Once Robinson rejoins us I continue. “I got the pike. The rest of you guys just follow my lead. Now let’s go.” I feel my blood roaring in my ears, my thumping pulse racing to keep up. Excited and antsy, I realize this is what I’d missed the most. The unpredictability and yes, even the rush. Besides all those noble traits they talk about in the papers, this is another reason I became a fireman. A shot of adrenaline fills my veins.
The heat is excruciating and I’m shielded by a veil of darkness as billows of smoke swallow up the room. Add the fifty pounds on my back and it doesn’t take long before I feel like a foil-wrapped burrito. My feet pound the wooden floor but I can’t tell where exactly I’m headed. At one point, I stumble, throwing me off balance, but then I right myself like I’d done a thousand times before. Per protocol, we start our chatter back and forth inside our masks, our voices mixed with inhales and exhales like each of us is in a goddammed Star Wars movie.
“I see a lot of junk in here,” says Garcia stepping over skids along the floor. “Old furniture and…what the hell is that thing?”
“Haven’t you ever seen an icebox?” asks Williams.
“Is that what that is?”
“Yeah, we used them back when dinosaurs roamed the earth.”
“No shit,” says Garcia. “Was that when you were a little boy and you walked to school in the snow with no shoes?”
Williams chuckles. “Fuck yeah. Uphill too.”
“The fire isn’t contained to this particular room,” says Clarke. “According to the camera, it’s getting hotter toward those stairs in the back.” I look around but all I can see is a smoky haze. “Straight ahead,” says Clarke. “Over there.” He points with the camera.
“Follow it,” I tell him. I can hear the alarms of each man’s breathing apparatus. It beeps whenever a man stops moving for fifteen seconds. A prolonged beep would indicate the air supply is gone. I get thrown off balance again by something sticking out of the wall and then once more when I turn around a corner. I make a mental note to requisition new SCBA equipment. I saw a new design on the internet. Unlike what we wore, it could be worn on the hip, resulting in a lower center of gravity, aiding to a man’s balance. With all the gear we wear, it’s a miracle we don’t topple over.
The smoke thickens, making us blind in our travels. “Garcia?”
“Yup.”
“Williams, Robinson, Clarke?” Every man responded with a “Yo.” I almost tripped a few times over something on the floor and grab the wall just in time. The smoke is getting thicker. We’re forced to gather single file, each holding the shoulder of the man before us. I recalled being a rookie and how difficult that had been to learn, how to sense the light touch of a man’s hand through those coarse heavy jackets. Better keep an eye on Garcia.
I look down by my feet but the only thing visible is the snaking of the hose near my ankles and the bottoms of someone’s legs.
“Who checked the gear?” someone asks.
“That you, Garcia?”
“Yeah.”
“I checked it. Why?”
“Oh, uh…my mask is too big. I pulled it tight as I could but it’s still loose.”
“Are you good or do you need to get out of here?” I pause, holding up a beam and ducking under. “Just say the word, Garcia. Don’t be a hero.”
“I can deal,” he tells me. I thought he sounded a little hoarse but for a little guy, I know he’s tougher than he looks.
“You sure, Garcia? It’s only training, son. If you need to get out…”
“No, no. I’m good.”
The sound of crackling and whooshing flames are all around us gives me a sense of my own stupid mortality. I’m glad I’m here today. I hadn’t realized just how big the hotel was. Nervous jitters flood my chest but I’m careful not to let it show. Garcia is about six feet ahead of me. Shit! What the hell was wrong with his mask? “Breathe slowly, Garcia and don’t waste your breath.”
“I see the stairs,” someone yells.
“Right. Hey, isn’t the old man on the top floor?”
“Nah, he’s not here after all,” I say, not wanting to put Garcia in any more compromising predicaments.
“No, I think he’s still here,” Garcia argues. “I’m going up.”
Stubborn kid. “At least let Clarke go in front of you with the camera.” I feel the absence of Robinson’s hand on my shoulder as soon as the words leave my mouth. Apparently he was the one behind me. I get a faint reflection of his face beneath the mask as he passes by.
A few minutes later. “I think we’re getting to the source,” says Clarke. “Thousand degrees!”
Taking the pike pole off my back, I thrust it upward several times trying to make a hole in the tin ceiling, but it refuses to give. The boards behind it stays stubbornly in place. If I can’t penetrate the ceiling—we have a new problem to worry about. Back draft or flashover are a very real and dangerous possibility. I thrust the pike upward again—throwing all my weight into it. And again. And again. Finally a big sheet of melted metal curl around the pole. With a gloved hand, I pull it down with an aggravated grunt and then throw it against a wall. Smoke escapes through the opening and the air clears a bit. For a several minutes, I can actually make out the man in front of me before new smoke fills the room again.
The closer we get to the stairs, the thicker the smoke becomes, the danger more intense. I need an eyeball on the kid. I feel responsible. “Garcia! Are you there?” It’s impossible to see who is who in all our gear—so when he calls back, “Here, chief,” I heard it inside my mask. I can’t tell which direction he’s calling from. Even so, after hearing his voice, I sigh with relief.
The smoke makes it difficult to navigate and I have to slide my hands along the wall. I really want to know how far away Garcia is, but there’s no way to tell. Sweat pours down my back, puddling in my shorts. A parched throat signals I’m dehydrated but then so aren’t we all.
Then, I see it. A bunch of skids bursting all aflame in one corner of a room. The red dot of Clarke’s camera shines on the back wall. It should make me feel better but it doesn’t. “Get the line. Get the line!”
“Here I come with the tip,” shouts Robinson. Four of us kneel down as the hose flies above our heads. A lump forms in my throat. Something doesn’t feel right. I feel it in my gut but I can’t quite put my finger on why. A strong breeze as Robinson and three other firefighters move past me with the line. They extinguish the flames neatly.
My view changes from seeing fire—to the glow of the camera—to all black—to nothing but grey. Above the sizzling of wet embers I hear a long drawn out beep. “Shit!” I call out my men and everyone answers except one. “Where the fuck is Williams? Williams! Williams, where are you?”
“I think I saw him near the stairs,” says Clarke.
“Okay, roles reversed. Garcia…Your old man is safe. Find Williams. Find him. Now!”
“We’ve got another fire, chief,” someone says.
With one fire extinguished, another one escalates out of control near the stairs, flames licking the curtains so fast I know it’s only a matter of time before a window blows out. A long shrill beeping indicating a man is down somewhere. “Shit! Where the fuck are you? Williams, ole man…”
I continue to call out, my heart pumping like a jack hammer. Williams is my best friend. My only friend. After what seems like forever, a soft groan fills my ears. “Williams, that you?”
“You’re older than me, asshole,” says a gruff voice. The sweetest insult “Not breathing too well, man.”
Fucking hell!
Dropping to my knees, I find him pinned beneath the stairwell. Clarke rushes forward. With amazing strength, he lifts what looks like a concrete wall off Williams’ back. “Get him on air,” I yell. He takes off his face mask and presses it to the older man’s face.
Robinson is busy with the tip, while another fighter takes the extra tank off my back. I motion to Clarke, who’s been sharing his breathing mask with William
s. He nods in understanding and places his mask back on his head. I hook the extra tank to William’s face mask. It isn’t supposed to go this way. Why did he run out of air? Two more firefighters appear at my side. They get Williams to his feet and place each of his arms on their shoulders.“Get him outa here!” They limp past me. “Garcia!”
“Right here chief,” says a youthful voice. “I guess it’s not my day to be the victim huh?
“You’ll get your chance. How’s your mask?”
“I’m still breathing if that’s what you wanna know.”
“Good. One disaster is enough for today. Sound off.”
When everyone is accounted for, I relax to some degree. The air is already cleared to a soft grey mist and I’m standing in a puddle. “That’s enough for today. Let’s get outa here.” Single file, we leave the building. I have no idea what happened, only that I’m exhausted, but I can’t ignore the nagging at my heart. It had been my responsibility to check the gear and I could have sworn that wall had been sturdy when I poked it with the pike. How had it come tumbling down so easily?
Once we’re all checked over again, we pull off our gear. Williams is in the back of the ambulance. Tossing my hat to Garcia, I take hold of the grab bar and hop inside, taking the seat beside my friend. I take his hand. “If you wanted to ground me from calls, you could have just given me your job,” he says and then bursts out coughing. When he tries to sit up, the medic places a hand over his chest. “Please... I’m trying to get a pulse. Lie still.” Looking at my friend’s fingertips, I turn his hands over, scanning for a bluish or dark skin tone, the first signs of hypoxia. There are none.
“You keep looking at me like that, I’m going to think I’m dieing.”
“Shit! I’m just hoping I don’t have to do all that damn paperwork by myself.” I give him a tight smile. “Do you remember the wall coming down on top of you?” He can’t answer me right away because he’s coughing so damn hard. The medic gives him a sip of water , and it appears to do the trick.
“Yeah, I remember, but that wasn’t what knocked me over.”
“How’s that?”
“I knew the wall was weak. I could see the flames poking through.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I got dizzy way before the wall came down. I grabbed onto the door jamb to steady myself. I kind of pulled the wall over on myself.”
“You were dizzy?”
“Yeah. I don’t think my tank was full.”
Well, shit. Had I mixed up the tanks?
That night, the dream returns.
CHAPTER SIX
Amy
I was beyond excited for my weekend with Brock. We’d had several smaller dates, dinner here and there, a quick lunch on my way back from seeing dad but this was something special. A whole weekend just the two of us. The fact that he invited me meant a great deal, especially when I learned he’d not visited his family home in quite some time. Somehow, I knew this was some sort of ‘facing his inner demons’ thing when he explained it had something to do with his parent’s death. That in itself – showed trust in our relationship. What more could I ask for?
I felt a little guilty for not inviting him to my own house, but maybe with time I would. I kept him from seeing where I lived, always meeting him somewhere else. I wasn’t ashamed of our house. It was a very nice house. Beautiful even, with pale blue shutters, a flagstone walkway, and pretty white trim along the roof. It was my stepmother I didn’t want him to meet. I didn’t want Penelope anywhere near someone I cared about. I could handle Penelope all right, but why open that can of worms if you don’t have to? She could be manipulative and nasty too. I didn’t expect a seasoned fireman like Brock would be intimidated, but why put him in that situation? Maybe it was me who was intimidated.
Brock picked me up at four at the Thirsty Turtle in a shining black Escalade with all the bells and whistles. Jane loved trucks. All trucks. I silently wished she were here to see us in this one—it would have blown her socks off. Unfortunately, it was Jane’s day off.
When he saw me, he gave a little wave. The driver’s side window lowered, and he broke out into a wide grin, tilting his head up so I could kiss him before going around to the other side of the car. I could climbed in. “You look amazing,” he growled reaching across my body to grab the seat belt. His knuckles tickled my bare wrist and currents of electricity zapped through me. I’d been thinking about this all day and barely slept the night before.
The silver buckled clicked firmly in place, he started the engine and we were off.
Although excited, I was extremely comfortable with Brock already. We hadn’t know each other long, but it didn’t seem to matter. Not to me anyway. It felt—right between us. Was it just the fantasies in my head? Would I wake up one day stunned? Wishing I’d taken my time? Regretful? Maybe, but right now I didn’t care. I sunk deeply into the leather seats, loving the way they hugged my ass. Hugged me. They were warm, the temperature-controlled air perfect, and I thought about how wonderful this weekend was as well. How no one, not even Jane—would know where I was—or what we would be doing. Was I crazy? I’d never gone away with a man in my life, especially without an escape plan. What if he…? Oh yeah, I certainly hoped so.
I sidled up closer, so close I could smell his aftershave, feel the heat of his skin through my clothes. Simply watching those strong hands on the wheel, the way the chorded muscles flexed and moved when he shifted, made all sorts of fantasies play through my head. Imagining his fingers between my legs had me squirming to keep my panties out of my crotch. I focused out the window trying to distract myself. We had a long ride ahead of us.
The scenery was kind of bland, Just trees with a few scattered houses and barns here, and there. At some point I actually fell asleep.
When I woke I knew we were getting closer. Brock told me it was deep inside the countryside and away from civilization. As the forests became dense, the more distant he seemed to be as well. I noticed his hands were white knuckled, his jaw tight. I don’t even think he knew what he was doing and it was like he’d forgotten me beside him because when I opened my mouth he actually took a second to react. “Penny for your thoughts,” I said, trying to get him to open up to me.
“Sorry,” he grumbled. “Just work stuff. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.” He patted me on the knee.
“Try me. I’m a good listener.”
He grunted, obviously contemplated what to say next. “No worries, little girl. Let’s just have fun, shall we?”
“But if I can help…”
“Amy, it’s none of your…” He stopped, probably knowing it was the last thing he should say to me.
“Oh really,” I said, trying to hide my hurt. “So that’s how it is. Well then, let’s just get everything out in the open before we go any further, Mr. Hot Shot.”
He shot me a puzzled look but then laughed. “Mr. Hot shot?”
“I’m sure in your position you’re used to ordering people around.”
The smile fell. “I…”
“It’s not your fault. We just don’t know each other well enough yet and I’d like to remedy that situation right now, Mr. Fitzgerald.”
“Isn’t that what this weekend is all about?”
I didn’t answer right away.
He grunted again and I could tell he wasn’t used to people questioning his motives. “Fair enough. Get whatever it is off your pr….your chest.”
I was quiet for several minutes, realizing poor Brock had struck a nerve with me. I needed to make things clear from the get go though. Honesty was always better. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like such a bitch.”
He laughed. “Honey, if that’s being a bitch I can take a whole lot more.” That made me feel a whole lot better.
His warm hand covered mine and I squeezed trying to loosen up a little. I had a sore spot when it came to my age. Add my four foot eleven height and people constantly made assumptions about me. AT fou
rteen people assumed I was more interested in music than science. At sixteen it was boys and at twenty they figured I didn’t have a brain in my head. I needed to explain that but not take my frustration out on him. So far, I wasn’t doing very well. “Okay, here goes. All my life, people haven’t taken my seriously because of my age.”
He gave me a sidelong glance, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Your whole life…? ” I tried not to let his comment bother me, but I could tell he wasn’t getting it so I dove right in, giving him the abbreviated version, without barely taking a breath.
“Okay, listen, while I sort of got off on the whole daddy’s little girl routine, you may as well know a few things about me. I’m not some starry eyed little bimbo with marbles for brains and… And I don’t sleep around.”
Pikeman: A Billionaire Romance Page 5