Ashes: An Everyday Heroes Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Gail Haris

  I’ve just placed my plate in the sink when my scanner goes off. Lolly shakes her head and points a finger at me. “No.”

  “I gotta go.”

  “No.”

  I begin walking toward my bedroom and Lolly follows. “Carter. Carter. Carter.” I grab a pair of socks out of the drawer and quickly pull it over my foot, wincing at the pain in my side from bending. My gear is in the truck, so I grab my boots and cell. Lolly continues to follow after me as I wave her off. “Carter Chace Collins!”

  I stop dead in my tracks. Slowly, I turn around to face my Lolly. “That’s not going to work. I’m a grown man, and I have a job to do.”

  She crosses her thin but strong arms, “And I’m an even more grown woman, and I know you’re in no shape to do any job. You’re as weak as a newborn kitten.”

  “I am not weak.”

  “Oh, don’t give me that macho BS, Carter. I’ve gone through it with your Pops, Daddy, and Warren. All four of you just alike. But…” Her eyes begin to glisten and her voice trembles. “You’re all that’s left. Son, you’re injured…bad. You’re not weak, you’re stronger than anyone I know, but your body is hurt. Do you understand what I’m trying to say? A weak body doesn’t need to be running into burning buildings.”

  I hurry back up the steps and give Lolly a kiss on the forehead. Her soft, wrinkled skin smells of lavender soap and bacon grease. “I’m not going into any burning buildings. It’s a wreck. I have to go, I might be injured, but there could be someone a lot worse off. It could be all they need is just one more hand to make the difference.”

  Her long, leathery fingers wrap around my hand. “Just promise to come back to me. And don’t be lying to your grandma.”

  I kiss her knuckles, worn and scarred from farm life, “I wouldn’t dare lie to you, Lolly. I’ll be back for supper.”

  “You better or you’ll be picking a switch.”

  I laugh as I hurry to my truck. I call out, “There’s no switches here, Lolly. Only palm trees.” Rolling down the truck window, I wave as I back out of the driveway.

  “I’ll make the best of what I find. Mark my words, Carter! You better come back home!”

  A fuel tanker truck has flipped over. The guys are already there assembling the pipe to drain the fuel from the wrecked truck to another. I park my truck and hurry up with putting on the rest of my gear. Dixon sees me jogging toward them and calls out, “Well, look who it is. You feelin’ up for it, man?”

  “Just because you’d stay in bed all day over a scratch doesn’t mean the rest of us would.”

  He shakes his head, “Are you never not an asshole?”

  I just shake my head with a smile. We have to get the fuel leak contained. I survey the scene, hazmat hasn’t arrived yet, but should be on their way to help us with the hazardous materials. Grady Malone’s brother, Grant, and a few other police officers are blocking off the road and directing traffic.

  Bowman yells out, “They’re on their way with the wrecker. We can’t get the driver out until we lift the truck.”

  What? The driver is still in there? This is a loaded fuel tank, if any of the vapors from the flammable liquid gets to any sparks, or any ignition source, it could cause this thing to catch fire.

  “Start spraying the foam! We’ve got to suppress those vapors and keep it cool. Keep the vapors from getting to that heat!” I shout as I run over to the cab of the truck and climb up.

  Of course, the cab of the truck is turned over on the driver’s side. A middle-aged man is sweating and moaning in pain. His head is a little bloody but seems to be only from minor cuts from the glass. For the most part, he appears. fine, all except for his arm somehow being wedged.

  “He’s pinned between the door and seat!” Grady Malone shouts.

  “Hey, you made it too,” I call back out to him.

  “First on the scene.” He grins.

  I hop down and study our situation. “Get the wedges ready. We can start digging to get a wider opening to pull him out.”

  Malone calls over. “We’ve got to get this truck stable first.”

  Two of the guys begin spraying the foam to keep the truck cool. I walk over to the driver to make sure he’s still with us. “It’s going to be all right, buddy. We’re going to get you out of there, okay?”

  I don’t hear a reply, so I yell out, “Hey, man, you good?”

  “Y-yeah. My arm is numb.”

  “I know it sucks, buddy. Hold on just a little longer.”

  “Wait! I smell gas? Is that gas? Oh shit.” The guy begins thrashing around. He’s been trapped for almost an hour. He’s about to lose it and start panicking. This truck is contained, we’ve got this under control, but you can’t always control the people involved.

  “We need to get him calmed down. He can’t start shaking the cab!” Dixon is right.

  I lean down and reach through the broken glass. I gently, but with a firm hand, touch his shoulder to try and still him. “Hey, look at me? Hey, man! Look at me, okay?” He finally stills and his wild eyes meet mine. “I know you’re in pain and scared, but you have to trust us. Trust us to do our job and get you out of here.”

  “I smell gas!”

  “I’m right here with you. I’m not going to let this blow.”

  The man looks down. I can see the look of shame in his eyes. “Will you stay? Right here?” he whispers.

  I give him a reassuring nod and pray that my eyes convey that we’re not going to let this guy down. “I’m not going anywhere, bud.”

  A part of me is itching to be doing more, to be helping my brothers contain the scene. But sometimes this job requires more than being the guy who knows how to work the hose, work the equipment, and be brave enough to run straight into a blazing inferno. This is one of those moments where more is required. I need to be strong enough for me and for this stranger. I have to be his anchor during this chaos. I am going to be his ally, his friend, the guy he is going to trust with his life, and to help him get through this. This is something you can’t teach, and honestly, sometimes it’s the hardest part of the job. How do I look him in the eye and promise him that he’s going to be okay? Promise him everything is going to work out, when fuck if I know it will. All I have is faith in my team’s ability, but I need to convince this guy of that as well. What’s worse is when I make promises and sometimes they don’t fall through. I hate making promises. I know we’ll try our damnedest, fucking die trying, but that’s all I have right now — a promise that I’ll barter my life and my team is willing to barter their life, for his. That’s all I can give.

  I try to keep the guy talking as Dixon and Grady begin to dig.

  “Name’s Carter. Yours?”

  “I’m Clifford.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Arizona.”

  “Arizona! Is it as hot down there as it is here?”

  “Right now? No. I’m fucking dying it’s so hot. I’ve never been this hot, I don’t think, in my life. Are you sure this truck isn’t on fire?”

  I chuckle. “Believe me, if this truck was on fire, I wouldn’t be sitting here asking you about the weather. And Dixon wouldn’t be sitting there playing in the dirt.”

  Grady laughs, “Are you sure? Dix looks like he’s having fun.”

  “Fuck both of you. Where in the hell is that wrecker?” Dixon wipes the sweat from his brow and looks around.

  “Clifford from Arizona, where were you heading?” I ask.

  “San Francisco.”

  I pat his shoulder, letting him know I’m physically still here with him. “We’re glad you stopped by for a visit here in Sunnyville.”

  Clifford laughs, and it almost sounds genuine. He’s finally starting to loosen up. The sound of an engine alerts us that the wrecker truck has arrived.

  “Alright, buddy, this is it.” I pat him again. Slowly, I move back and stand. Malone helps guide the wrecker to the cab. I call out to Clifford, “Still good, Cliff?”

  “Yeah.”

&
nbsp; The wrecker slowly lifts the semi cab. Malone yells, “Let’s get him out!”

  Dix opens the door and I reach in and help Clifford slide out. The EMTs come and take over. I wave bye to Clifford from Arizona as the ambulance gets him loaded.

  We’re still draining the fuel from the truck. The sun is blazing hot, and I can feel the sweat dripping down my neck and back. Despite how many people are out here to help, it’s a delicate, and critical situation. You can’t just flip a flammable tanker over. Traffic is backed up. People are honking, and some are trying to speed around the scene. That’s all we need now is to have our crew in danger of being hit by some asshole with road rage.

  A few people from nearby houses come by to check on us and offer food and bring water bottles. We’re going into hours by the time we have the driver out. An ambulance takes him to the hospital while we continue to contain the scene. The Department of Natural Resources also investigates the scene.

  Once the fuel is drained, we double check for sparks. We allow the wrecker to flip over the truck and they haul it off. Hazmat surveys the site while we wait for the owner of the fuel truck company to send clean up and dispose of the spill correctly. Eleven hours has passed by the time I’m making my way home. I definitely missed supper. Hope Lolly didn’t find a switch.

  When I pull into the driveway, I call the hospital and ask to speak to one of the nurses in the ER.

  “Hello, this is Natalia.”

  I’m taken back for a moment by the smooth, sweet voice. I recognize it immediately from last night. I’d barely glanced at her, but even with all the ash in my eyes, I saw how beautiful she was. A voice like that and beauty, she’s definitely trouble to a man’s heart. Lucky for me, I don’t have one. “Hey, um, I was just wanting to check on the little girl who was brought in last night. Is she…all right?”

  “Is this the firefighter from last night? The one in the waiting room?”

  “Um…yeah.” She remembers me? I was barely there, and I left abruptly. Maybe she remembers what an ass I am.

  “How’s your side? You really should get that looked at.”

  A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth at her no-nonsense attitude, but quickly shake it off. “The little girl. How is she?”

  “She’s going to be okay. You, on the other hand…”

  Her voice and spunk are tugging at my lips again, so I hang up the phone. The point of the call was for the child. I have my answer and breathe a sigh of relief. My shirt is wet from the scene cleanup and sweating in it all morning, but also, my stitches have come loose. Not that I’m going to let Lolly know. And I’m certainly not going to the hospital for that nosy nurse to see either. I’ll just have to make do the best I can. I’m a big boy, I can handle it. As I slowly lift my shirt to remove it, the cloth sticks to the blood and tugs.

  Motherfu—

  Natalia

  “We’ve got a patient who’s been in a single vehicle accident. Left shoulder dislocated and possible broken arm,” Orlando, one of our best nurses, explains as he wheels the moaning man through the hallway of the ER.

  I look down at the man and ask, “Can you tell me your name, sir?”

  “Clifford, Clifford Reames. I’m from Arizona and probably smell like gasoline right now.”

  “You’re in good hands, Clifford. We’re going to take care of you regardless of how you smell.”

  The man gives me a smile, which seems odd for the amount of pain he’s obviously in. Then he says, “I believe you. There’s some good people here in Sunnyville.”

  I smile. “Yeah, there really is.”

  A few hours later, my shift ended for the day. I’m really liking the day shift, I mean, who knew you could have a life after hours and not sleep your day away.

  “Come out with us for a drink,” Orlando suggests.

  “Yes! Please?” Teagan, another nurse, asks.

  “I don’t know…” Maybe I should get out. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Great. We’ll meet you at Hooligan’s!” Orlando pats me with the clipboard as he walks off. It’s been an extremely long day, but I’m suddenly excited and full of energy. It’s time I start immersing myself more in this town. Like Clifford said, there’s some good people here.

  So I rush home, and on the drive I remember I’d missed my mom’s call, so I quickly return her call.

  “¡Hola, nena!”

  “Hi, mami.” I smile into the phone. The sound of her voice making me feel such warmth, I miss her so much.

  “I’ve missed you. Have you changed your mind yet?”

  I scorn her, but on the outside I’m smiling. “¡Mami!”

  “Bueno, pues, ya te voy a dejar en paz.”

  I highly doubt she’ll stop, and a little part of me hopes she never does. It’s nice to know I’m missed and wanted at home. I’ve not heard from my ex one time about him missing me, but that’s fine. Seems my move worked since he kept after me while I was in city, but now he’s radio silent. I don’t need him to miss me, and I certainly don’t miss him. I also don’t miss who I was when I was with him, or more like who I wasn’t. Moments like this, it’s a clear reminder that I’m better off without him. After I broke up with him the first time and kicked him out of my apartment, he’d call and show up to my work. For two years, we were off and on. He hated when Ma and I spoke in Spanish. What finally pushed me to move on was our last date. He’d taken me to an expensive restaurant, and when they brought out the dessert, he took my hand in his as he spoke.

  “I think it’s time we get serious. No more back and forth.” Randy’s gorgeous blue eyes twinkled with excitement.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s move in together. Let’s start moving this relationship forward instead of always taking one step forward and then two back. I want to keep going forward. I love you, Nat.”

  “Randy…” I smile.

  “Marry me.” He places a blue velvet ring box in front of me. The lid is raised to reveal the dazzling diamond ring inside.

  “Yes!” I gasp. I didn’t even think, I just went with my heart. Randy, despite all his faults, had always been good to me. No couple was perfect. We both stood and wrapped our arms around each other. Whispers of ‘I love you’ in between kisses. The tables around us cheering and clapping. Awwwws filling the room.

  We sat down to eat our dessert. In between bites, I admired the precious stone that was now heavy on my finger. “My parents have been waiting for the day they can plan a big wedding.” I laugh.

  “My mom as well.” Randy chuckles. “She’ll have the Methodist church booked as soon as we set the date.”

  “Randy, you know that I’m Catholic.”

  “You can still go to your church, Nat. It’s just a ceremony.”

  “If it’s just a ceremony, then why can’t we get married in my family’s church? My uncle is the priest, he would marry us.”

  Randy frowns. “Let’s not argue. This is a time to celebrate. I’ll speak to my parents about a Catholic wedding, but I don’t think they’ll be too keen on the idea. Not sure my sister will want her son around a Catholic priest, either.”

  I grit my teeth. “And just what does that mean?”

  “Priests and the choir boys…”

  “Randy. That’s my uncle. He is a good man, and I’d like for him to marry us. Your family only attends church on holidays, and on occasion for social gain.”

  Randy sighs. “Fair enough. Does your uncle speak English? I’d like to understand my own wedding.”

  “Of course. That’s only fair.”

  He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. “Then it’s settled. I’ll do it, for you.”

  “It means a lot to me.”

  “I can tell. See, we’re going to make a great team. Look at how well we problem solve.” Randy focuses on the chocolate cake in front of him. As I begin to do the same, a nagging feeling creeps in. I should be elated, yet, there’s a darkness looming over me. Before I can pinpoint what it is, my phone rings. Randy smiles an
d says, “You can answer it. Your parents knew I was going to propose tonight. I already got your father’s blessing.”

  I beam at him and quickly answer my phone. As I’m agreeing with my parents’ excitement, I can’t help but notice Randy’s pulled-together eyebrows and set jaw. I end the call with several “I love you’s,” and promises to go visit tomorrow.

  “They’re excited,” I smile at him as I place my phone down on the table.

  “They were yesterday too.” His chest rises as he is clearly about to dive into a difficult conversation. “Nat, there’s something I want you to understand.”

  “Yes?”

  “When we have children, I’d prefer they only speak English.”

  “No.”

  “No? Why would they speak a language their father doesn’t?”

  “Then their father can learn too. What about my parents? Their English isn’t that good.”

  “They’re living in America now. It makes more sense for them to learn English, which they should’ve by now, than for me to learn Spanish.”

  “Randy, I beg of you to stop speaking now. Any children of mine will know Spanish, English, and any other culture that is part of their heritage. Don’t ask me again to not speak Spanish to my children. And just so we’re clear, Puerto Rico is a territory of the United States. My parents have always lived in America.”

  The look on his face that night. I’d been so blind and foolish to think we’d ever work it out. Randy loved my face, not me. He loved my attention, and how devoted I was to him. But that was just it, it was all about him. Speaking Spanish, my Puerto Rican culture, that’s a part of who I am. When you love someone, you love all of them. It took me long enough, but I finally saw him and our relationship for what it was—and it wasn’t love.

  I snap out of my thoughts and tell Mami about my day at the hospital.

  “Such a depressing job. I’m proud of you, but don’t you get tired? All the pain and blood? All the suffering?”

  “There is pain and suffering, but there’s also the idea that I’m making a difference. I’m there for those people. I’m helping save lives. Providing comfort and peace when their lives are in turmoil.”