by Xyla Turner
“Come again,” I barked back.
“Hazard,” Chief bellowed this time.
“I said—” Toad repeated, but I was already in the man’s face. My fist connecting with his jaw.
“FIGHT!” someone yelled.
That’s when it all began.
Well, not really. It had started six months ago when the probationary firefighter or probie, as we call them, began to spread his wings like a peacock at the station house. That’s not how our house operates. We have our differences, but there’s no one better than the other. We have various strengths, and we utilized our team based around those strengths. It works for us. This probie, though, had been pissing me off since day one.
Granted, he was good in training but that doesn’t mean shit when you’re surrounded around a forest of fire with no visuals, and you still have victims to retrieve. If you can retrieve them.
We called him Toad because he croaked loud, but was nothing but a small reptile with hot air. He didn’t really have a choice in the matter. The name was suitable as far as we were concerned.
Somehow, I was the person in his sights. I’d been with this house for seven years. Through that time, I was promoted to team lead. Nobody had much to say about it, even the veterans who had twenty years in. Then, Toad comes along, and he tries to show everybody up. Most of the older ones just swat at him but it irritates the hell out of the rest of us.
Therefore, it’s not my first fist connecting with his jaw. It’s like the fifth time, we’ve got into something because he won’t shut the fuck up. It grates my nerves when he tries to compete against his team mates. More importantly, it makes me feel unsafe because I don’t trust him in the field.
With this job, we are the ones running toward danger on a regular basis. Not just fear and present danger but the all-consuming threats that can easily spread to city blocks. Fire doesn’t have a conscience, cannot be mediated or talked down. It’s a damn fire and something to be feared. Nobody needs a Top Gun who thinks he’s above the threat because he beat some training goals or rescued a fake girl in a simulation. That doesn’t mean shit when that fire hits your ass.
He was dangerous and a thorn in my goddamn side. Which is why the chief was still trying to get me to have him on my squad. Chief kept saying some shit about taking him under my wing instead of under my fist. There was no way that was happening. He was not only annoying but going to get someone killed. My squad was solid, if we were all on the same shift or split into a three-person engine.
Joe was the pipe man, Rik was the backup, Sub was my doorman, Rex my backup, Cheeto, and I were the hunters. We had other jobs we could do, but those were the areas where we excelled. Therefore, Toad was not joining the team, since he only excelled at running his damn mouth. I had no time for that shit.
“Fuck, man,” Toad croaked after he got finished wiping the blood from his busted lip.
This dense boy never seemed to learn, even after this being the fifth time I punched him in the face. A few others took a couple of swings at him too. I’m telling you, he talks too damn much. Always bragging and shit. A few of the guys had some petitions going around to get him transferred. Apparently, the prick wanted to stay put because the Chief said, he ain’t budging.
“Cool it. I said,” Chief Whitley snapped. “Hazard, in my goddamn office.”
Fuck.
That meant he was going to ream me out another asshole. I didn’t have time for that shit either, but I respected the man a great deal. He and my father were the best of friends until the fire of ’09 took him out of commission and killed my dad. They were both in the same unit and ever since pop’s death, Chief took over. Put me under him, helped my career and wouldn’t let any other house take me. He wanted to be sure I was taken care of in the right way. That also meant, I was chastised worse than the others.
Well, not really. But it felt like it when I disappointed the old man.
“Didn’t bring you in here for this shit,” he snapped. “I brought you here, so you could be great. Grow, thrive and lead.”
He was a buff man with red cheeks and a pot belly from Lionel’s weekly beef stew, I’m sure. Chief would always eat at least three large bowls. It was good as shit, but Chief over indulged every week.
“You need to help that boy, not hurt him,” Chief yelled, and I swear the pictures on the walls shook. “Now, I need you to fucking lead.”
“Chief, sit down. Okay. Fine.” I was concerned when the redness in his face turned purple. “Fine. Okay. Just sit down.”
My hand was waving him down as I rounded the large oak desk cluttered with papers and other shit. His faded blue eyes considered mine, and he bent to sit down by the time I was within reaching distance. Squatting on my haunches, I grabbed his wrist and pressed both fingers against the vein on the inside to check his pulse. His breathing was heavy. I didn’t like him getting this worked up.
“Just need you to help him,” Chief said between breaths. “He needs guidance.”
“Chief, that’s what you’re here for,” I absently said as I pressed his wrist to feel his pulse more clearly.
He jerked his wrist, causing me to look at him.
“Ain’t goina always be the case,” he rasped in a small whisper. “You got to step up. More than you have.”
The seriousness in his voice caused an eerie feeling to pass through me. This man was literally the only thing I had left in my life. My mom had packed up when I was around four years old, leaving me with my pops. He left due to the nature of job we led and then there was nothing left. The rest of my family lived in Dallas, Texas where pops grew up. He would occasionally visit, and we always stopped by Station 58. Even though, those visits were so long ago, I kept in touch with some of the people we met there. A friend of mine, Jax Malloy was a fire fighter at Station 58. He owned a ranch and was a former rodeo rider too. His wife is sweet and when I’m on a training or in the area, I always get some of her baked goods. The woman is wicked with cupcakes.
The sad part is that I have a bunch of long lost cousins on Pop’s side, but I don’t even know who they are, yet I stay in contact with friends. Plus, Pops cut off all my mother’s people, so there was no contact on that side either. Hence why Christmas was spent with my station family.
“When’s the last time you’ve been to the doctor?” I asked, ignoring the pang in my chest.
“Two days ago.” He didn’t hesitate.
“What they say?” I asked.
“Get the results next week.” He exhaled loudly before he repeated. “Need you to step up.”
“Okay. Okay.” I nodded and let his wrist go. “Step up. It’s done. Okay.”
“Okay.” Chief looked relieved and leaned back against the leather, creaky chair. “Know it’s in you.”
I nodded my head, and stood, before saying, “Let me know about those results and take it easy.”
Chief grunted as I headed for the door, repeating for him to let me know.
This was another thing I didn’t want to think about.
Not at all.
Also, get the first three chapters of my book, Extraction. Keep reading!
Extraction: The Plan
PHOEBE:
“…lost and alone. I'm here but I'm not.” There was a slight pause, the hesitation allowing the radio caller to collect his thoughts. The music played softly in the background. I started to hum with the tune as the DJ waited for the guest caller to finish. “I guess…things are different.”
The caller exhaled loudly, causing his breath to blow across his mouthpiece and echo through the speakers.
“Have you seen anyone or reached out to your local VA?” the DJ asked in a light and concerned voice.
He exhaled again and said, “Yeah, I've been to the VA. They said I don’t have PTSD but showed signs of depression and withdrawal. That's what happens when you don't feel a part of anything around you, right? Nothing's the same and I was only gone for six years.” He let out another frustrated breath and c
ontinued, “Man, I just wanted to call up and ask you to play Down by Mat Kearney. It’s soothing.”
“You got it, my friend,” the DJ answered, “and just know that you are in our prayers.”
“Thanks, man. Thanks, man. I wanted to tell you that all the guys over there at the various army stations listen to you on the internet, no matter what religion or culture or anything. You play inspirational songs and I'm sure those have saved us and provided hope many-a-day.”
“Wow, that's just awesome. It's our mission to give folks inspiration. This one is for you.”
The song cut in and the words seemed to jump from the old radio.
“It took his breath away, holding the bank page
He got the letter, they're gonna take their house away
…Feeling the weight of a world that just don't care”
I felt something on my cheek and quickly turned, focusing my eyes to look for some type of flying insect, but there was nothing. I wiped my face with the back of my hand and felt moisture.
It was wet.
I was crying.
The radio caller’s words, the lyrics to the song, and the stark pain in his voice had penetrated my bubbly exterior.
“Can you here when we call
There where we fall”
Tears had been few and far between ever since I left.
I made a decision a while ago to live my life to the fullest. My dad almost lost his mind when I called him to let him know that I was quitting my full time, nine-to-five job and had decided to make jewelry. He called me everything from irresponsible to immature.
It wasn't one of our best moments, but I would not be deterred.
My entire life had been devoted to working and being successful. I was not lazy and I never minded the work; it was simply that I had to make major changes and make them fast. After high school, I remained in school for six additional years, excelled to the point where I was offered to join the board of directors and the company offered me the opportunity to open a branch in the corporation. That was the American dream but I decided to put my business degree to work and not have to work for other people until retirement.
I sold my condo, paid off my car lease, and any other outstanding debt. Fortunately, I earned scholarships that helped put me through school and the few loans I did have were paid off while I was enrolled.
It was time for me to make some changes, and I moved from the busy Chicago business district to Lily, New Jersey. Lily is a small town, total population of less than ten-thousand citizens and only one Walmart within a forty-mile radius.
My rent was cheap and low enough for me to make it on my jewelry earnings. The building was clean and the landlord lived next door to the premises. The town was almost like a time capsule; there was not a stainless steel appliance to be seen in town and nothing about the place had been updated. Not like Chicago or my last apartment, which had wall-to-wall carpet, marble counters, and stainless steel everything. Despite the differences, I was just fine with Lily; the gas appliances worked excellently, there was plenty of room for me to make jewelry and store all of my other crafts projects.
My father thought I was bat shit crazy. That was alright by me since I had lived his dream for so long; that American one. It was his and no longer mine.
The money I earned was enough for me to live comfortably. The only luxurious thing I owned was my car and I kept it because I loved her. Ann, my vehicle, stayed intact while I traveled across the state lines, through road mishaps, and transitions. She was a great car so she stayed while everything else had to go. Donations, yard sales, and Craigslist were the methods I used to downsize.
“We’re back on the air at WDNJ, your number one source for inspirational music. Call us up if you have a song you are itching to hear…”
I turned the radio down and wiped my face with the back of my hand. The man's story was sad, but I wasn't sure why it brought me to tears. The song was a good one and I often played it on my MP3 player but I had never cried about it.
My grandfather was a veteran. He passed away when I was young. Besides going to see his grave site from time to time, that is the extent of my experience with a veteran. I didn’t know any personally, and it was a huge possibility I didn’t give a person enough of my time to learn this fact.
My mouth tended to get ahead of me because my brain was always running a mile a minute. Ollie, one of my neighbors, always said that I was his daily entertainment. He was an older man and his kids never stopped by to check on him, so I did. He was a little flirty and that was alright because at seventy-eight years of age, you're allowed to be anything you want. This is what Ollie would say to me when I told him not to be rude to his chess partners at the center. I have another neighbor, but she worked 24-7 and prided herself on that fact. For me, that would never be my badge of honor again.
Our other neighbor just moved in a few months ago, and we still hadn't seen him. We figured he must put his trash out in the middle of the night.
Ollie told me to mind my business, so I did for the first three months. Now it was time to plan my ambush.
The wood counters in my kitchen is where I laid out the tools for my ambush. These included wake-me-up coffee shots, binoculars, latex gloves, and my bandana. I also had my trash bag prepared.
After the sun went below the horizon for the evening, I parked myself near the window facing the street. The building was only two stories, but had four apartments that tended to be spacious. Ollie lived downstairs underneath my unit. My workaholic neighbor lived across from me and the phantom guy lived on the first floor beneath her unit.
Ollie said he'd seen him a few times and from the looks of it, he was a fairly young guy but did not seem approachable.
Not that any of that mattered to me, I was on a mission.
There was no movement for hours and I was tired of playing Sudoku on my phone while listening for the creak of his door. The only reason I knew it had a creak was because the people that lived there before him always chose odd times to leave and the rusty hinges caused a loud creaking as they flexed against the metal door frame plates. Ollie said the neighbors were losers and to stay away from them. I left a note anyway, but the hinges were never fixed.
Something passed by outside causing me to drop my phone and look down.
Shit.
When I looked back up, I noticed a guy dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts making his way to the dumpster.
Quickly, I grabbed my phone, my gloves and bandana and proceeded to leave my apartment.
Shit, I forgot the trash. Running back inside, I grabbed my bag of trash and flew down the stairs.
The guy had just reached the dumpster, so I quickly speed-walked to catch up then slowed down so he would not see me rushing towards him.
“Hey, hey,” I called.
He turned around and holy cow, he was hot. So distractingly hot that I didn't realize I had come to a stop.
“Yeah,” his voice seemed to rumble over my body.
Even his voice was hot. It was smooth, not husky, but it definitely glided over my skin. Almost like he could be a singer or radio show host.
“I'm so glad you’re out here,” I said as I recited my rehearsed lines. “I didn't want to come out here by myself at night, but I cooked fish for dinner, so I had to get it out. Know what I mean?”
He grunted and turned back around to open the dumpster for me.
“Oh wow. Thanks so much,” I exclaimed.
He nodded as I walked closer to him. The man was tall compared to my five-foot-seven-inch frame and he was fair skinned. His dark hair was longer than I expected and unkempt. His beard was also out of control but with or without it, this man was hot.
“I'm Phoebe, your neighbor.” I held out my hand. “I'm in 2a upstairs. Right above Ollie.”
He nodded again but didn't take my hand.
I extended it further just in case he couldn't see my hand in the well-lit, small parking lot that consisted of our four vehic
les.
“Are you really not going to shake my hand?” I asked. “I washed my hands after making the fish.”
He looked down at my hand and still didn't take it.
O-kay.
“Well, will you tell me your name?”
He looked back towards the apartments and took a step towards them.
“Okay, then,” I quickly stated. “Since you won't give me a name, I'll have to make one up for you.” That comment stopped him in his tracks but he did not turn around. “Let's see. How about Ted or Carl. Wait, maybe Zou.”
I was silent for the dramatic effect. His right foot picked up and he took another step towards our building.
Quickly throwing my trash into the dumpster, I closed it and said, “Wait.”
The tall man did not wait, but he did say, “If you don't want to be out here alone, I suggest you get going back inside.”
I did the very thing that always got me in trouble as a teenager; I erupted in laughter.
This stopped him again and he turned around with his eyebrows raised and his lips slightly parted.
I kept laughing because according to his expression, he thought I was bat shit crazy too.
My feet started moving towards him as I tried to gain my composure. He was still staring at me like I had two heads, but he waited until I passed him before he started moving.
“Whew, I needed that. You're funny. I think I'll make you my new friend.”
I kept chattering as we made our way back to the apartment building. “You gotta have laughter in your life. You know?”
The man remained silent, but that did not stop me.
“Well, Zou, I'll see you tomorrow. I hear you don't get out much, so pack your gloves.”
“What?” he asked as he held the front door open for me.
This time one eyebrow was raised and his thin top lip was curled upward with confusion.
Before I could help myself, I started to laugh uncontrollably again.
“God, Zou. Do you ever stop?” I managed to say as I climbed the stairs. “You're hilarious.”
When I turned back around, he was shaking his head. More laughter threatened to escape me but it was three in the morning and I didn't want to wake Ollie, since the lady next door was probably not home.