While Slade’s faith in God was antagonistic and somewhat suspicious, he did believe in Him. And if Poppy being the muse Kalliope was meant to be, the Big Guy had to be involved. But Slade was still convinced God hated him. Maybe he was being set up for more pain.
The rest of her argument had softened him, but he felt like he probably could have withstood it, even with all of the help the rest of the crew had given her. Even Boston. Who would have thought that dude even had a heart?
The call had come in at just the right time. It was better for him to have time to deliberate rather than making a rash decision after being barraged by so much evidence.
The truck pulled up to the scene at an angle, blocking traffic, Emily popped the air brake and Slade hopped into action. Stinging snow blew into his face as he walked carefully on the frozen asphalt. Emily passed him, heading uphill to put out cones and flashers.
“Careful,” ordered Boston, also walking toward the overturned semi truck. “It’s slick as frozen snot out here.”
On the side of the road was a full-sized semi truck on its top. When it had overturned, the huge trailer had jackknifed forward and flipped up and over, landing on top of the semi cab.
Could anyone be alive in there?
“Hello?” called Slade. “Anyone in there?”
A muffled shout came from underneath the pile.
“You hear that?” Slade asked.
Boston and Cap were there with him and both nodded.
“It looks stable to me,” said Slade. “We don’t have enough cribbing or anything stable enough to brace something that big anyway.”
Boston and Cap exchanged glances.
“It’s not leaning,” said Cap. “And this little ravine will keep it from sliding.”
Boston added, “It’s not going anywhere. I’d be more concerned about leaking fluids.” He’d been a captain back east and had tons of experience.
The medics walked up with their medical gear.
“Powers, head in the front there, see if you can find him. Medics, you guys work from that side. I’ll get the Heavy Rescue coming and have PD shut down I-80.”
Slade clicked the flashlight on his helmet and made his way carefully down the ravine by sliding on the side of one leg. When he reached the bottom of the ravine, he looked up at the giant pile of metal. It was as high as a three-story building.
“You in there?” he called.
“Yes!” The voice came from the shattered front window of the semi cab.
Slade got down on his belly and aimed his light into the opening. Before the accident the window was probably four feet tall, but after having the weight of the cab and the trailer come down on it, there was barely enough room for Slade to slither in on his belly. His turnouts made it a tight squeeze. If he’d been wearing his airpack there was no way he’d make it.
The cab opened slightly into a sort of chamber big enough for Slade to rise to hands and knees but not enough room to sit up.
“Where you at? It’s the fire department.”
“Here.”
Slade pulled aside a thin mattress and saw a middle-aged man, sweating and breathing heavy. “Anyone else with you?”
“No. I am alone.” The man had a heavy Mexican accent.
“My name’s Slade. We’ll get you out of here.” He twisted as far as he could to project his voice out of the opening. “Cap! Boston! He’s in here!”
Before anyone answered, a horn blared as tires slid on icy asphalt. A thunderous crash sounded, and Slade saw the flashing lights of the ladder shift as if moving. As if moving toward him!
“Hold on!” shouted Slade and lay flat on his belly, arms crossed in front of his face.
The whole world shook. Metal crunched and twisted and screamed around him. The chamber tightened around him from all sides.
This was it. He was going to die and he hadn’t even given Poppy a ruling yet.
“Aye, Maria, santa madre de Dios,” cried the man in Slade’s ears.
That Polaroid was still in Slade’s helmet. If only he could see it one more time before he was crushed.
Metal groaned and tore and the compartment got tighter by the millisecond as the world closed in on him. His companion continued to pray in Spanish.
Slade thought praying was a pretty good idea. Please, God, if You just let me see her one more time …
The twisting metal death chamber suddenly stopped clamping down. It was as quiet as a cave. The weight had settled evenly onto Slade, but he didn’t think he was dead. He didn’t even think he was technically crushed. He couldn’t move more than an inch in any direction, but he could breathe. Breathing was a good thing.
Slowly Slade opened his eyes … and saw the Polaroid of Poppy smiling back at him. How was that even possible? Without turning his head, because there was no room to do so, he looked around. His helmet had come off and the picture of Poppy had fallen out. Miraculously, the photo was propped so that it faced him directly and the light from his helmet shined on it like a spotlight.
With 40 tons of truck piled on him, Slade had exactly the amount of space he needed to survive. Even more miraculous, he had Poppy and her post-poetry-reading smile to tell him it would be alright.
“Are you alive, señor bombero?”
“I am,” said Slade. “More alive than I have any right to be. How about you? Are you hurt?”
“I do not know. My legs are trapped, but I can feel my toes moving, so I think my legs are also okay.”
“What’s your name?”
“I am José.”
“Okay, José. Here’s what’s going to happen. My crew is out there. They are going to bring in whatever equipment they need to in order to get this truck off of us. I think another semi crashed into our fire truck and shoved it down on top of us. You and I are going to just lay here and take it easy and they will come get us.”
Slade had no idea if any of that was true. One simple shift could cut either of them in half or crush their head or any number of horrible things. A couple inches compression onto his chest and there wouldn’t be room for chest expansion.
The radio in Slade’s turnout coat cracked and Cap’s voice came over the air. “Mayday, mayday, mayday! Firefighter trapped under an overturned semi. Clear this channel, I repeat, emergency traffic only.”
Dispatch copied his mayday call, then Cap said, “Powers, do you copy?”
The correct action would be for Slade to respond with an UCAN report, letting everyone know his unit, condition, actions and needs. But his radio was trapped against his chest and his arms were pinned in different directions, one above his head and one under his neck. Close to the radio, but not close enough to key it in order to talk or even to fish it out.
“Firefighter Powers, do you copy?” Cap’s voice wasn’t frantic, but it was certainly tense.
Slade had no way to reply.
“Dispatch, try to raise Ladder 1 Delta on the air.”
“Ladder 1 Delta from fire. Do you copy?”
He did, but he couldn’t reply.
The radio traffic went silent. Everyone else would have switched to a different frequency to clear this one up for the mayday.
José said, “I think they are calling you.”
“I can’t reach my radio. I can feel the top of it, but my hand is trapped. I can’t even signal—”
Wait, there was a chance he could find the trouble alert button on top of his radio. He poked with his fingers, trying to find the button without changing the channel of the radio. As cramped as everything was, he couldn’t tell if he was hitting it or not. He might not even be close.
“Command from fire!” Dispatch was calling Cap and the always composed dispatcher was excited.
“Go ahead.”
“Be advised Ladder One Delta has activated his emergency button.”
He’d done it! At least now they knew he was alive.
“Powers from Command.” Cap spoke clearly and calmly as if holding in as much breath as possible
. “If you can hear me, deactivate your emergency button.”
Slade poked and poked, still not sure exactly where the button was. He had hit it once, he could do it again.
“Command from fire dispatch, Ladder One Delta is turning his emergency signal on and off.”
“Yes! Slade, we are coming to get you. We have cranes on the way. We are going to get you out of there. I heard you call before the ladder was pushed on top of you. We know where you are and we are coming for you.”
They were going to get him. And Poppy was smiling at him.
“Did you hear that, José? They’re coming for us.”
“Gracias a Dios,” said José. “I am sorry to say it, señor bombero, but I am glad you are in here with me.”
“Why’s that?” Slade figured it was just so that he didn’t have to be alone.
“I thinking if you were not here, I would be dead.”
“I haven’t done anything to get you out. All I did is get myself trapped in here with you.”
“Yes, but I thinking the Lord must love you to give us just enough space here. I thinking he would not bother for me. But for a brave señor bombero like you, he sends angels to stop my truck from crushing us.”
It was all working out too perfectly. Slade chuckled, thinking about being trapped under 40 tons as a perfect situation. But either God was setting up something great or setting Slade up for a fall too big to imagine.
It would be hours until the Heavy got Slade and José out. The medics would treat them for crush syndrome and transport them to the hospital. He might not make it back to the station until tomorrow. Would she still be there?
If she was, decided Slade, that would be the deciding factor. She said she would never leave him. If he got out of this alive, what choice would he have but to risk a lot to gain a lot?
Quietly he asked the smiling Polaroid, “What do you say, Kalliope? Will you really never leave me?”
17
For the first time, Slade Powers rode in the forward facing seat in the back of the ladder truck. Apparently, almost getting killed was a good way to get elevated in the eyes of your crew.
He had been trapped for three hours and eleven minutes. And when the Heavy Rescue guys cut away the last piece of metal and lifted him out of his nearly grave, Slade grabbed the Polaroid that had kept him company for three hours and eleven minutes.
José had made it out, but not in as good condition. He’d broken a leg and fractured some ribs. Considering the mountain of metal that had landed on them, they were both extremely lucky.
University Medical Center in Salt Lake City had kept Slade for a couple of hours to run all of their tests. Cap, Emily, and Boston had stayed at the hospital, as well as various PCFD chiefs. JFK even showed up to check up on him and it hadn’t been awkward. They fist-bumped and were back to their old, whatever relationship they’d had.
No sign of Poppy at the hospital. Slade’s eyes had gone to the door every ten seconds to see if she would show up. Surely she’d heard what had happened or someone had gone back to the station to get her and bring her down to the U. But no sign of her.
One of the other crews had equipped the reserve ladder and driven it down to the U so that the Ladder 1 crew would be able to drive themselves back to the station. The old Ladder 1 would never carry another fire crew.
Slade watched as they approached the crash site. The westbound freeway was open, but there were still dozens of red, blue, and orange flashing lights as crews worked to remove the rest of the crash remains. There was no doubt in Slade’s mind that a miracle had saved his life. He was sore from head to toe, but he’d been able to walk away from what should have smashed him flat.
In minutes they would be back at the station. In minutes, he would know whether Poppy had kept her word.
“The BC just texted me,” said Cap. “As I suspected they’re sending us all home for the rest of the shift. They already have overtime guys at the station to relieve us.”
“I for one hope it’s the last close call any of us ever see,” said Emily.
Boston was silent, staring out the window. After losing his boot firefighter on his first day as a captain in Boston, today had to be rough for him. His boot had burned up in a fire. No wonder he wasn’t right.
“You good?” asked Cap, looking over his shoulder at Slade. “Gonna come back to work next shift?”
There was no doubt in his mind. Someone had to run, or belly crawl, into death’s mouth and pull people out. A life lived for others was the only life worth living. But he didn’t say any of that to the crew. They all knew it, right? He’d save the cheesy glorifying of his job for the pages of his sketchbook.
“Still the best job in the world,” said Slade.
Boston looked over, held out a fist and Slade bumped it. The grumpy guy looked away quickly and Slade wondered if there was moisture in his eyes.
As they took the final corner to the approach of the station, Slade leaned around Emily’s seat to see the parking lot as early as possible. Cardinal would be there. No doubt. She had said she would never leave him. And she hadn’t shown up at the hospital, so she had to be here.
Everything in the world depended on it.
The snow had stopped falling so visibility wasn’t an issue. The ladder passed the last house obstructing the view, and Slade saw an empty visitor parking lot.
He watched, hoping he was seeing the wrong side of the station, or that the setting sun was playing tricks with color, but the closer they got, the more sure he became. The spot where Poppy had parked Cardinal that morning was empty.
What a chump. Slade had fallen for the arguments and the promises and even God’s angels who had protected him. The Big Guy had to be up there right now cracking up, like Lucy after pulling the football away from Charlie Brown. Slade was a first-class sucker.
No one else commented on it, and Slade wasn’t about to point out what a complete loser he was.
Emily brought them around the building and hit the button to open the rear bay door. A dozen vehicles were crowded into back parking lot—oncoming and off-going guys. But none of them was Poppy’s.
As the door to the bay rose, Slade watched, and still hoped, like the sucker he was. No Poppy. Just a weird mix of A, B, and C shifters standing around shooting the bull.
The ladder was stopped, waiting for the door to open completely. “I’m going to get out here,” said Slade, opening the door. He hung his headset on the hook and hopped down.
The air was chilly, especially in his t-shirt. But Slade didn’t want to go in and tell the story a hundred times, or have everyone ask if he was alright or tell him he was stupid for crawling under a semi like that, or give him a new nickname.
What he wanted was to understand how something like this could happen. Again. Hadn’t he seen a miracle? Wasn’t there some divine plan? From the moment he’d learned his supposed muse’s real name to the time he opened his eyes and saw her picture staring back, and smiling, he was sure Kalliope and he would work out. That it was some sort of destiny.
He looked up into the clear, empty sky. No clouds, no sun, no stars yet. Nothing that he could see.
“I know You’re there,” said Slade. “I know this was Your hand.” He had to push through tears to speak. He’d been fine throughout the incident, the rescue, the transport, the hospital, the ride home … but how could he hold it in any longer?
“For a minute there, I thought You loved me. I thought maybe, just maybe I was wrong about You hating me. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve this, but go ahead and have your laugh.”
Words came into Slade’s mind, as clear as any had at any point in his life. A poem by Emily Dickinson.
Hope is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
“You expect me to keep hoping? I know You saved my life today and performed a miracle, but how, why would I ever
have hope again?”
More words, this time a scripture. Do not fear, only believe.
Slade swallowed. Cowardice was never a word he wanted associated with him, especially after the last 24 hours when he’d stepped up over and over again to do the right thing. Slade ignored the open bay door and went around the building to the front door. There were no lights on in the community room.
Only believe.
Using his ID card, Slade toggled the door open and stepped into the entryway. One more glass door separated him from the community room. How could he believe or even hope when he could see the dark room. The empty room. The chairs from the kangaroo court had been put away, the tables pulled back out.
Slade stepped into the vacant room and said, “I thought You loved me.”
“I said I did, didn’t I?” Poppy sat up from the chair in front of the fireplace.
Slade couldn’t speak. Seeing her nearly knocked him over.
She stood and came to stand in front of him, hands in her pockets, giving him a bit of distance. “You really wanted to test me, huh? See if I’d really stick around?”
Slade didn’t know what to say. It was impossible for her to be there. Wasn’t it?
“So,” said Poppy. “What’s the verdict?
For a moment Slade savored that smile. Hopeful and tentative. And beautiful.
Slade couldn’t speak. What a chump he’d been to doubt her. And since he couldn’t get any words out, he stepped forward, bent down, and kissed her.
Poppy sighed in delight, almost a whimper of joy and ran her hands through his hair as she kissed him back. He had thought her lips were made for smiling, but now he knew he was wrong. They were soft and luscious and tasty, and made his whole body tremble.
Wrapping his arms around her, Slade lifted her off the ground, but didn’t stop kissing her. He didn’t know if he ever would and she seemed eager to keep going until someone pried them apart.
He could not get enough of the feel of her against him, her fingers running through his hair, the taste of her like every smile he’d ever seen from her.
A few hours ago he was happy to just breathe and do nothing else. Now he didn’t care if he ever breathed again, if it meant pulling himself away from his muse.
Two Hearts Rescue: Park City Firefighter Romance Page 15