by Becky McGraw
Risk was part and parcel with the job they did though. Every one of them knew that every fire they were called out on could be their last, and accepted that. In Ethan's estimation life itself was one big risk, so he didn't mind putting his life on the line when he needed to do it, that was his job. They were highly trained, and took every precaution to make sure both they and their brothers came out alive.
When his equipment failed, his brothers had been there to make sure he escaped. He and Booker had buddy breathed on Booker's SCBA when his went bad, when his axe broke, Ben had pulled him from under the burning beam that had fallen on him, and when his rope broke, the team fought through to him with the hose to get him out.
If something happened here tonight, they would do the same. Firefighters were a team, a family, and had each other's backs--always.
Ethan paired up with Tim Booker and they ran for the tanker truck to get axes and a ladder. Hefting the ladder onto his shoulder, Ethan waited for Booker to grab the axes, then they jogged back toward the burning house. The west wall wasn't burning yet, so they leaned the ladder there and extended it up to the roof of the second story.
Over the roaring flames, Ethan heard his father's slightly frantic voice as he yelled into the radio. "Ethan the mother just showed up down here and there's a three-year-old girl still inside. Upstairs bedroom on the east side."
A rush of adrenaline pushed through Ethan and his heart bounced off of his ribs. He hadn't planned on going inside, so he hadn't donned a self-contained breathing apparatus when he got the ladder from the truck.
It looked like he was going inside now.
"Got it, Cap...have to get a SCBA and a rope," he replied tiredly.
"Smith go bring Ethan a SCBA, rope, and spare ladder on the double!"
"Aye, Cap," Ethan heard Joey Smith reply.
"Let's move the ladder," Ethan told Booker and they each took a side and carefully made their way toward the other side of the house. The side where bright orange flames licked at the eaves. The second story wasn't burning yet, but he knew it would be thick with smoke and hot as hell. Most likely the floor would be iffy too. Rescuing the child would also be iffy, but he was going to give it his best effort.
"Father is inside too, down here. He was trying to get to the kid. Jerry is going in down here to find him."
"Aye, Cap," Ethan said and saw Smith round the corner of the house with the SCBA. Tony followed right behind him with the spare ladder that would provide his secondary escape route. After donning the backpack, Ethan put on the face mask and checked the seal then flicked on his headlamp. Booker put one on too and nodded.
"Man the rope, Book," Ethan instructed then hooked a rope-like rope to his waist and scurried up the ladder with Booker holding it steady.
The rope would help him find his way back out the window once he rescued the child. Booker would keep an eye on him from the entry window. Usually, they went in together, but it was an exterior room and Ethan needed to move fast. Besides, there was no need for two of them to be in danger. If he got in trouble, Booker would make sure he got back out.
"I shouldn't have to go in far," Ethan said then broke out the window, surprised when only a small amount of grey smoke billowed out. That could change on a dime though, he knew. The added oxygen would feed the fire, and draw it to the ventilation.
"Smith set up the spare ladder at the window around the corner," Ethan instructed then leaned into the window to assess things. He was relieved when he didn't see any orange glow in the room. Quickly, he ducked and entered the room, then dropped to the floor and crawled keeping his hand on the wall, so he didn't get disoriented.
In the smoky darkness, as he moved around the room on his knees, Ethan identified a dresser by touch, then a rocking chair and a couple of other pieces of furniture. Finally, he found the bed and felt around on the mattress until his hand touched hot skin.
The child wasn't moving, and didn't wake up when he shook her, but a hand on her chest told him she was still breathing shallowly. She wouldn't be for long if he didn't get her out of here fast. The smoke was getting thicker and the heat more intense. He glanced at the door and saw a glow under the crack in the door, which told him the fire was right outside in the hallway now.
Pulling the child's limp body off of the mattress, he draped her over his shoulder, then grabbed the rope at his waist and started back toward the window. As soon as he got her outside, he would give her oxygen. Right now, he had to get her outside.
Ethan wondered if Jerry had found the father downstairs yet. This fire was getting hotter by the second, and if they didn't get everyone out soon, they wouldn't be able to save them. Since Ethan was the paramedic on the crew tonight too, he was going to have to treat both of victims, once they were out of danger. He probably needed to check the mother for injuries too.
By the time he reached the entry window, the smoke was so thick he couldn't see at all out of his mask. Relying on touch only, he felt for the window sill, until a hand touched his shoulder and he shoved the child that way. Her legs brushed his arm when she slid through the window and relief swamped him. That relief didn't last long though, the heat inside his turnout gear ratcheted up three hundred times, and Ethan knew he needed to get the hell out of here and fast.
"Clear out!" he heard his Captain yell and adrenaline shot through him.
Swiftly, he swung his leg over the sill, threw himself out of the window and rolled onto the roof, before scrambling toward where he knew the ladder was propped.
He had no idea if the roof was clear of his men, because at this point the smoke was so thick he couldn't see a damned thing. Kneeling he felt for the ladder. Just as his hand touched the ladder, what felt like a red hot sledgehammer slammed into his back. In slow motion, he felt himself flying through empty space. Spots danced in his vision and right before he blacked out, Ethan thanked God he wasn't going to feel the impact when he landed.
If he died, at least he wouldn't be awake for it.
When Ethan opened his eyes again, it was dark, so that probably meant he wasn't dead, but he heard a low steady whooshing sound like helicopter blades. His blurred vision cleared and he saw a man leaning over him shooting medicine into an IV tube. He followed the tubing to his arm and saw the IV line was attached to him.
"What--" he couldn't manage to form words to finish his sentence.
They all scrambled up in his head and formed a logjam near his mouth. That's when he realized he was intubated and suddenly felt like he was choking. He grabbed at the tube, but the medic held down his arm and yelled to his partner to knock him out again.
The next time he woke up there was bright light that almost blinded him, and this time Ethan thought for sure he was dead. When his eyes finally adjusted though, he saw a lot of people around the bed. The wall of people parted and he thought he saw his mother standing across the room against the wall, and she looked to be crying. He didn't want her to cry, so he tried to sit up but a rough hand shoved him back to the bed.
"Lay still, Cassidy. I'll get you more meds."
He knew that voice, but couldn't place it. He thought it might be someone he'd worked with before, but he wasn't sure. Too tired to think, and not able to get his brain to focus, Ethan closed his eyes and mentally he took an inventory of his body, or tried to. All the pain seemed to be converging in his back, but his legs felt rubbery, and his head hurt like a bitch. He tried to move his legs, but nothing happened. At least he didn't think anything happened.
Either he was drugged up, or he was paralyzed, he thought. He prayed to God they had given him every drug in the cabinet, because he couldn't imagine living without being able to walk.
He wouldn't want to live.
Panic shot through him and a wail worked up from his chest but got trapped between the tube in his throat and his lips. He pointed at the tube and his eyes opened to meet those of Frank, that was his name, a medic who he had helped train, but worked in the Emergency Room at the hospital too. Ethan's e
yes burned and fear made him feel like he was going to vomit. His stomach roiled and then he gagged.
"Knock him out so we can take him to radiology," Frank told someone and a minute or so later, Ethan welcomed blissful blackness, because that's all he had to look forward to now.
Time meant nothing to him, so when he woke again he had no idea what day it was or even where he was. A pretty nurse in green scrubs was taking his vitals and she gave him a soft smile. Ethan's face wouldn't work for him to return the greeting. He tried to talk, but his throat felt like ground meat inside.
"It's okay, you'll be able to talk soon," she told him and patted his arm. "They took the tube out after surgery, so that's why your throat hurts."
Surgery? What kind of surgery had they done, he wondered. Then it hit him that he'd been paralyzed earlier, so he tried to wiggle his toes and nothing happened. Next, Ethan tried to move his legs, they were like fifty pound weights, useless. Frustration knotted up inside of him and he felt like he was going to explode like that house had done.
Focusing his energy, he croaked, "Booker?"
"Who is that?" she said adjusting buttons on a monitor, before turning back to him.
"Partner," he croaked and moved his hand up to massage his throat.
"There were two other firemen that were brought in by ambulance. I don't think their injuries were life threatening," she told him kindly.
"Kid and father?" Ethan forced out in a hoarse whisper.
"Both were treated and released," she informed.
Relief swamped Ethan, at least something was working out right.
Tim had made it and wasn't seriously injured. He could support his kids, go home to his family. And his efforts to save the child had been worth it...mostly.
"Your mom wanted to know when you woke up, are you up to seeing her?" she asked him cheerfully.
"No, not right now," Ethan ground out through his teeth as pain shot up his back to between his shoulders. He had to get his head right before he talked to anyone. Hell, he didn't know if his head would ever be right again.
How did one come to grips with being paralyzed? Ethan was a medical professional, he knew that's what was going on here.
"Surgery...was it successful?" he asked pinning the nurse with his eyes. Ethan knew it was a stupid question, because his legs weren't working, but he needed to hear it.
Her smile faded and her brows pinched, then she told him, "The doctor will be in to talk to you in a few minutes."
Ethan had a lot of close calls lately and had managed to escape them just fine. It looked like his luck had just run out. He didn't need to talk to the doctor, the pity in the pretty nurse's eyes told him all he needed to know.
***
"Mama!" Ethan yelled from the bedroom. He needed to go piss, and he needed help getting out of the damned bed.
It had been two months since the doctor had told him he might never walk again, and since then the four walls of this bedroom, his childhood room in his mother's house, had become his life.
Ethan had lost his job, his apartment, his life.
His mother, father, the doctor, they were all after him to go to therapy. For what? More frustration?
At his last appointment, Ethan had pinned the doctor down about his prognosis, and had been told even with therapy, any improvement would probably be a long time coming, if he ever saw any improvement at all. Two vertebrate were fractured, one displaced and compressing his spinal cord. They had done surgery to shore things up in there, but there were no guarantees he'd ever be able to walk again.
What the hell did it matter if he was vertical again anyway?
He wouldn't ever be able to do the things he had before. Rock climbing, hang gliding, firefighting, all of those things would be off limits to him forever. Being able to stand did not mean that he would ever be useful again, or have any kind of quality of life.
So Ethan wasn't going anywhere, there wasn't anything to be gained.
When he first got out of the hospital, Ethan's firehouse buddies and friends had come by to try and see him, Sarah the pretty kindergarten teacher he'd been dating for four months before the accident had too, but Ethan didn't want anyone seeing him like he was, so they quit trying.
He was fucking pathetic, mentally and physically. He couldn't even go take a piss by himself. His dick probably didn't even work. He had no idea, because he was too damned scared to masturbate and find out. Below the waist he felt nothing, except an occasional tingle or shooting pain, both of which were probably just phantom sensations.
On top of that, the head injury he had sustained had his mind wandering off when he was trying to form sentences. The doctor said that would go away, he just had what amounted to being punch drunk from the concussion, but dealing with it now was frustrating. Combined, all of that made for one pathetic situation, one pathetic man, or half a man.
Ethan was thirty years old and his life was over.
Maybe he'd just get them to give him a damned catheter then he wouldn't have to get up at all. "Mama!" he yelled again and tried to sit up, but his muscles were so weak, he plopped back down on the pillow.
The damned pain medication they'd given him made him dizzy and uncoordinated. He couldn't do without it though, when he tried he felt like someone was stabbing him in the back.
His mother appeared in the doorway and like they were all the time lately, her eyes were sad and frustration lined her face. "What do you need, Ethan?" she asked trying to mask her disappointment from him.
Those lines in her face told him this situation was affecting her as much as it was him, and guilt tried to take hold inside of him, but he shoved it back then told her, "I need to go to the bathroom."
"Then get out of the bed, get into that wheelchair and go," she told him shortly.
"My back hurts mother, and I'm weak. I just need help getting up."
"You're weak because you won't get out of that damned bed and go to therapy."
"Therapy is gonna do what? Make me be able to be a mobile paraplegic? You heard the damned doctor, he said it probably wouldn't do anything."
"And laying in that bed wasting your life is going to do something?" she countered with a hand on her hip.
"Just help me get the hell out of this bed, please," he grated then tried to sit up and gasped as pain shot down his legs then disappeared.
He didn't want to hear any more of his mom's logic, it was too logical. All Ethan wanted to do was wallow in the funk he'd been in for two months, embrace it as his new reality. He didn't need her telling him he was a pathetic loser. Ethan knew.
"I'm not helping you do a darned thing if you're gonna cuss at me, except wash your mouth out with soap!"
"I'm sorry mama," he said and closed his eyes then huffed out a breath fighting off the burning behind his closed eye lids. "I'm feeling sorry for myself, and taking it out on you. Thank you for helping me," he told her.
He heard her walk across the room, then felt her hand on his shoulder, "Ethan honey, you've got to try. The doctor didn't say therapy wouldn't help, he said you'll get as much out of therapy as you put into it, but ultimately your body will determine where you wind up."
Looking up into her worry-filled blue eyes, he begged, "Please, just leave it alone, mama, I don't want to do it."
If he tried and failed, Ethan knew he wasn't going to be able to survive it. Staying in the place he was now and accepting things was best for him. She just didn't understand.
"Come on, let's get you up." His mother was petite and he knew lugging him around and lifting him wasn't good for her back, but what choice did he have?
"Maybe we should look into getting a nurse," Ethan suggested.
The insurance he had would pay for it, he was sure. They were going to pay for the therapy he wasn't taking.
He'd also have his disability payments, as soon as he worked up the motivation to get that set up. Totally disabled and basically bedridden at thirty years old was not something he ever imagined being, or
wanted to admit to. Swallowing that final bitter pill was something he hadn't worked up to yet.
Ethan was an athlete, cocky and overconfident at times. He'd taken his physical ability and his mortality for granted all his life. He sought out risks that would turn most people's stomach, because he lived for those adrenaline rushes. He had saved quite a few lives, but he had ruined his own in the process.
For thinking he was invincible, he was paying the ultimate price, which wasn't death, it was living like he was dead until he quit breathing.
Even if his legs did start working again, he would never be able to work as a fireman, or a Spec Ops Paramedic again. His work with the Texas Task Force 1 Search and Rescue Team both in the state and in response to national emergencies was over. Hell, he couldn't even be a regular paramedic with all the bending and lifting that was required.
All the skills he'd worked so hard to learn and perfect, advanced life support techniques for swift water and flood rescue, cliff rescue, confined space rescue were as useless to him now as his legs.
His mother pulled his upper body toward the edge of the bed, and Ethan gritted his teeth against the pain that shot through his back, then used his hand to shove his dead legs off the edge of the bed, while she helped him turn.
When he managed to sit, Ethan looked up at the doorway and his sister Terri was standing there, right in front of her husband, Joel. Both wore disgusted expressions and Terri's hands were on her hips.
"What the hell, Ethan?" she asked and shook her head. "Mama said you were being a slug, but I didn't believe it."
"A slug?" Ethan repeated then laughed sharply, before shooting his mother a look. "What am I supposed to be doing, mom, running laps round the house?"
Terri walked across the room to the bed and stopped to say angrily, "What you're supposed to be doing, brother, is getting out of that bed and getting your life back. You didn't die, Ethan, stop acting like you did!"
Emotion shot up to his throat and he cleared it. "I wish I had died, sis...this is my life," he told her darkly and waved his hand toward the walls of the bedroom.