Hi.
Gamble grabbed onto the single syllable like it was a fucking lifeline, and Christ, it felt so goddamn good to have something to hold on to.
And so goddamn right that it was her.
Hey, he texted back, fear jabbing at his chest a split second later. Both Sinclair and Isabella had sworn to call him with a nine-one-one if anything went down with Rusty or Xander, but… Are you okay?
Kennedy texted back quickly. Yes, I’m fine.
A tiny smile snuck over his mouth, unbidden. She’d probably say that if her arm was hanging on by a couple of tendons. A fact she must’ve realized, because a beat later, she added, I mean, nothing is going on. I know it’s kind of late. Sorry if I woke you.
Wake him? Fuck, she’d saved him.
Gamble cleared his throat and exhaled into the darkness of his room, which suddenly didn’t seem quite as overwhelming as it had sixty seconds ago. You didn’t.
Oh. Good.
For a second that turned into ten, then twenty, the screen remained unchanged, with nothing more from her and no little bubbles that said she was constructing a message. Gamble could picture her, though, with those slender, capable fingers hovering over her phone, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she tried to think of the right words to say, and he typed out a message before he could stop himself.
I can hear the gears turning over there. What’s on your mind?
For all the hesitation that had come before it, this time, Kennedy’s reply came swiftly.
You.
The message had no sooner traveled from Gamble’s eyes to his solar plexus than the piercing all-call of the station’s overhead sound system shattered the silence around him.
Engine Seventeen, Squad Six, Ambulance Twenty-Two, Battalion Seventeen, structure fire, two hundred block of Camden Avenue. Possible entrapment. Multiple units responding to the scene. Requesting immediate response.
Ah, shit. Gamble flung the blanket off his legs, jamming his feet into his boots and thumb-typing as fast as possible. Call just came in. Talk later?
Sure, yes. Of course, Kennedy replied. Gamble’s adrenal gland did its due diligence, pumping out all sorts of things that tempted him to give in to his pounding heart and the faster pace of his breathing.
But his fingers were perfectly steady as he typed out, By the way? I think about you, too.
He shoved his phone into his pocket without waiting for a reply, whipping his office door open and fast-tracking his ass to the engine bay.
Goodbye, calm. Hello, shit-storm.
19
Five minutes after he’d climbed into the officer’s seat in the front of Engine Seventeen, Gamble realized that shit-storm might be an understatement.
He squinted at the computer screen mounted to the dashboard, reading, then re-reading the update from dispatch before turning his mouth toward the mic on his headset.
“Okay, you guys. Listen up, because this is big shit. Dispatch has six nine-one-one callers reporting active flames all over a vacant commercial building in an industrial park.”
McCullough’s eyes widened, although they didn’t budge from the windshield as she maneuvered the engine through the essentially empty city streets. “That’s a ton of freaking call-ins for a vacant building in the middle of a part of town that should be dead quiet at this time of night,” she said, her voice tinny over the headset. But between the sirens blaring full-bore over their heads and the boxy logistics of the engine’s interior, they’d never be able to communicate without the damned things.
“You think this building is some sort of flophouse?” came Kellan’s voice over the line, and even though Gamble would have to do some serious twisting around to put eyes on the guy all the way in the back step, he nodded.
“Entirely possible considering the location.” A great part of the city, it wasn’t. Then again, it wasn’t as if a lot of people who slept in flophouses also had the cash for cell phones to be calling nine-one-one. “That, or a bunch of people broke into the place to party.”
“Fucking popup parties,” McCullough said. “A bunch of teenagers getting high and wasted and who knows what else in a creaky old warehouse with no heat and no power. Like nothing’s going to go wrong there.”
Gamble’s gut knotted and dropped low beneath his turnout gear. They’d responded to enough of these calls for him to know Shae wasn’t wrong.
All fires had the potential to be disastrous. But if there were people trapped inside this large, abandoned building, who might potentially be drunk or who knew what else, as the whole thing burned uncontrollably?
Yeah. This was the stuff of nightmares.
“Okay, so what do we do?” de Costa asked from her spot in the back step beside Kellan. They’d seen a handful of decent-sized fires since she’d come on board as Seventeen’s rookie, and she’d even had her boots on the ground for a couple of them, going in with the rest of the crew to knock things down. But none of those fires had even come close to this in either magnitude or intensity, and Gamble had to hand it to her. For as much seriousness as de Costa’s voice held, she didn’t sound scared.
Even though she probably fucking should.
“Gear up. ETA is”—he swung a gaze at McCullough, who supplied “eight minutes” in answer before finishing with—“Bridges is behind us, and dispatch has two other units responding. Looks like we’ll be first on-scene, which means Bridges will call the ball. Have your radios on, and do me a goddamn favor. Keep your eyes and ears wide, all of you, because it looks like we’re gonna get toasty. You copy?”
“Copy,” came the trio of replies through his headset. Gamble pulled on the gear he hadn’t already gotten into place before climbing into the engine and kept an eye on the monitor for updates from dispatch, which only included more of the same; namely, that there was a fire, it wasn’t small, and—shit—that two people reported having been inside when they’d smelled smoke and run outside, and they hadn’t been in the building alone.
“Ho-ly…” Kellan’s voice barely made it over the headset as McCullough pulled up in front of a huge four-story building and jerked the engine to a stop. Gamble didn’t waste any time getting his boots on the concrete and his eyes on his surroundings, and ah, hell, Kellan’s response had been accurate.
Adrenaline flooded Gamble’s veins at the punch of heat and smoke already filling the nighttime air. Dark orange flames flickered upward from four—make that five—front-facing windows on the second floor, as well as from three more side-facing windows on the top level of the building. The smoke chugging past the gaps in the handful of windows that had been boarded up suggested there was plenty more fire inside that they couldn’t see, and with just the feeble streetlights on either corner of the block for assistance, they had a hell of a job in front of them if there were people inside this building.
“Oh, God. Oh, God.” de Costa stood on the sidewalk, gaping up at the building and looking terrified for the first time since Gamble had known her, and the emotion on her face snapped him to immediate attention.
“de Costa, look at me.” He pushed himself into her line of vision to be sure to get the whole not-a-question thing across. “You’re trained for this, and you’re part of a team. We’re all going to knock this fire down together, one command at a time. You copy?”
She nodded, her helmet wobbling. “Y-yes.” At his arched brow, she shook her head, as if re-setting her resolve. “Yes, Lieutenant. I copy.”
Relief filled his belly at her excellent timing as Captain Bridges’s voice sounded off through their radios. “Listen up, Seventeen! We have reports of flames showing on Alpha, Bravo, and Delta sides of the building on floors one, two, and four. Multiple reports of entrapment. Apparently, some kind of after-hours party. Walker, you and de Costa prep the lines so they’ll be good to go when everyone’s out, and keep your eyes open from the outside. Gamble, McCullough, you’re with squad for search and rescue, and I’ll get Engine Forty-Two on venting the roof. Whatever’s burning in t
here is doing it fast,” he said, the implication not to take their time loud and clear in his tone. “I want all of you out of there faster. Copeland, Slater, set up triage and check everyone who’s already gotten out for injuries. Let’s move, people!”
Gamble buckled his helmet into place, sweat already forming on his brow beneath the rough, thick material of his hood. He regulated his breathing even though his nervous system was daring his heart to play full-contact dodge ball with his ribs, meticulously scanning not just the building, but the entire scene. Smoke funneled through the air, and Gamble knew from experience that he wouldn’t get rid of the acrid stench in his nostrils or the taste of it in the back of his throat for days.
No time to think about that now. Block out the smell. Stuff everything down deep. Focus.
His boots slapped to a halt on the sidewalk in front of the building, McCullough on his six.
“Alright, y’all,” came Hawk’s drawl as he completed the same survey of the scene they’d all no doubt just done out of instinct. “We’re gonna clear all the party people outta here, nice and easy, then get the hell outta Dodge so Walker and the rookie can get this place wet. McCullough, you and Gamble take floor two, Dempsey and Gates, floor three, and Faurier, me and you will head on up to four. We’ll sweep from the top down and hit floor one last. Don’t get shy on the radio if you need something, but let’s get in so we can get out. Copy?”
Technically, as lieutenants, neither Hawk nor Gamble outranked the other. But not only did Hawkins have far more tenure when it came to both search and rescue and knocking down fires, but Gamble respected the shit out of both the man and his command. It didn’t make it tough to follow his orders. “Copy that, Hawk.”
The other firefighters all clipped out their agreement and hustled toward the front entrance of the building. Dempsey had the most experience breaching everything from standard-issue wood-framed doors to high-tech security gates to—in one very weird instance that had actually made the local news—the door to a bank vault, so he took the lead. Thankfully, he didn’t end up needing to put his skills to use, though, as a young woman stumbled through the building’s front door just as they arrived on the threshold.
“Ma’am? Are you hurt?” Gates asked, and even though the teen was coughing heavily and covered in a film of ashes and grimy soot, she managed to shake her head.
“N-no,” she coughed, her stare wild and panicked. “But my friend is still inside. There are lots of people inside. Oh, my God, it happened so fast.”
“Okay. It’s okay. You’re safe now. Take a deep breath,” Gates told her, and damn, the guy was good, because his even voice and calm expression did the trick. “Is your friend hurt?”
“No.” The young woman coughed again and started to cry. “I don’t know, maybe? He’s t-t-trapped on the second floor, near the back of the building. We were trying to get down the hallway to get out, and a piece of the ceiling s-started to fall. He pushed me toward the door, but then he couldn’t get past all the fire. It was everywhere. Please, you have to go help him. Please!”
Slater came running up, his jump bag firmly in place on his shoulder. “Come with me, ma’am. My name is Luke, and I’m going to check you for injuries, okay?”
Nodding in thanks, Gates passed the woman off to Slater. Hawkins looked at McCullough, then Gamble, but only for a split second before jutting his chin at the door.
“Find him quick, would you? And for fuck’s sake, watch your asses in there.”
Shae nodded, never hesitating. “You got it, Hawk,” she said, swiveling toward Gamble. “You ready, boss?”
“Copy.” His brain lasered in on the task in front of him, his focus straight-edge sharp. Search and rescue. Nothing else. “You’re on my six until we hit floor two. Let’s see what we’re dealing with, here.”
Gamble tugged his mask into place over his face and pushed past the front door, knowing Shae would be directly behind him because that’s where he’d told her to be. A wall of heat and smoke did its level best to steamroll him as he stepped farther inside the building, and he tempered his pulse along with his breathing as he did a quick visual sweep of his surroundings. Visibility was dim, lit only by the glowing flames along the far wall, but the building looked like a warehouse of some kind, with wider, open spaces on the main floor. There were pieces of furniture scattered around and wooden pallets stacked up here and there, looking as if they’d been left behind from when the building had been in use. Flames were quickly consuming the walls on the Delta side of the building and the furniture close to it, but the floor looked thankfully clear of anyone trapped or trying to get out, despite the intensity of the fire.
“There,” Gamble barked, pointing to a nearby door marked STAIRS. He cut a fast path to the stairwell, clicking on the flashlight attached to the front of his gear so he could see something other than the pitch black he’d been greeted with. Hoofing it up one flight, he palmed the door to the second level, his muscles coiling as he braced for whatever he’d find on the other side.
Fuck. He’d been right to buckle down. Pushing his way over the threshold, Gamble could quickly see that search and rescue was going to be a righteous pain in the ass. While the ground level had been fairly open, this floor held an L-shaped hallway with doors lining either side, as if they’d been offices of some sort, with at least five on either side of each corridor. And those were just the ones he could see.
Time to get moving. “Take Alpha. I’ll take Bravo. Let’s find this guy. Go,” Gamble said, McCullough’s “copy” hitting his back as he pivoted to his left. The radio on his shoulder crackled with byplay between Gates and command as the firefighter assisted someone out of the building, then again between Faurier and command for more of the same. Gamble checked the first two rooms, both of which were loaded with heavy, curling smoke, but thankfully free of flames. Shutting each door methodically after the room behind it had been cleared, he moved down the hall, trying to ignore the darkness just outside the reach of his flashlight.
Tell…tell my wife…tell her I love her…
He blanked the memory with a hard mental shove. He needed to find this guy who had allegedly been trapped, along with anyone else who might be stuck up here, and get gone.
Shadows be damned.
Gamble’s SCBA tank hissed low in his ears, reminding him that air was at a premium. The news flash made his survival instinct override the thoughts trying to crowd his brain, and he pushed his way past another door. A wave of heat rushed forward in a rude-ass greeting, flames whooshing and crackling as they climbed the walls and stretched up toward the ceiling.
“Fire department! Call out!” Gamble bellowed, trying to get his voice to carry as far as possible past his mask. A quick check of the room—which was empty of furniture or other things that might block his view, thank fuck—turned up clear, and McCullough’s voice grabbed his attention through the radio.
“McCullough to command, I’ve got a conscious female on floor two, Alpha side.”
Gamble blinked. Hadn’t the young woman outside said her friend was a guy?
“Copy that, McCullough,” came Bridges’s voice. “Is your exit path on floor two clear?”
Gamble allowed himself a brief exhale at Shae’s affirmative reply, but his relief only lasted until she added that the rest of her search was all clear. It was possible the guy they’d believed to be trapped up here had been in some other room, or even on some other floor, and had already gotten out. But even with the heat and flames and smoke that seemed to be spreading through the building far faster than they should, Gamble couldn’t take the risk.
There was one room left at the end of this hallway, and the guy might be trapped inside.
Gamble lasered his sights on the door at the end of the hallway. Pushing over the threshold, he immediately stumbled back at the surge of flames that rushed forward in the world’s nastiest meet and greet. Fiery debris littered the room—Christ, half the ceiling had caved in, beams and all—and yeah, he neede
d to do his sweep and get the fuck out of here before the rest of the place decided to jump on the all-fall-down bandwagon.
“Fire department! Call—”
Gamble clapped eyes on the guy on the floor mid-holler, and his chest constricted as if someone had reached down his throat and grabbed the air right from his lungs. The guy—no, kid was more accurate, because he couldn’t be any older than seventeen—was slumped lifelessly on his side. Both of his legs were trapped beneath one of the fallen ceiling beams, pinning him into place on the ash-strewn floor, and Gamble didn’t stop to think, just shoved past the smoldering debris to get to the kid.
“Hey, buddy! Can you hear me?” Gamble’s instincts took complete control, guiding his eyes in a lightning-fast sweep and regulating his nervous system to keep his breathing and heartbeat in check. The kid let out a low, weak groan—yes, breathing—and Gamble slapped the radio on his shoulder to life.
“Gamble to command. I’ve got a male victim in need of medical assistance on floor two, Bravo side.”
He sent up a prayer that the primary exit was still clear, and for once, the powers that be did him a solid. “Command to Gamble, copy that. You’re clear to fall out to the primary exit.”
Gamble squinted past the sweat in his eyes and the smoke in front of his mask. Normally, he’d stabilize the kid first. Crush injuries were no fucking joke. But this place was burning faster by the second, the fire raging harder and hotter than even a minute ago, so Gamble’s main priority was getting them both out of there as fast as possible. Reaching down low, he gripped the ceiling beam, along with the huge chunk of smoldering drywall that had fallen over the kid’s body from the waist down, and lifted it high enough to shove it aside. His stomach bottomed out at the sight of the severe burns covering the kid’s legs, but he had no time to waste with shit like feelings or fear.
Gamble pulled the kid into a fireman’s carry across his shoulders, taking just a split second to recalibrate his muscles and his center of gravity to match the added weight before turning to move toward the door. Flames flickered, closer and faster, as the hallway became the junction to the stairs and the stairwell became the first floor. Gamble’s lungs squalled and his muscles threatened to seize from the heat and exertion, but no. No.
Down Deep Page 20