Beneath the Flames

by Gregory Lee Renz

  “Gotta wait for backup,” the officer hollered back.

  “No. We gotta get to them. Now.” Mitch yanked the hose from Engine Thirty-two’s pipeman and crawled into the scorching heat. He’d get to his crew or die trying. He whipped the pipe in a figure eight pattern, trying to bank down the fire and heat. Engine Thirty-two’s pipeman tried to pull Mitch and the hose back down the stairs. Mitch dug his heels into the stairs. “Nooo.” The blistering heat burned his back through the Kevlar.

  He heard a blast of water from another hose line. The heavy stream of water cooled his back. A deep voice behind him said, “We got backup. Let’s go.”

  The heat and dwindling air from his near-empty bottle sapped Mitch’s strength. He handed the line off. The companies pounded the flames, one line working to hold back the fire from the fully engulfed third floor and the other working on the stairwell fire. They couldn’t advance any farther or they’d be trapped by the fire below. The two lines barely kept the fire in check.

  The boss shouted up the stairwell, “Engine Fifteen. Get to the stairwell. We can’t hold it much longer.” His shouts were muffled by his mask and the roar of the fire.

  They went silent to listen for any sign from the trapped crew. The wail­ing of the pass devices didn’t change.

  Oh, God. No. Please.

  Mitch sucked in as much air as he could, ripped off his facepiece, and hollered with everything he had. “Nic, we’re on the stairwell. Get out. Now.”

  Silence. Then rumbling from above. The wails of the pass devices got louder.

  The body pushed by him, then another, and another.

  Thank you, God.

  Mitch slid the mask back over his face. The warning bell stopped ringing. No air. His legs gave out. He collapsed on the stairs.

  Cool, fresh air flowed into his mask.

  “Stay close,” the deep voice said. “We’re both working off my bottle. Let’s go.”

  They stumbled through the rear doorway, greeted by cheers. Mitch was startled to see the deep voice of his buddy-breather didn’t belong to the giant he imagined in the darkness, but a short, wiry black guy. The crews of Engine Thirty, Engine Thirty-Two, Ladder Nine, and the battalion chief crowded around.

  The chief said, “Goddamn nice job, son.” He turned to Lieutenant Laubner. “Get your crew checked, then I want to see you. The rest of you get the water towers up. Surround and drown this miserable pile of lumber and brick.”

  Mitch removed his helmet and mask. The brim of the helmet had drooped from the heat, the white frontpiece blackened. He was alive. His crew was alive. Before he could get the turnout coat off, Nic pulled him close, her face smeared with soot. She pressed her forehead against his. “You are fucking amazing, Garner. I owe you.”

  “No, I owe you.”

  She kissed him hard. “You okay?”

  “I am now.” His body shook as it all sunk in. Thank you, Ralph.

  Lieutenant Laubner spun him around. The lieutenant’s nose was caked with blackened snot. “Garner, I’m putting you on charges for insubordina­tion,” Laubner said, spewing ribbons of darkened spittle.

  Nic and DeWayne’s mouths gaped open.

  “You both heard him call me an idiot,” Laubner said.

  “Didn’t hear nothing, boss,” Nic said.

  “Me neither,” DeWayne said.

  Mitch wiped the slimy spit from his face and rammed a finger in Laubner’s chest. “Fuck you, Laubner. Just fuck you. Pension number 96405. Make sure you spell my name right, you waste of skin.”

  “I’ll have your ass.” Laubner stomped away, leaving the crew behind.

  * * *

  Laubner was gone by the time Mitch and the others got to the MED rig to have their carbon monoxide levels, oxygen levels, and vital signs evaluated. They all checked out and were told they could go back to work.

  When Mitch pulled on his turnout coat, the paramedic asked, “Isn’t your back burned?”

  The back of his canary colored coat was blackened and reeking of smoke. “I’m fine.”

  His back stung like hell but no way was he going to the hospital and then be off work again on medical leave. No. He’d let Miss Bernie treat the burns. They had plenty of Silvadine ointment left from Jasmine’s burns.

  Laubner wasn’t at the rig when they got back. They sat on the tailboard waiting for him. Crews milled around the fireground watching the aerial ladders blast thundering torrents of water down onto the crumbling build­ing from their master stream nozzles.

  “I can’t believe that dickhead,” Nic said.

  “I don’t want you guys lying for me. Let him put me on charges.”

  “That asshole almost got us killed. He should be kissing your ass.”

  “I should have ignored him and grabbed a line when we went in.”

  She stood and faced him. “Holy shit. You actually blaming yourself? I can’t fucking believe it.”

  “Firefighter Armbruster,” Chief Kowalski, said from behind her. “Can you act as lieutenant for the rest of the shift? Laubner won’t be back.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nic said. “He okay?”

  “Take your crew and get another line on the east exposure.” The white-haired chief marched off, shouting orders into his radio.

  * * *

  A tall man and a petite, attractive woman were waiting for them inside the firehouse when they returned late in the afternoon. As soon as the rig pulled to a stop, the man and woman ran to the boss’s side of the rig. The man yanked open the door and said, “Nicky, you scared the hell out of us.”

  Nic jumped down and was immediately embraced by both of them. Her mother was a striking, mature version of Nic. Her dad, Chief Armbruster, could be the mold for how an off-duty chief should carry himself with his short-cropped hair and polished appearance.

  Nic pulled back and pointed to Mitch. “This is Firefighter Garner.”

  “I know who he is. Chief Kowalski told me what happened. Let’s go to the office.” This was a man used to giving orders. He escorted Nic and his wife to the office.

  Mitch, DeWayne, and the blue-shift driver went to work sanitizing and checking the masks and preparing the rig for the next run.

  Fifteen minutes later Chief Armbruster stormed onto the apparatus floor. He approached Mitch, looking like he was ready to punch somebody. He clasped Mitch’s hand and shook. “I don’t know how I can thank you, son. What you did is…I don’t even know how to say it.” Lowering his voice, he said, “Thank you.”

  Nic’s mom embraced Mitch, inflaming his back. He winced and saw the tears pooling in her eyes as she stepped back. Nic stood behind them, watching him with an embarrassed grin. He felt awkward. All he could think was that he was fucking their daughter.

  Her dad’s face pinched into an angry scowl. “C’mon, Sheila, I got some business needs taking care of downtown.”

  Chapter 41

  Mitch couldn’t sleep. Chills racked his body as his mind spun with the images and emotions of being trapped, of coming so close to a horrific death. Every time the image of diving into the wall of flames materialized, his heart raced. He couldn’t believe he actually did it. And then, he charged back up the stairwell into the fire to save his crew or die trying. He proved himself. That’s why he left the farm. Why didn’t he feel like a hero? Why wasn’t this enough? The round wall clock in the dorm showed three-ten. He went to the joker stand to listen to late night dispatches and wait for their next run.

  The old chair creaked as he sat. The office door cracked open. “I can’t sleep either,” Nic said. “C’mon in.”

  Since Nic was the acting boss, she got the office.

  Her face was puffy, eyes red and swollen.

  “You okay?” Mitch asked.

  “Never came that close before. All kinds of crazy shit went through my mind.”

  “Yeah, I know. Me, too.”

  She rolled the high-backed office chair around the desk so they were sitting knee to knee. “What were you thinking up there?”
>
  “It’s weird,” Mitch said. “I was terrified when I realized we were trapped. I knew we weren’t going to make it. Then I got real calm, almost like I was okay with dying. But it hit me that I wouldn’t be around to help Jasmine and the kids anymore. I’d never see the farm again.”

  “And Jen?”

  Mitch lowered his head.

  Nic lifted his chin. “You were thinking about her. Right?”

  “You should be with somebody who loves you.”

  “That’ll never be you, will it?”

  Mitch couldn’t answer.

  “So that’s it?” Nic said. “Goddamn you, Garner.”

  “Sorry. I just think it’s time we …”

  “Why can’t you be more of a dickhead so I can hate your fucking guts?” Nic punched him in the chest.

  Before she could hit him again, he cradled her trembling fist.

  Her smoky voice cracked. “Know what I was thinking up there? That my life was over and I haven’t done shit. Felt horrible.” She rubbed the side of Mitch’s face with her free hand. “I crawled through that room, looking for you. I knew we were going to die and wanted to be next to you. Then I heard my name over the sickening sound of that fucking fire. It was you, calling for me. I’ll never forget that incredible feeling.” Her eyes misted. “Anyway, I need to stop screwing around and get on with my life. I need to find someone who looks at me like you look at Jen. Maybe have kids someday.” Her lips quivered. “You know how much I love kids.”

  Mitch squeezed her hand.

  She kissed the top of his hand. “Think we can be friends?”

  “Damn right.”

  “Does that mean you’ll stop by once in a while for a sip of Jack and some best-friend talk? Maybe give me advice on my latest boyfriend?”

  “Bank on it.”

  “So, what about Jen?”

  “I don’t think she’ll want to leave Milroy. And I can’t move back there. Jasmine needs me here and working with these inner-city kids feels like I’m doing something important.” He paused. “Probably don’t matter. She’s done with me.”

  “You’re wrong. Not with the way she looked at you in the hospital. Hey, what did you mean at the fire when you said you owed me?”

  “That basement fire we had a couple months ago? I was scared shitless. You didn’t let me back out. If I had, I could never have faced my crew. I would have quit the job.”

  “Glad you stuck around. Laubner would have killed us all today if you hadn’t been there.” She grinned, her eyes sad. “Plus, I know what kind of man I’m looking for now.”

  They embraced. Mitch held back a painful groan as she ran her hand over his raw back.

  * * *

  Ralph was the first one on duty in the morning. He cornered Mitch in the upstairs washroom. “What the hell were you thinking yesterday?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “No hose line?” Ralph scowled. “Am I wasting my time?”

  “I know. I know. It was stupid. Should never have listened to Laubner.”

  “We’re rid of that dickhead. Nic’s old man went downtown and raised holy hell. Demanded Laubner be shit-canned. Chief didn’t want a fight with the union, so he offered Laubner the choice of being reassigned or terminated. He’s now the deputy’s gopher.”

  “How you know all this?”

  “Learn from your fuck-up. I can’t teach you everything. Oh, and the deputy wanted me to thank you for your little performance.”

  “You were in my head up there. If it wasn’t for you showing me the ropes…”

  Ralph waved him off. “Save it, that was all you. Bambi grew a rack. From now on you’re Buck.”

  “Rack?”

  Ralph pointed at Mitch’s tattoo. “Ain’t that what you rednecks call those things?”

  Mitch grinned.

  “Working today?” Ralph asked.

  “No, made trades so I could finish some things at the school.”

  “Who are you? You save the girl, save the school, save your crew. And, turned a lesbian straight.” Ralph laughed, not a loud belly-laugh, more like a restrained snicker. “What’s next, Middle East peace?”

  Ralph headed downstairs shaking his head.

  Mitch finished mopping the washroom floor and went down to wash any dishes left from their shift. The red-shift crew and off-going blue shifters crowded around the kitchen table. Kenny went to his knees when he saw Mitch and bowed, “We’re not worthy, oh, Master Buck.” The room erupted in laughter.

  Captain Reemer pointed the tip of his pipe at Mitch. “Somebody get our hero a cup of coffee.”

  “Let me, let me, oh please let me,” said Kenny.

  Ralph scowled at Kenny. “Get Buck some coffee and stop acting like a jag.”

  Kenny stood with hands on hips. “Well, I never.”

  The crowded kitchen echoed with more laughter. Mitch laughed along, lifted by theirs.

  Copies of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel newspaper with a front-page photo of him were plastered on the kitchen walls. Every copy had green antlers sketched on his head. Wherever he was mentioned, “Firefighter Garner” was replaced with “Buck” in bold green marker. Mitch soaked it in. He was one of them, a professional firefighter. A brother.

  * * *

  By the time he left for home, his back was a throbbing mass. Too many pats on the back. He had eight days off. Plenty of time for Miss Bernie to work her magic on his burns.

  Alexus and Jasmine were gone to school when he got home. Miss Bernie met him on the porch waving the morning paper. “Oh, my Lord. Says here it was a miracle.” Miss Bernie wagged her finger at him. “The good Lord surely has more work for you.”

  Mitch peeled the bottom of his shirt from the oozing blisters. “Can you bandage my back?”

  “Oooh, that’s an angry mess.”

  Miss Bernie led him to her room and had him lie down on her bed. She applied the cooling Silvadine burn ointment. His phone rang. Miss Bernie said, “Get that later.”

  He dozed off before she finished.

  He woke in the late afternoon to the Sponge Bob Square Pants theme coming from the living room. He pulled a fresh T-shirt on over the burn dressings. The ointment had taken the edge off the throbbing.

  He had work to do at the school. Before heading over, he checked the phone. It was a message from Chris. “Dad’s had a stroke. Get home as soon as you can.”

  He misdialed Chris’s number three times. Chris answered on the first ring, “Mitch, you gotta get home.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Not good.” Sniffling. “We’re at UW Hospital.”

  “On my way.”

  Mitch rushed past Miss Bernie and Alexus. Miss Bernie asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Dad had a stroke.”

  He pushed the old van to its limits on the fifty-mile drive to Madison.

  Chapter 42

  Seated on the cushioned wooden couch in the waiting room of the stroke clinic were Maggie’s parents, John and Betty Hillenbrand, and Chris. They rose together when they spotted Mitch. Chris looked like a lost puppy.

  Betty cupped Mitch’s face. “Your dad’s had a stroke, but they caught it early. Go on in. Let him know you’re here.”

  Mitch crept toward Sid’s bed, searching for words. The antiseptic smell reminded him of the burn center. Andy lectured Opie on the elevated television.

  “Don’t make them like that anymore,” Sid said, slurring the words through the right side of his mouth. “Now it’s all killing and screwing.”

  “You doing all right?”

  Sid continued staring at the screen, the left side of his face drooping. “Go back, to Milwaukee. I hear you’re quite the hero down there.”

  “I want to help. What can I do?”

  “Don’t need your help. Go on now.”

  “Dad.”

  “You heard me. Get out.” The monitor beeped faster. Sid’s face reddened.

  “Okay. I’ll let you get some rest.” Yesterday he was embraced
as a hero. Today defeated, crushed by Sid’s angry words.

  Back in the waiting room, Chris stared at the laminate wood floor. Betty must have seen the look on Mitch’s face. “Mitch, he’s not thinking straight right now. Give him time.”

  Chris’s chest quivered. Mitch slid next to him. “Hey, brother, he’ll be all right.”

  “It’s bad.”

  “We should go,” Betty said. “Let you boys talk.”

  John followed Betty out.

  “He’s a tough old bird,” Mitch said. “He’ll bounce back.”

  Chris collapsed back on the couch. “We got papers from the bank. If we don’t catch up on our bills by the middle of June, they’re foreclosing. That’s what got Dad so pissed. He was screaming at the papers. Made me drive him to the bank. And did he go off on them. That’s when he went down.”

  “Crap. How much?”

  “If we don’t come up with over forty thousand by then, they’ll call in the whole six hundred thousand.”

  “They’re not taking the farm.”

  “Even if we could stop them, we don’t have money for seed corn, and we’re running low on feed. It’s been awful. Dad’s temper’s getting bad. It’s hard to be around him.”

  “Isn’t milk bringing in enough to cover costs?”

  “That drought killed us. The money from your truck kept the bank off us for a while, but I just couldn’t make it work.”

  Chris’s sad hound-dog eyes and thinning hair tore at Mitch’s heart. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Hey, I saw the Milwaukee news this morning. Said you rescued some firefighters. Man, that has to feel good.”

  “Yeah, feels great,” Mitch said, trying to sound cheerful.

  Chris stood. “I should get back to the farm. Getting dark. Already late for milking.”

  “No. Stay. I’ll take care of chores.”

  * * *

  The headlights washed over the house and barnyard when Mitch swung the van into the drive. Gravel crunched under the tires as he approached the old farmhouse. The farm hadn’t changed, but it seemed foreign. He felt a tug in his chest. He stepped from the van and was bowled over by Billy. The dog frantically licked at Mitch’s face with his coarse tongue. This was wonderfully familiar.