by Austin Bates
She smiled, but her eyes flitted everywhere but his face. "Hi, Tommy. It's good to see you."
"Didn't Morris Hofstadter tell me that Damien was a firefighter in California for a couple years before he moved back here?" Oblivious to the way her words stabbed into him, Mrs. Stockman gestured impatiently at Maria. "He's on the crew here now, isn't he?"
"I'm sorry about your dad," Maria said, both of them ignoring Mrs. Stockman by unspoken agreement.
Tommy nodded, his heart in his throat. There were too many words that he wanted say, too many questions. Instead, he stared at her until she ducked her head.
"I should get going," she said, glancing at her watch. "I'm supposed to meet someone for lunch."
"I'm glad you came," he blurted, surprised when she raised her eyes to his.
"Me, too," she said, leaning up and kissing him on the cheek. "It was good to see you, Mrs. Stockman. Tell Denise I said hello."
"Oh, now you remember I'm here, huh?" The old woman crossed her arms and glowered. "That girl," she said, shaking her head as Maria walked away.
Glancing around at the almost empty lot, only a few people lingering to stare, Tommy turned to her with a smile. "I should get going, too. Do you have a ride back to your hotel?"
"Jacob's taking me back to the Fairlane. Missy said you're staying there, too," she raised her eyebrow at him. "Not at the house?"
"No," he said, patting her hand and trying to disengage her grip.
"Good," she said, ignoring his subtle attempts. "That place should be condemned. It's criminal the way he treated that beautiful house."
"I'm meeting a contractor tomorrow," he said, and she snapped her attention back to his face, leaning forward. "The renovations will take a couple months, at least."
"You're not hiring the Simon boys, are you?" She sniffed, and let him peel her hand off his arm. "Drunks, the lot of them."
"It's a company out of Denver, Mrs. Stockman. They specialize in historic homes." Tommy caught Mr. Mason's eye and waved him over urgently, unconcerned that she was watching his every move.
"You gonna move in and raise some babies in that house? Fill it up with smiles again?" She swatted at Mr. Mason when he tried to lead her away. "I'm going. Don't rush me."
"Maybe someday, Mrs. S. Maybe someday." He watched her climb carefully into the big Cadillac they used for ferrying the grieving, her head held high as a queen's. She'd been a character ever since she taught high school science, and he was sorry to hear when she'd retired.
Turning back to his motorcycle, he ran his finger along the seam of the seat, tracing a fraying stitch. It would have to be replaced soon. Swinging onto the bike, he revved the engine and pulled out behind the Cadillac, not bothering to look back.
Chapter Three
"You look like someone died," Damien said, pouring himself another glass of soda out of the pitcher on the table.
Maria settled across from him, her eyebrow raised. "You look like you forgot your sunscreen again."
He grimaced. "The bottle was almost empty."
"They sell that sort of thing at the campground, you know," she said, glancing up as the waitress set a pizza between them. "Hi, Cindy. How're the kids?"
"Joey made varsity," she said cheerfully. "You go to the funeral?"
Damien looked away as both women glanced at him, stabbing a slice of pizza with unnecessary force. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Maria watching him.
"I better get back to work," Cindy said. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Don't let me stop you from sharing the best gossip this town has seen all year," he said, struggling to keep his voice even.
Maria kicked him under the table, the sharp point of her high heels digging into his shin. "Don't be an ass. Yes, I went to the funeral. No, I'm not going to gossip about it. Besides, half the town was there."
"Good for them." He took a big, greasy bite to keep from saying anything he might regret.
She watched him quietly as she took her own slice and cut a more manageable piece for herself. "How was your little vacation?"
"Great," he said, and she kicked him again for talking with his mouth full. "That hurts, you know." Chewing and swallowing pointedly, he leaned back in his chair. "I got a couple really good pictures of the mountains at sunrise, and I saw a whole herd of deer."
Nodding, Maria stole a sip of his soda. "Did you get to catch any of the meteor shower?"
"A couple, but it's hard to tell how they turned out till I can blow them up." He snagged another bite of pizza, and they ate in silence until the last slice was cooling on the plate between them.
"He looks good," Maria said quietly just as he took a sip of his drink.
He choked, soda burning a path into his sinuses. She watched him as he coughed, his eyes watering.
"Sorry." She handed him a pile of napkins. "I should have timed that a little better."
"I need to get to work. We're on the late shift this week." He grabbed his wallet and dropped a twenty on the table to cover their meal.
"Damien..."
"I'll see you later, sis," he said, kissing her hair. His fist clenched at his side, he stalked toward the door.
"I love you, Damien, but you need to get over this, one way or the other," she called out as he slammed through the door.
"No," he said to the outline of the mountains in the midday sun, "I don't."
***
"Ninety-six seconds," Mica said, taking a bite of his candy bar as he recorded the time on the dry erase board at the back of the station house.
"Damien, man. What did you do on that vacation of yours?" Rafe bent over at the waist, his sack cloth victim a few feet away, fallen where he'd dropped it.
"Hiking. It's this thing where you walk up and down the mountains over uneven terrain." Damien leaned back in his chair, winking at the Cuban firefighter's horrified expression.
"Why would you voluntarily do a thing like that?" He straightened back up, wiping sweat off his forehead. "I'm out. Only Brown is going to be able to outrun this guy, and he's too high and mighty to run drills."
From inside the office in the corner, they all heard an echoing sigh, and Mica stifled his laugh in another sugary bite. "I'm trying to spare you your dignity," Lucas said, leaning in the doorway of his office. "After last time, I figured you'd appreciate it."
"After last time, I need to get my revenge," Damien said, kicking his feet up on the chair next to him. "But if you don't want to risk losing, I'll understand."
Lucas rolled his eyes. "You're still a full ten seconds over my time on the rescue drill, King, so don't go letting your ego get so big it doesn't fit under your helmet. What are you even doing here? You're supposed to be off until Wednesday."
"So are you." Damien kicked his feet back, glancing around the empty garage. "And yet, here we are. Didn't Jeremy threaten to castrate Captain Brant if he called us in on our day off again?"
"Fisher's wife went into labor," Lucas said, glancing away. "Their team is already down two after Tolliver's accident last month. Jeremy understands."
"Sure he does," Rafe said, sharing an amused glance with the rest of the team.
The sound of the alarm had them all springing to their feet, all playfulness forgotten. Damien, still in his gear from the drill, got to the engine first. "Give it to me, Olivia."
"Fire downtown. The Fairlane. Eyewitnesses are reporting visible flames in all first-floor windows." The radio echoed across the concrete and Rafe started cursing up a storm. "The #10 truck is on its way, they'll meet you on the scene."
"Got it. Keep us posted." Scooting down the bench seat as Mica and Lucas climbed into the cab, Damien leaned out to make sure that Rafe and Kieran were in place on the main body. "We're good."
Mica hit the sirens as soon as the garage door was up, driving like a maniac as the rest of them held on and tried not to watch. They made it to the Fairlane in record time. The #10 was already there, the ladder extending toward the upper floors.
Nodding, Lucas pulled his helmet on. "We'll get on containment. Damien, you know the building. Run a sweep of the back and make sure there aren't any guests trapped on that side."
"On it." Tucking his helmet under his arm, Damie#n jogged across the grass to the corner of the building.
It was always an unpleasant contrast fighting fires in winter. His breath clouded the air until he was close enough for the heat of the fire to scorch his cheeks. The windows on this side of the building had all shattered, the fire licking its way up the siding. The staff entrance was still shut, the doors warping in the heat, but the deadbolt kept them from swinging wide.
The back side of the building, where the kitchen had been added in the 70's, was worse off. The roof of the addition was already sagging, and it was a good bet that Missy was right about that being where the fire started. Scanning the windows, Damien was relieved to see no sign of anyone. Then a window on the second floor slid open.
"Over here." Smoke was pouring through the open window, and the guy could barely speak for all the coughing. "We're over here," he said again, punching the screen out.
"I need a ladder," Damien said into his radio. "Second floor, multiple victims. High smoke levels. I'm gonna need paramedics."
"On my way," Kieran replied immediately. "They've got the pump hooked up, and we're starting suppression as soon as we're primed."
"The structure of the kitchen is compromised. You may want to pull the hose around and wet down the line between the addition and the main building." Leaning back, Damien shouted, "We've got a ladder on the way." He tugged his helmet into place and waved to Kieran as he ran around the corner of the building.
"The hallway is on fire," the guy shouted back, bracing an older woman with soot smeared, white hair as she leaned out the window for a breath. "We couldn't get to the stairs."
"Stairs are blocked," Damien said, unsure if they could hear him through the mask. "Be aware, Engine #15, first-floor hallway is already lit."
He and Kieran slammed the ladder down, digging the feet into the lawn for balance. Damien braced the ladder as Kieran headed up first, his thick, Irish fists at the ready. Sometimes, people did things in this kind of situation that they weren't proud of, like pushing little old ladies aside to be the first down the ladder. They were always prepared for victims to panic.
The guy stayed admirably calm, helping the woman out the window. He kept glancing at the door, and Damien didn't blame him. The smoke coming out the window was getting pretty thick.
Kieran gently got the woman to the ground, but she couldn't stop coughing. "I'll take her around front," he said in Damien's earpiece.
The guy, slender and covered in soot, was already climbing out the window, his pajama pants hanging low on his hips. As he passed into the light of the fire, Damien realized it wasn't soot, but tattoos that coated his skin.
"I can get this guy," he replied, giving Kieran a thumbs-up. The roar of the fire didn't quite cover the pummeling rush of the water hitting the other side of the building. Once they soaked the lobby and prevented any further spread, the team would head around back. If Damien could drop this guy at the ambulances, he'd have time to clear a path for the hose. The electricity had been cut first thing, but a kitchen was full of grease so they might be forced to go in with chemical suppressants.
Distracted by his thoughts, he didn't notice the guy losing his grip until the slight body slammed into him on the third rung of the ladder. Damien caught him purely out of reflex, getting a single, quick look at the guy's face in the firelight as his eyes rolled back in his head.
"Shit."
"King, talk to me. Is there a problem?" Mica had his mic up against his lips, a bad habit that made the speakers crackle.
"Smoke inhalation. This guy just passed out on me." He hefted the surprisingly heavy body into his arms and jumped down to the lawn. "Everybody's out on this side. Tell the paramedics I'm bringing around an omega, late twenties."
"They'll be ready for you," Mica said, his voice sharp. He'd stopped trying to swallow the mic, at least.
The walk back around the building took twice as long. The Jakobson twins were laying lines of chemical foam around the outside flower beds, which meant he had to swing wider than on the way in. While it wouldn't kill you, it was generally recommended that fire suppressants not contact bare skin, and the guy in Damien's arms was practically naked.
Shoving that unnecessary thought out of his head, Damien stomped over the grass to the cluster of trucks in the parking lot.
Mrs. Fairlane had arrived, standing off to one side in a long jacket and bunny slippers. She had one arm around Missy, the girl's face tucked against her shoulder. He nodded at her as he went past, and her eyes widened, staring at the man in his arms.
"He's fine," he said, and she nodded, not relaxing a bit.
The paramedics were waiting for him, just as promised, and he set the omega on the gurney, glancing at the elderly woman sitting on the tailgate of the ambulance. She was watching him closely, her lopsided squint dragging him back to high school science class.
"Mrs. Stockman," he said, ducking his head as he passed. She didn't even blink.
The rest of the rescued guests were milling about, too high in the building to have had many issues with smoke. They'd gotten lucky. Golden was small enough to have an excellent response time.
Heading back around the building, he had to detour around the back of number 15 to avoid the hose. The sheer pressure involved made hoses unpredictable, and even Rafe and Lucas couldn't always keep it from shifting unexpectedly.
Mica grabbed him as he rounded the engine, handing him a foam pack. "The twins are going to hit the kitchen. If you and Kieran can go with them, we'll keep working on this side."
"Great," Damien said, shouldering the backpack sprayer. The chemical foam had an artificial smell that permeated even his heavy helmet. He held still for a moment while Mica hooked up all the straps and nozzles and checked his air flow. "They find their personality yet?"
"I heard that," Elijah Jakobson said dryly.
"You know I love you, Jakobson," Damien said, walking around the corner of the building. "I live for your smile."
Elijah and Matthias were staring at him as they came into view, both faces set in deep, familiar lines. "Ha ha," Elijah said, and as one, the brothers turned and headed for the kitchen's back door. The dishwashing stations were nearest the door, so the fire hadn't affected that side as much.
"One day," Kieran said as he walked up beside Damien, "there's gonna be a paper published in some medical journal somewhere about how those two were born with identical eyes, noses, and missing senses of humor."
"No one will be surprised." Damien grinned over at him as he adjusted the straps of his pack. "You boys want to take point, or keep the path open behind?"
"We'll cover you," they said in tandem without even glancing at each other.
"Good God in heaven," Kieran said, crossing himself. "That'll never stop being creepy."
Damien laughed, clapping the twins on the shoulder as he passed them. "You know that's why they do it, right?" Neither man looked at him, but he could see Elijah's lips twitching even through the thick shield of his helmet.
"Well, it's damned effective." Kieran strode past them all, shuddering theatrically. "I've got the door."
"Right behind you." Damien took up his position. "How full are your tanks, boys?" he asked, all kidding set aside.
"Over half. We swapped out after we did the front stretch," Matthias said, his voice rougher than his brother's from an incident fighting in the National Forest a few years ago.
"Sounds good. Flow test." Damien pointed
his nozzle off to the side and checked that the foam was flowing freely. Next to him, Kieran did the same. "Good to go. On your count, Irish."
"Three," Kieran said, drawing back his foot and slamming into the door with his full weight. It crumpled inward, and Damien dragged him back as the expected rush of flame shot through the sudden gap. He was filling the opening with foam before the door hit the melted linoleum of the floor. The fire fell back slowly, the heat against his face familiar and terrifying all at once.
Looking into the kitchen was like staring into hell. The walls and ceiling crawled with flames, the floors blackened to ash and embers. As the fresh oxygen from the open door flowed inward, the embers flared to life, only to die beneath the harsh chemical foam. The Jakobsons took up places by the door, keeping the fire from encroaching and trying to coat enough of the walls to keep the ceiling from falling in.
Even through the thick fire retardant material of his suit, the heat of the flames made sweat pop out on Damien's lip. The air was thick. Not smoky, this close to the fire, it was too hot for smoke, but rank with the smell of his sweat and melted plastics and burning insulation. Even his suit's filters and the small air supply in the backpack couldn't keep the acrid stench out.
Fighting fires was a never-ending string of minutes, and each minute was a lifetime of watching the flames and trying to aim the spray where it would do the most good. There wasn't much to hear but the roar of flames and the occasional crackle of orders over the radios. The ceiling creaked and groaned above them, and they all watched it sag lower and lower in the middle, resting on the warped metal of the prep counters. It made it easy to smother the flames in that area, but it blocked visibility of the other side of the room.
With only a narrow path on either side of the room to pass through, Damien shook his head. "Kitchen is coming down," he said into his radio. "Unable to proceed any further."
"Understood," Lucas said, the exertion of holding the hose steady making him sound out of breath. "We're on our way around. You can come check for hot spots in the lobby."
Already backing out of the building, Damien nodded. "On it."