Rescued by the Firefighter

by Catherine Lanigan

  One more second in that clearing and they all would have been hit. They might never have made it out. The kid would have been crushed if the pine fell on him.

  But they had made it. Rand’s mother would have said it was a miracle.

  Rand would have to agree with her.

  Still, he was just doing his job.

  This kind of extraction was not new for him. But it was never routine. The circumstances were always different, but the pounding, throttling sense of triumph that shot through his veins was always the same. This was why he did what he did. This was why he chose to risk his life. He was saving lives.

  Someone would live—perhaps live better than they had before—because he’d been there at the instant between life and death.

  Rand walked through the last of the flames and felt the spray of water from the hose lines. As if walking out of another dimension, he heard Captain Bolton shouting orders to the team over the deafening sound of gushing water.

  Two of the team had moved one hose to the far right of the fire and were advancing toward the center from the west, where a slight night breeze had originated.

  Two others were hosing from the opposite direction.

  An EMT crew and their ambulance had arrived. He spotted Maisie off to the side and behind the wildfire engine.

  Joy leaped into her face as she saw them. She threw her hands in the air and then clamped them down on top of her head. “Beatrice! Eli!”

  Maisie raced toward them.

  The EMT crew got there first with a stretcher and oxygen.

  “Thanks, guys,” Rand said to the EMT crew as he lowered both Beatrice and Eli onto the stretcher. He looked down at Beatrice. “You’ll be okay now. These guys are the top gun.”

  He noticed that she never let go of Eli, and the little boy clung to her like a monkey.

  To the EMT, he said, “Possible broken ankle or foot. Burns on her back.”

  “We’ll check it out,” the taller of the EMTs said and immediately started to take off Beatrice’s shoe.

  “You’ll be fine,” Rand assured her again.

  Her blue eyes were wide as she looked up at him pleadingly.

  “What is it?”

  “Chris. He’s still in there.”

  Rand nodded, taking off his glove. “I know, Bee.” He touched her face where a black mark slashed her cheek. The black soot smeared his fingertips.

  Rand stood, and as he did she reached out and took his hand. She had a surprisingly strong grip. “What?” he asked.

  “Just...thank you. Now, go.”

  Rand dropped her hand and raced away, wondering if the tear he’d seen was gratitude or smoke in Beatrice’s eye.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “CHRIS!”

  Rand ran into the forest, the flames dying around him as the fire crew blasted water through the trees. He pushed through the piles of smoldering pine nettles and over the downed limb that had almost killed Beatrice, Eli and him.

  As a firefighter the smell of wet earth always gave Rand hope. But would he find the boy in time? Did he even want to be found?

  “Chris!” he yelled into the shock of burned and blackened trees, denuded of foliage and standing like spikes against the night sky. “Chris!”

  Kids were strange ducks in Rand’s book. Most of them could outsmart the majority of adults. Granted, he didn’t hang with philosophers and academics, but his family and friends were no dummies. Kids, however, were open to all possibilities and concepts. That’s why a lost kid was so hard to find. They didn’t sit still. They didn’t follow patterns that “thinking” adults would take. They relied on base animal instincts. When trapped, they bolted for freedom. When cornered, they would outsmart their prey or vanish. They bucked rules, ignored safety measures and took risks.

  He guessed that Chris had used plenty of animal instincts to avoid Rand’s search thus far. With the blaze petering out, Chris could circle around, exit through an unburned area and get back to camp. Of course, that scenario assumed Chris wanted to return to camp. But what if he didn’t? What if he was a runner? A kid who felt so displaced in his life that all he wanted was to skip over these tough years and wake up when he was much older. Rand had seen that kind of kid.

  Sometimes they were arsonists.

  Rand had fought fires from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to Idaho to California. He knew exactly the kind of conditions that it took for Mother Nature to burn. But there had been no thunderstorms here in Indian Lake. No lightning bolts. And not quite enough heat to spark spontaneous combustion. No, this was a fire started by human hands. Rand would bet his reputation on it.

  And if he was right, Chris had all the more reason to stay clear.

  Rand had one shot at bringing out Chris. He had to take it.

  “Chris! I know you can hear me. It’s safe now. Eli is safe.”

  Rand kept going, toward the most burned section of forest. It was his guess that it had been near here where the fire started.

  “Chris!”

  “Do—do you promise?” The young voice traveled down from the sky to Rand.

  Rand turned on his boot and looked up. To his right was a tall, wide pine tree that had been burned on the bottom, but halfway up the tree, the limbs were unscathed. Huddled between two enormous lush pine limbs was a boy. Rand couldn’t see his face in the dark. But he could feel his fear.

  “Yes, I promise your brother is safe with Miss Beatrice at the camp.”

  “I don’t believe you,” he sniffed.

  “It’s true.”

  “How did they get out? I barely got up here myself before it all exploded.”

  Now the boy was crying and the sobs caught in his throat, restricting his words.

  “The trees did explode,” Rand said, careful to keep his words calm.

  “It was scary. Really bad.”

  “But you were brave. You climbed that tree all by yourself.”

  “I’ve been climbing stuff all my life.”

  “I’ll bet you have. Let me guess. Windows? Fire escapes? Rooftops, maybe?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was kinda like that, too. I’m still climbing ladders. Ropes. That kind of stuff.” Rand paused as he heard the dissipating sound of the hoses. The crew was winding down. “The fire is under control. You come down.”

  Silence.

  Chris coughed and then hacked. Rand guessed the kid had inhaled his share of smoke tonight.

  “There are paramedics here who need to help you. The smoke—”

  “I know all about smoke,” Chris interrupted. “Okay?”

  Rand felt impatience kindle in his belly. “Chris. You have to come down, son.”

  “I’m not your son.”

  “No kidding.” Rand ground his teeth. This was no place for attitude. A burned limb could fall at any moment and crash into them both. But while he could think of a dozen retorts to Chris at the moment, not one of them would get the kid to climb to the ground. “If you don’t come down, I’ll come up and get you.”

  “How?”

  “Just like you did. Climb. Then I’ll tie a rope to you and lower you to the ground. Or you can stay there, where the burned bark will skin you alive. Your choice. But I’m not leaving here without you.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Oh.” Chris started coughing. He cleared his throat. He coughed again. “I’m coming down.”

  Rand knew that once Chris got past the living foliage and sturdy limbs, his descent was going to get rough. There was a good twenty feet of burned bark and sharp splinters on that half-denuded trunk. Rand could see jagged stubs of limbs on the trunk, but could Chris? Were they strong enough for him to get a foothold? Or would they break under his weight? Worse, would the kid make a jump for it and risk breaking a leg or ankle in his d
rop?

  “Once you get to the last limb, Chris, I want you to take it slow. I’ll guide you down.”

  “I don’t need your help, okay? I made it up here and I can make it down on my own.”

  Rand heaved a frustrated sigh and put his hands on his hips. Beatrice certainly had her hands full with this one.

  “You’re doing great,” Rand encouraged the boy as Chris moved down through the limbs and came to the burned part of the trunk.

  Chris toed the trunk with his sneaker, searching for a foothold, but he found none. The boy grabbed the limb with both hands and lowered his feet farther down the tree, still looking for a brace.

  “The trunk is too wide for you to hug and slide down. Plus, you’ll scrape your skin in the process,” Rand said. “Or...”

  “Or?” Chris asked with just enough trepidation that Rand thought he might have made an impression on the kid.

  “You can drop and I’ll catch you.”

  “No way.”

  “It’s okay, my body will cushion your fall.”

  Chris peered down at Rand, his arms stretched over his head as he hung on to the limb. His knuckles had gone white and his fingers were starting to slip. The kid wouldn’t last much longer.

  “Why?”

  “There ya go with the questions again. Just drop.”

  “You’re angry at me.”

  “I’m getting there, yeah.”

  Rand heard the hoses stop, then he looked up. The wind had died completely. Tiny pellets of long-overdue rain had started to sprinkle from the sky. A mist of droplets hit his face. It certainly wasn’t a downpour—only a gentle rain—but it was wet, nonetheless, and would ensure the fire was completely extinquished.

  Rand heard one of the other firefighters shouting his name. He heard boots stomping over brush and smoldering leaves and nettles.

  “My friends are coming.”

  Chris coughed and that led to another cough. “I can’t breathe so good.”

  “I can imagine,” Rand replied. Another minute of hanging from the limb and Chris would be in trouble. Rand needed the boy to try to aim for his outstretched arms.

  “Chris, let go, and when you do, pretend you’re lying down horizontally. It’ll be like skydiving.”

  “Rand!” a man’s voice shouted.

  “Over here!” Rand replied as loudly as he could.

  “You skydive?” Chris coughed out the words.

  “Yes, Chris. Now, let go and do it!”

  “Okay!”

  Chris let go of the limb, flattened his back and closed his eyes.

  Rand dug his heels into the ground, bent his knees to keep his back solid and reached out to catch the boy. Chris landed in Rand’s arms with a wallop. Rand had expected his biceps to sting with the sudden impact, but, like his brother, Chris was much lighter than he’d braced for.

  Chris popped his eyes open, blinked and squirmed out of Rand’s arms.

  “You’re safe,” Rand said. “Here, put this oxygen mask on. It will help you with the smoke inhalation.”

  “I’m fine.” Chris pushed Rand’s hand away.

  “Wear it!” Rand ordered and then clamped the mask over Chris’s face and put the elastic strap over his head, making sure the back was secure.

  “Rand!” Another shout came toward him along with the sound of many boots crunching over the burned ground. Ted McIntyre and Manny Quale stood shoulder to Nomex-suited-shoulder in front of them.

  “You found him,” Ted said, pointing with his gloved hand to Chris.

  “He was up that tree.” Rand looked at Chris, who was staring at the smoking forest floor.

  “I’ll go back for the paramedics,” Manny said.

  “I’m fine,” Chris said sternly as he ripped off the mask, shoved it back to Rand, and marched away from Rand, Ted and Manny. “See?” He swung his arms as he walked away from them.

  Both Ted and Manny looked back at Rand.

  “What? No ‘thanks’?” Ted asked.

  Rand shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently, he didn’t want to be rescued.”

  “Oh,” Manny said. “One of those.”

  “Afraid so,” Rand answered.

  They walked out of the smoking forest after Chris.

  * * *

  BEATRICE LOOKED DOWN at her right ankle as she sat on the gurney in the ER. “Acute metatarsal fracture?” she repeated to Dr. Eric Hill, the ER doctor who was documenting her injury into a laptop computer on the counter to her right. A nurse with streaks of purple and pink in her midlength hair was inputting more information into another computer with a larger screen on a wheeled cart.

  “Correct,” Dr. Hill replied. “Which means you broke the long bone in your foot. The one that attaches the ankle to the toes. Luckily the bones are aligned and don’t need surgery.”

  “Will I have to wear a cast and use crutches?” Beatrice swallowed hard, thinking of all the camp chores, the climb to her cabin and supposedly easy things like helping the kids dress in the mornings. Such simple chores, these daily bits of her life, but they made her days rewarding. She’d have to put the crutches down each time she wanted to hug a child.

  Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them back.

  “I’d rather not go that route,” he said.

  “Seriously?” She brightened. “But you said the recovery time is six to eight weeks.”

  “It is. But we can outfit you for an air boot. I prefer it to a cast because it has a reservoir that can hold ice-cold water around the injury for as much as six hours. Right now, I want the swelling to go down and ice is the answer. More than any medication. And overmedicating can lead to bleeding and that’s not good, either. In a week, I’ll start you on some exercises with that foot.”

  “Exercises?”

  “Easy things at first. Well, they sound easy to the uninjured. And make sure to keep the foot elevated as much as you can. Keep your weight off of it. The air boot will help a lot with redistribution of weight.”

  “Good.”

  He rose and looked at her with more empathy than she’d seen in anyone’s eyes in a long time. “Those burns on your back are going to sting for a few days, but could be worse. You’ll need to apply aloe vera and an antibiotic cream for a week to ten days. Take two Tylenol and three Ibuprofen for pain. And you’ll probably want to get a haircut.”

  “Smells pretty bad, doesn’t it?”

  “Like burned hair.” He gave her a faint smile and continued. “We’ve put loose gauze over the burns for now. Do you have someone who can change the bandages for you every day?”

  “Uh, sure. Cindy or Maisie at the camp...”

  “Great. I want to see you in my office a week from today. I’ll have the nurse here set up an appointment for you.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “You take care, Beatrice. I’m glad the camp is unharmed.”

  After setting up the appointment, the nurse wheeled the trolley with the computer out of the ER bay, giving Beatrice a wide smile as she said goodbye.

  “Dr. Hill, before you go. Could you tell me more about Eli and Chris?”

  “They’re both fine. Eli was more frightened than injured. Chris is suffering from mild smoke inhalation. The firefighter who found him administered oxygen. He’s got a cough, but frankly, considering all he’s been through, he’s done remarkably well.”

  “It’s a miracle,” she said, more to herself than to the doctor.

  “The fact that he climbed a very tall tree and stayed far above the fire and smoke helped. He was high enough that the air was at least somewhat clearer. That was smart thinking on his part.”

  Given his past, it didn’t surprise her that Chris was resourceful. His intelligence wasn’t the issue, however. He’d been closed-off, quiet and seemingly resentful at camp. She was sure he just needed
to be loved. But he’d be gone from camp soon, and she couldn’t guarantee he’d get the care he so desperately craved.

  “It’ll be a few minutes for the nurse to get all the release papers and instructions. You just rest for a bit.” He patted her shoulder, pulled back the curtain that hung over the sliding glass door and walked away.

  As Dr. Hill left, a sandy-haired young man in surgical garb and a white lab coat entered the room. He carried a drawstring bag that looked almost as big as Santa’s sack. “I’m here to fit this boot on you,” he said.

  “Of course.” Beatrice smiled, and the man went quickly to work.

  The black-and-gray air boot looked like something an astronaut would wear to walk on the moon, Beatrice thought, as the man very gently lifted her injured foot and slid the boot into place. His fingers flew over the straps, making certain the boot fit comfortably. Beatrice eased herself off the gurney to try the rocker bottom of the boot, which was supposed to improve her gait. He explained how to use the ice-water feature, then instructed her about donning and doffing the boot and how to clean and maintain her new “friend.”

  “This boot is my favorite,” he said. “I used it when I broke my ankle. I was back to fast walking in three weeks.”

  “Three weeks? The doctor said six to eight weeks for me.”

  “Oh, sure. That’s total healing time. But I can’t live without running. The docs let us ease back into our normal exercise fairly quickly.”

  “Well,” she said, grinning, “then this is exactly the boot I want.”

  “Great,” he said and handed her a card. “Here’s the number to the ortho department. Call us if you need.”

  The young man left and Beatrice leaned her hip against the gurney as she rocked her foot back and forth in the boot. She lifted her knee, but felt a stabbing pain when she did.

  Wincing, she glanced up and saw him.

  He was leaning against the doorjamb. Gone were the Nomex suit, goggles and gloves. The helmet. She noticed his thick, dark, nearly black hair first. A hunk of shining, slightly damp hair hung over his strong forehead. His jawline looked like it had been carved from granite. In fact, everything about him was strong. He didn’t need a firefighter’s suit to make his shoulders wide; his presence filled the doorway, the room, the expanse between them. He wore a black short-sleeved T-shirt that stretched over biceps that could only have been built by hours in a gym. His black jeans fitted close to his narrow hips and muscular thighs. He wore no jewelry. No watch, no wedding ring, no tats. There was nothing extraneous or ornamental about this man. It wasn’t necessary—his whole being shouted, “I’m a man.”