Fit to Die

by J. B. Stanley

  Brady Gerhardt was the newest member of the Quincy’s Gap Volunteer Fire & Rescue Station. Even though he knew about as much as everybody else did about putting out fires, the veterans of the department called him “rookie” and forced him to do all of the menial tasks around the station, such as stocking the pantry and cleaning out the restrooms. Brady didn’t mind. He was an affable young man in his early twenties and felt proud to have joined the grizzled and seasoned men of Fire & Rescue. He also knew that as soon as someone else signed up to volunteer he, Brady, would be able to call that person “rookie,” regardless of the newcomer’s age or station in life.

  At the moment, Brady couldn’t dwell on thoughts of rising in status within the department. It was the annual charity dinner and he was far too busy ladling steaming spoonfuls of homemade Brunswick stew into deep ceramic bowls neatly lined up on a tray in the station’s kitchen to do any thinking at all.

  “Come on, rookie!” Dirk Maguire shouted gruffly. “We got payin’ customers out there and they’re starvin’!”

  Brady wiped a line of perspiration off his brow with the back of a potholder and carefully pushed the tray, filled with delicious-smelling stew, in Dirk’s direction.

  “Keep ’em comin’. We’re gonna be able to keep the lights on after tonight’s dinner for sure.” Dirk hoisted the tray high on his shoulder, as expertly as a waiter in a four-star eatery. Brady was impressed. Dirk worked at the landfill and was noted for his strength and direct mannerisms, but he was clearly graceful as well. “We might even be able to buy that second-hand pool table we’ve been wanting for so long.”

  Other members of the department came noisily into the kitchen, clapping Brady merrily on the back and taking deep swallows of beer from red plastic cups.

  “This dinner’s a record breaker!” bellowed a jovial Chief Lawrence. “Get on out there and enjoy yourself, boy. I’ll spot you for a bit. There’s a lot of pretty women who’d just love to meet a handsome firefighter like yourself.” The chief winked and took the ladle from Brady’s hand.

  “Thanks, Chief!” Without hesitation, Brady stripped off his white vinyl apron bearing the text, If you can’t take the heat, git on out of my kitchen! He darted out of the second-story kitchen and slid down the fire pole leading to the station’s garage, where rows of tables and folding chairs had been set up to accommodate the diners. From the looks of it, every able-bodied person in Quincy’s Gap was either sitting and enjoying their meal, waiting in line for a bowl of stew and a piece of homemade cornbread, or flanking the makeshift bar where cold beer was being distributed as dollar bills hurriedly exchanged hands.

  “I sure hope there aren’t any fires tonight,” Brady heard a barrel-shaped woman with bright orange hair remark lowly as he made his way toward the bar. “I think the firemen are all going to be too drunk to drive the truck.”

  Her friend, a plump woman with glossy black hair and friendly brown eyes smiled and said, “I’m sure they’ve got some people on standby for an emergency.”

  Brady walked past the women in search of a Coke and then a piece of warm cornbread. As he sat in one of the few empty chairs, watching a fat pat of butter slide down the slope of moist cornbread, he wondered about what the woman with the orange hair had said. Looking around the room, he could see that every member of the Quincy’s Gap Volunteer Fire & Rescue Station had a red plastic cup in his hand. Ruddy cheeks, twinkling eyes, and hearty belly laughs indicated that the members of Station Seventeen had consumed a goodly amount of beer. With a start, Brady realized that he might be the only one capable of driving the truck and he had never driven it before.

  As he bit into his homemade bread and then paused to lick a rivulet of butter from the back of his hand, a cute blonde seated at the other end of his table smiled at him. He returned the smile, forgetting all about his concerns about being the only sober fireman in Quincy’s Gap. When the girl coyly waved him over to join her using only her index finger and a subtle wink, Brady leapt to obey.

  James Henry had the great misfortune of being stuck in line behind three of the most fearsome women in Quincy’s Gap. He had arrived late to the Brunswick stew fundraiser as his father refused to let him leave until James sat down with him and looked over a brochure containing a palette of roofing materials. Ashamed to admit to Jackson that his savings were soon to be nonexistent after enrolling in Witness to Fitness, James pretended to have great interest in the brochure until his father told him that he had already hired a roofer and that the job was slated to begin next week. Panicking, James abruptly stood and informed his father that they would need to hold off on the roof work a little longer and then, like a coward, he grabbed his windbreaker and bolted out the back door without further explanation.

  “The roofer’s comin’ on Monday!” Jackson bellowed after him. “And he’s gonna want a deposit!”

  As James drove through town, his growling stomach and the wish to sit and eat next to someone he liked caused him to practically skid into one of the library parking spaces. The lot, which was across the street from the firehouse, was almost completely full. Trotting across the asphalt, James couldn’t help wondering how the Shenandoah County Library could ever host an event that would cause such a full lot and raise funds for his beloved branch.

  Winded, James burst in through the side door of the firehouse, darted in front of a family of six, and purchased a food ticket from one of the fireman’s wives.

  “Hey! That fat man cut us!” one of the children behind him whined and his parents shushed him, but not before James felt his face grow warm with embarrassment.

  It turned out that James got no closer to getting his food by cutting in front of the dawdling family. In fact, the line was at an utter standstill. James stepped to the side to see what the holdup was all about. Apparently, an elderly couple insisted upon hearing each and every one of the stew’s ingredients before they would accept their bowls.

  “I’m very allergic to certain foods!” the woman declared. “I could go into cardiac arrest.”

  “And I simply cannot eat eggs!” her husband croaked while shaking his cane at the fireman serving the stew.

  “Ah … I don’t think there are any eggs in there, sir.” The fireman looked around for help, but the only other fireman in sight was serving the cornbread and he shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

  The fireman pushed a bowl of stew underneath the old woman’s nose. “Ma’am, it’s mostly chicken, corn, beans, onions, and tomatoes and stuff. There’s nothin’ bad in there.”

  “What kind of stuff?” the old woman demanded suspiciously.

  “You know, like spices.”

  Fortunately, Mrs. Emerson, the minister’s wife who had been so upset over Chilly Willy’s T-shirts, stepped in and coaxed the couple into accepting their bowls of stew.

  “You just have to know how to handle people,” she said proudly to her companion in line as the older couple shuffled off to find seats. Mrs. Emerson’s companion turned out to be Savannah Lowndes.

  “Well, I wish we could handle some of this town’s more pressing problems, like that wretched ice cream store.”

  “We could always pray that our townsfolk get tired of ice cream and that man has to move to Richmond,” Mrs. Emerson responded with a deadpan look. “I’ll ask the other folks in my Youth Leadership Group to pray with me.”

  “Excuse me,” a third woman stepped toward the two middle-aged matriarchs. James tried to shrink backward in line as he recognized the heavily made-up stick figure belonging to Ronnie Levitt.

  “Hi!” she chirped. “I’m Veronica Levitt, the proprietor of the new Witness to Fitness and I completely agree with you ladies.”

  Mrs. Emerson and Mrs. Lowndes smiled widely. “Welcome to our delightful berg, my dear.” Mrs. Lowndes drawled.

  “I just wanted to say, that when my business becomes a success around here, no one will feel the need to visit that little old ice cream shop.” Ronnie lowered her voice conspiratorially. “People trying to
eat healthy foods shouldn’t be buying frozen custard, if you see what I mean. I vow to make Quincy’s Gap a happier, healthier place!” James half expected her to shake a pair of pompoms as she uttered this passionate oath. “I might just have to design my own T-shirts. I don’t think Willy’s are very attractive, do you? And he’s bought enough to outfit the entire town.”

  “Those shirts are entirely reprehensible!” Mrs. Emerson declared.

  Mrs. Lowndes smirked. “Indeed. It looks like we’ll just have to make certain your business succeeds where his does not. We women will stick together and take care of this little problem ourselves.”

  “Yes we shall,” Mrs. Emerson said, puffing out her chest like a bullfrog. Then she turned to receive her stew and the three women moved off to find a seat together, whispering in tones too hushed for James to hear over the general din within the garage.

  James had just gotten his own steaming bowl with a side of cornbread when Bennett appeared from out of nowhere and asked James to join him and a new co-worker of his at a nearby table. Relieved to have someone to sit with, James wove through the rows of satiated diners where two seats had been saved by the strategic placement of one of Bennett’s letter bags. Across from the two empty chairs sat a man in his late thirties whom James had never seen before. When Bennett moved his bag, the man looked up and gave James a reserved smile.

  “Carter, this is my good buddy James Henry. James, this is Carter Peabody. He just moved here and has taken over Pat Salisbury’s route. Pat retired last week.”

  “Nice to meet you, Carter.” James felt immediately comfortable in the presence of another shy soul. Of course, Carter had the looks of a weathered surfer, right down to the sun-streaked hair and freckled nose. He seemed to be of average build with a hint of a paunch, but overall, James was certain women would find Carter very appealing. Perhaps his bashfulness was just a pretense. James cast sly glances at the newcomer as he ate his stew and Bennett warned Carter about the nastier canines on his new mail route.

  “I like dogs,” Carter responded simply after Bennett was finished. “Especially big ones, like the K-9 units on the cop shows. I’ve got a Border collie named Sergeant.”

  “If you like big dogs, then you’ve got to meet our friend Lucy,” Bennett said. “She’s got three of the most terrifying German Shepherds you’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  Carter’s eyes gleamed. “German Shepherds are the most common breed used as police dogs. The New Jersey General Assembly actually tried to get a law passed to treat them the same as the human officers … so if someone were to shoot down a K-9 officer it would be the same as shooting a man! Isn’t that cool?” When neither James nor Bennett looked suitably impressed, Carter looked down at his bowl. “I visit a website about citizens who capture criminals. I guess it’s kind of a weird hobby, huh? Still, maybe your friend Lucy wouldn’t find it so strange. I’d like to meet her sometime.”

  James almost choked on his cornbread. He didn’t want Bennett introducing Carter to Lucy. Why, she might fall in love with him and where would that leave James?

  “Have you seen her?” James asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “She was here earlier.” Bennett took a swallow of beer. “I saw her talking in a kind of serious way to Sheriff Huckabee.”

  James looked around the room in hopes of spotting Lucy so that he could finally arrange a time to talk to her privately, but he didn’t see her. As his eyes wandered over the rows of townsfolk, they came to rest on a young man holding a cell phone to his ear. An attractive blonde was sitting next to him, and though she seemed to be batting her eyelashes and bumping her shoulder into his in order to get his attention, the man stared straight ahead with a look of horror spreading across his face.

  Suddenly, James felt goose bumps erupt up and down his forearms. He stared as the young man snapped his cell phone shut, jumped up from the table, and headed directly toward where James watched in agitated fascination.

  “Chief!” The young man urgently plucked the sleeve of a man seated behind James. The older man, who was deep in conversation with his tablemates, ignored his fellow firefighter at first, but the young man persisted. “Chief!” he said loudly. “There’s a fire!”

  “Where, Brady, in the kitchen?” The chief and several of the other firefighters laughed and took fresh swigs of beer from their cups.

  “No, sir. It’s the Polar Pagoda. That new ice cream place. It’s burning like crazy!”

  The chief swung around to face Brady. “How do you know? We haven’t gotten a call.”

  “My little brother just rode by there on his bike. He called me on my cell. The 911 call will probably come any second now, sir. We should get ready!”

  Chief Lawrence looked down at his beer cup and then back at Brady. “You sure your brother ain’t just messin’ with you, rookie?”

  “No, sir. He’s a good kid.” Brady fidgeted anxiously with his cell phone. “And there’s more, Chief!” he added, his voice rising a notch.

  “What?” the chief demanded crossly, his eyes sweeping around the crowded room as he absorbed the possible problems of their situation.

  “My brother said … well, he said he saw someone inside.”

  At that moment, the alarm sounded.

  As pandemonium erupted around him, James grabbed onto Bennett’s elbow and shouted, “Let’s go!” over the roar of the alarm.

  Several firemen were shouting at a group of slow-moving patrons who had thoughtlessly parked their cars in front of the station house’s garage doors. It became quickly apparent that at least half a dozen firemen were perfectly sober as they expediently gathered their equipment and prepped the truck for an immediate departure. James couldn’t believe how little time it took before they were boarded and, with set expressions on their faces, clearly prepared to face whatever danger lay ahead.

  “You’re blocking our truck!” Chief Lawrence roared at a flustered woman who squeaked and dropped her car keys onto the pavement. “Hurry, woman!” he yelled again, pulling on his jacket and helmet while signaling to the rest of his crew to board the truck. “Let’s go, rookie!” the chief beckoned to Brady from across the garage as the young man struggled to free himself from the grip of a petrified matron while simultaneously attempting to pull on a pair of flame-retardant boots. Meanwhile, Chief Lawrence gesticulated wildly. “Come on, son! You’re drivin’!”

  James, Bennett, and a bewildered Carter threaded their way toward the front of the stationhouse, where a knot of townsfolk blocked the exit as they dallied with coats, hats, and gloves. Looking around, James caught site of Chilly Willy, calmly finishing his stew and watching the excited crowd with a look of bemusement. At that moment, one of the young firefighters placed a hand on Willy’s shoulder and gave it a wordless squeeze as he dashed for the fire truck.

  The fleeting touch, which seemed to carry a mixture of pity and hope, alerted Willy as to the source of the fire. Observers cast Willy sorrowful glances as they realized that the popular and jovial newcomer might be facing a tragic beginning to his life in Quincy’s Gap. After the young man moved away, Willy dropped his spoon and jerked upright, his eyes trained woefully on the wailing truck as it inched out of the garage, still impeded by an old pickup that was slowly backing out of the driveway by an extremely short driver who seemed to have a serious distrust for his rearview mirror.

  James felt a deep instinct to call out to the man, to offer his sympathies, but knew that his voice would never be heard over the clanging of the alarm. As the yellow fire truck, newly washed and polished to a lacquerlike shine, burst out of the garage bay, Willy pushed his way through the crowd and out into the parking lot.

  As James, Bennett, and Carter headed for Bennett’s truck, which was actually a retired mail truck repainted a plain white, they spotted Willy in the parking lot next to the station. Apparently, his car had been parked in by an SUV the size of an Army tank.

  “Willy!” James called out. “Come on! We’ll take you!”

&
nbsp; Willy nodded gratefully and hustled into the back seat of the tiny truck. As Bennett started the engine, he switched off the radio and the foursome drove in weighted silence down Main Street. As they crested the hill leading to West Woods Shopping Center, where the Polar Pagoda was located, they could see a thick trunk of smoke spurting into the night sky. It reminded James of a tornado’s funnel, except that it churned in one place, like a storm intent on damaging a single target of wood and nails and concrete.

  It took several minutes to reach the top of the rise as most of the participants of the fundraiser dinner had made their way to the scene of the fire. A long line of red taillights cruising past the burning structure on the end of the strip mall caused Bennett to swear with agitation and disgust.

  “Vultures!” he spat, swerving around a red sports car that had pulled off on the side of the hill in order to get a better view of the action.

  “It’s just what folks do,” Willy muttered, his eyes never leaving the aggressive orange and vermilion tongues of flame as they burrowed into the pagoda’s new beams of wood and darkened the fresh coats of red and green paint into irregular, blackened shadows.

  James didn’t know what to say. He was torn between pity for Willy and the guilty thrill of watching the avaricious fire eat away at the little ice cream shop at a tremendous speed. A strong spring breeze wafted ashes across the parking lot and as Bennett turned the truck toward the conflagration, splinters of charred wood and debris still lit with devilish sparks landed on his windshield.

  “And here I thought I was safe from disasters,” Willy said as he got out of the car and stared at his ruined business. James followed his gaze, noticing that the firemen were doing all they could to control the blaze, but the roof had already collapsed inward and great coughs of smoke emitted from the gap left open to the night air. An arc of water rained onto the burning structure, and several other firemen began taping off a perimeter around the building in order to keep the crowds at bay.