Burning Ambition

by Amy Knupp

  The fire was in the front half of the building. Working toward it was like wandering through a human-size maze, thanks to what she assumed were furniture displays throughout. Nausea boiled in her gut and she felt shaky, but she kept going. Faith didn’t realize she’d made the boneheaded, unforgivable mistake of going inside without her partner until she turned to check on him and found herself alone. He must’ve let go of the hose while adjusting his mask or something. Where the hell was he?

  The smoke was thickening, but she could still see the door she’d come in. She could go back and get him but the flames were advancing quickly. She needed to knock them down. Nate would follow the hose and catch up to her any second now.

  Visibility continued to tank and the temperature kept climbing. She’d just about reached the place she needed to get to before opening the hose when she tripped. A sharp corner of something jabbed into her padded coat, padded coat dulled the pain. She stumbled, trying to stay on her feet, then ran into another solid object, felt a blow to her head and found herself sprawled on her side. Disoriented. What had she hit her head on? She felt for her helmet and found it had been dislodged. She lay there for several seconds, trying to get her bearings, before she realized the flames were too close. She groped around for her helmet, the smoke black and blinding now. Having had a building collapse on her made her only too aware of how badly she needed to protect her head.

  And her radio. Where was her radio? She’d had it when she’d started, she was sure.

  Frantic, she slipped one glove off, hoping to find something that would help her—helmet, radio, hose. The heat was too much, though, and she was afraid she’d drop the glove as well. Swearing up a storm, she yanked her glove back on as she continued to search. Finally she located her helmet and put it back on her head.

  Faith noticed she was breathing too fast, using up too much of her oxygen, about the same time she realized she couldn’t find the hose. Her way out.

  Her chest got that squeezed-in-a-vise feeling and she gasped for breath, even though there was nothing wrong with her supply. Sweat drenched her under her gear and it wasn’t just because of the heat in the building. She crawled away from the fire a few feet, feeling for the hose on her way, unable to see a thing—whether from smoke or tears, she couldn’t say.

  Seconds or minutes ticked by—her sense of time was as hazy as the toxic air around her—and she stubbornly kept moving on her hands and knees, searching for the hose line. If she could just find that, she could get back to what she needed to be doing and put out the freaking fire.

  There came a time—she wouldn’t be able to pinpoint it later, exactly—when putting out the fire became a secondary concern and getting the hell out of Dodge took over.

  Faith had known how quickly a person could become disoriented in a fire, but that didn’t prepare her for the panic and terror she experienced now. All sense of direction was gone, and she could no longer see the light from the door where she’d entered. Everything looked the same—a cloud of thick, impenetrable smoke unevenly lit by flames that seemed to be everywhere. She might be five feet from where she’d originally gone down or she might be on the other side of the building. She’d tried to stay close, to avoid going more than a couple of feet in any direction as she searched. The fire was no longer on just one side of her, so she couldn’t use that reference to navigate.

  Why had she rushed in without Nate? If she hadn’t let her panic push her, hadn’t let herself wind up alone, every thing would be fine. He would’ve seen her go down, would’ve made his way to her and helped her get back to the nozzle, and they would have the fire under control by now.

  The fire that seemed to be everywhere. On all sides. Creeping closer.

  She could die today.

  The thought gripped her like a hand to her throat. She froze, unable to decide what her next move should be. Unable to even process her options, limited though they must be. The only thing that ran through her head was that those who’d doubted her—her mother, some of her colleagues—were right. She wasn’t good enough for the job.

  Heat at her back ripped her attention away from that pathetic line of thought, and she refused to give in to the panic that was trying to suffocate her. She crawled away from the immediate danger, feeling around on the floor for a clear path. Away from the intense heat.

  When the alarm on her breathing apparatus started beeping, signaling she was about five minutes from running out of air, she frantically wondered what would get her first, lack of oxygen or a heart attack. Her chest felt as if it would explode, and the heat now seemed unbearable. Add burning to death to the list of possibilities.

  Love of God, how did she get in this situation?

  More importantly, how could she get out of it?

  She continued feeling for a clear path, blind, alone and scared out of her mind. She kept fighting for another breath.

  When she felt something yank at her leg, she nearly wept. It was a person grabbing at her—had to be. Someone had found her. Maybe she wouldn’t die, after all.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  JOE HAD RESCUED several people over the course of his career, but he’d never felt such profound relief as when he grasped an object and realized it was Faith’s boot.

  Relief and other things he wouldn’t—couldn’t—put a name to right now. He’d been searching for too long, ever since Nate had radioed that he’d found the hose, with no Faith at the end of it.

  Joe had to give her air and get her out of here fast. Penn was backing up Nate now. They weren’t too far away, battling the flames. Another company had been called in as well, since the fire had tripled in size and intensity, but right now, all Joe could think of was the woman on the floor in front of him.

  She was beneath some kind of obstruction, likely a piece of furniture, so he had to pull her free before he could do anything. When she raised her head, he silently thanked God that she was conscious. Her alarm was sounding and she pulled off her mask. She couldn’t have much oxygen left. Bending over her, Joe removed his own mask and placed it on her face long enough for her to draw several good breaths. While she filled her lungs, he cradled her in his arms and positioned them both to get the hell out.

  She held the mask out to him—a good sign. He took two big inhalations and returned it to her, then eased them along, as close to the floor as he could manage. The going was slow. He’d never come across such a cluttered, confusing layout in a structure fire before.

  Faith offered him the mask again. He refused, shaking his head, but either she couldn’t see him or she was stubborn, because she held it out insistently. He finally paused long enough to take a fresh breath, mostly to appease her. They’d be out in less than a minute, and though his lungs were burning, he had no idea how much smoke she’d taken in before he’d found her. She needed it worse than him.

  He could tell when the guys put water on the flames directly behind them, just as he neared the exit. When he got Faith outside, Rafe, one of the paramedics, rushed over to take her, but Joe carried her to a safe spot near the ambulance himself.

  Joe stepped back and let Rafe and Scott get to her to check her vitals. When they got her helmet and hood off, he could see how pale she was. Her lack of protest when the guys fussed over her told him more than anything she might have said. It’d been a close call. Too damn close. He’d never lost a firefighter on his watch, and he planned to keep it that way.

  The officer of the company from the mainland came over to confer with him then, and Joe forced his attention back to the fire. They’d made a big turnaround in their fight with the arrival of the second company, and it looked as if this blaze would be knocked down soon. Then he’d be able to reassure himself he’d gotten to Faith in time, and that she’d be okay.

  FAITH STEPPED OUT the back door of the beachside station at long last. The cool air on the patio was a relief after the stuffiness inside and the measuring stares most of her colleagues had tried to hide.

  Darkness had falle
n hours ago and the beach was mostly empty. She sat on one of the cushionless plastic chaise longues and closed her eyes, allowing the sound of the surf to isolate her with her thoughts.

  It had taken a battle, quiet though it may have been, to convince Joe to let her help with the overhaul at the furniture store after the fire was out. She’d rested on her butt like an invalid for close to an hour, letting the EMTs fuss over her, appeasing her captain, soothing her raw throat.

  So she’d taken in a little bit of smoke. She was a firefighter. That happened. She was lucky as hell it wasn’t worse, and she knew that. But it wasn’t worse.

  Every muscle in her body ached, sure. She had several cuts and bruises, but everything was minor. She was fine.

  Physically.

  Mentally, not so much.

  The sliding door whooshed open behind her and she wished she’d walked farther away, toward the water or up the shore.

  Joe. He stood behind her, and she didn’t turn, but she sensed him. He was one of the very few quiet men in the department; most of the guys would come out noisily and not be able to resist announcing their presence.

  She could feel Joe watching her, and it made her want to jump up and run away. What did he think when he looked at her? How stupid she’d been at the fire scene? Irresponsible? That she wasn’t cut out for the job?

  Would he be wrong if he thought any of those things? She wasn’t so sure.

  A minute passed while he stood behind her, staring, not saying a word. Faith fought within herself not to acknowledge him first in this silent standoff. She willed him to turn around and go back inside—to no avail. Then decided she might go ape-shit crazy if he stood there for another excruciating minute.

  “You can go—I’m fine,” she finally said, cringing because of the dryness in her throat. “Feeling great.”

  “I know you’re okay. That’s not why I came out.”

  “Your team losing?” Faith had no idea what NBA team was his favorite, but when she’d sneaked outside, everyone had been caught up in a game on TV, acting as if the fate of the world depended on the outcome.

  He entered her line of sight at last, taking the chaise next to her. And God bless him, he held out a tall bottle of ice-cold water to her. She unscrewed the lid and took a few swallows. The chilled liquid helped and hurt her throat at the same time.

  “Nope,” he said. “Winning.”

  “Then why’d you come out?”

  “Heard you were alone.”

  She drank more water. “Nothing wrong with alone.”

  “Sometimes. This isn’t one of them.”

  “Kind of thinking it is.”

  He stared at her hard for several seconds, making her want to squirm. “Beating yourself up?”

  Damn him.

  “Some.” Endlessly.

  “Normal.”

  “Sucks.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes,” he said quietly, as if that was top secret.

  “Mine could’ve killed me.”

  “That’s the kind of work we’re in.”

  She looked away, afraid her doubts would show in her eyes. Neither of them spoke for several minutes, and she was almost able to block out all thoughts and pretend everything was okay. She was starting to appreciate his company, just a little, when he ruined it.

  “We can save the official stuff for later, but I’m curious…what happened, Faith?”

  “I tripped,” she said, knowing she couldn’t avoid talking about it at some point. Might as well get it over with. “It was like a maze in there. I don’t know what I ran into, but I landed on my butt. Don’t think I lost consciousness, but I might as well have—I was really out of it.”

  She paused to take another drink.

  “I’ve never seen an interior like that,” Joe agreed.

  “My radio was gone, helmet fell off. Then I realized I’d lost the hose, too.”

  “You weren’t very far from it when I found you.”

  She closed her eyes. “Humiliating.”

  “No. Stop it, Faith.”

  “I don’t know how long I tried to find it. I swear I was going in circles.”

  “Happened to me once,” he said.

  “What did?” She found it hard to imagine him having any difficulties in a fire, even though she knew most firefighters had stories. She’d heard plenty from the old-timers in her five years on the job.

  “Lost the line once in a fire and couldn’t find it to save my life, no pun intended.”

  “What happened?”

  “I came across it eventually. But I know that feeling where you think you’re not going to make it out.”

  Nausea welled up in her gut. She broke into a cold sweat.

  “How’d you end up alone in there, Faith?” Joe’s voice was low but intense. “That’s not like you.”

  “How do you know what’s like me? We’ve been working together for less than a month.” Granted, she was with him almost every single stinking shift.

  “I’ve seen enough to know you’re a damn good firefighter. You had a respectable record in San Antonio.”

  Tears burned her eyes, so she closed them and rubbed her fingers over them as if she had a headache.

  “That’s not meant as a criticism,” he said. “I’m trying to understand what happened.”

  “It’s…I don’t know.” She studied the knee of his uniform pants. “The accident in San Antonio. I think it messed me up.”

  “The one that broke your collarbone?”

  “That’d be the one.” She stalled by taking another long drink. Debating how much to say. “The fire at the Sea Breeze Hotel a couple of weeks back?”

  He sat up and turned toward her, putting both feet on the ground between their chairs. “I remember it.”

  “You sent me in behind Penn.”

  He nodded and touched her forearm gently, as if urging her to continue.

  “I lost it, Joe. I mean really lost it. Froze up and nearly ran back out the door as soon as we got inside.” She expected him to say something, but he remained silent. “I thought I was having a heart attack for a second.”

  “Panic attack.”

  “I almost didn’t make it any farther.”

  “But you did.”

  “Penn didn’t notice I stopped. I had to back him up.”

  “It’s not an unusual reaction the first time back in after an injury.”

  “That doesn’t make it okay,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “It was horrible.”

  “But you overcame it on your own.”

  “Today was the first big fire since that one. I was terrified the same thing would happen. Those feelings, the panic, started as soon as the engine stopped.”

  She swallowed hard, the same feelings threatening to overcome her now. “I had to talk myself through it. Force myself to go inside.”

  “You overcompensated,” Joe suggested.

  “Over-somethinged. I couldn’t stand the thought of someone noticing me standing there like an idiot. I didn’t bother double-checking to make sure Nate was ready. Didn’t even think about it. Just rushed in as soon as I could move.”

  “I wish you’d said something before today. That’s one of the basics, Faith.”

  She bolted off the chaise, hands clenched, and went to the edge of the patio. “Don’t you think I know that? Believe me, it’s killing me.”

  “You could’ve corrected the mistake if you’d radioed out or come back to get Nate.”

  Yeah. She could’ve done lots of things a hell of a lot better. She’d been over every single option about four hundred times in her mind. She didn’t need anyone telling her what she’d done wrong—she could do that herself just fine. “I’m going to the water.” Maybe into the water. Maybe soaking her head would make her feel marginally better.

  Two minutes later, after she’d sat down hard on the cushiony sand, Joe strode up beside her. She closed her eyes. Could a woman not suffer humiliation in private?

  “Y
ou know I have to report it all,” he said, lowering his large frame next to her on the sand.

  “Of course. I can’t wait till my dad hears what an idiot I am.” And so much for earning anyone’s respect around here.

  Way to go, Faith. You deserve it.

  “He knows you well enough to understand it was a fluke.”

  “That’s just it, Joe. It wasn’t a fluke. I screwed up big time because I am messed up. My head is wrong.”

  “You had a building fall on you. That can mess a person up.”

  “Not a firefighter.” She chewed on her lip as she stared at the waves coming in. They were relatively calm right now, contrasting with a wild surf just that morning, when she and Joe had reported for their shift. Similarly, the storm inside Faith had died down and become a single nagging pulse of doubt. Fear. “Maybe my mom was right, after all,” she said in a small voice.

  “Right about what?” Joe asked, leaning closer. “What does your mom have to do with anything?”

  “She hates that I’m a firefighter. She’s always said it’s not a career for women.”

  “I suspect you’ve never agreed with her about that?”

  Faith shook her head.

  “Then why start now?”

  She pierced him with a sharp look. “Bumbling around in a fire, nearly getting myself killed. That tends to make a person doubt herself.”

  “Stop the doubting right now.” He barked it out like a direct order.

  “Sure thing. Just tell me how.”

  Joe locked his hands around his knees and shrugged. “Hell if I know. But I’m certain you can do it. You’re smart. You told me you just passed your haz-mat certification, right?”

  “That was on paper.”

  “Proves you know your stuff. You’re a strong person, Faith.”

  “I don’t feel strong. I feel like a fool.”

  He shook his head, staring out at the Gulf. Beyond. “It takes strength to stand up to a member of your family who doesn’t believe in what you do.”

  “It’s not that she doesn’t believe in it. She just doesn’t like it.”

  “Same difference.”