm, by the force of it.Hands are gripping me, but it’s a daze. Somehow, they manage to get us to a clearing. Medics surround us. I push them off. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” I scurry over to where Kyle lies on a stretcher. A man is working to free him of his helmet. He’s gasping for air, scratching at his throat.
“He’s suffocating. Do something, for fuck’s sake,” I yell. “You’re good, buddy, you’re good.” He stops breathing, and my eyes widen. “No.” I shove the paramedics away and start CPR on him. One of them joins in with the chest compressions, and my heart sinks with every pump.I can’t lose you, too.
“Let me take over,” a woman says. I back away because I’m spent letting her resume. I feel my insides lurch as I watch them work on my friend, and just when I think all is lost, he starts to cough and splutter, greedily sucking in air until his breathing is even. My ears are ringing from the noise, and I feel lightheaded.
“You crying, Wild?” he croaks, and I let out a breath, laughing loud and hard.
“Fuck off, asshole,” I cough. He forces a smile as he’s carried away. I run my hands through my hair, closing my eyes and pushing away all the reminders of the night my world came crashing down around me. Twenty years later, and I can still see it all so vividly, feel the heat on my skin, smell the smoke, and the feel of my mother's cold skin the last time I saw her.
I choose to relive the nightmare every single day, hoping nobody else has to. The rain comes down hard, and I sit with my arms on my knees, my head up to the sky, droplets of water soaking me through. The fire is contained, but it almost destroyed the house in front of me. This family has lived to see another day. They’ll rebuild the damaged parts, replace the furniture, maybe move away from here. All that matters is they’re together.They needed us, I remind myself. We risk it all for that reason.
“We’re driving back to the station.” Dan places a hand on my shoulder. I nod and walk to the ambulance.Looking at my friend on that stretcher, I can’t help but wonder, what about those that need him?
