Prairie Fire

by Kayt C Peck

  The pickup swung into the fire station lot, and Judy parked close but out of the path of the truck bays. All three women jumped out while the pickup was still rocking slightly, grabbing gear bags as they went. Pookie hit the combination on the personnel door, throwing it wide open as Judy helped Kathleen retrieve her gear bag from the truck bed. Once inside the station, they unzipped their red gear bags and each woman stepped into bunker boots and pulled bunker pants—ones with legs already tucked over the boots—up by the suspenders. They had each practiced the process a hundred times and the training paid off. They were fully geared up, including coats and helmets, in under a minute. Pookie hit the button to open the bay door for the pumper and Kathleen hit the button for the door in front of the brush truck.

  “You and Pookie take the pumper,” Kathleen yelled. “I’ll bring the brush truck.”

  “Good plan,” Judy responded. As she climbed into the driver’s seat of the pumper, she paused to turn on the main switch that connected the truck’s two batteries. She started the truck and pulled it onto the concrete apron. Pookie hit the red button to close the door and ducked outside as soon as the truck was clear. She jumped into the passenger seat, buckled her seatbelt, and started lights and sirens as Judy drove the truck onto the highway. Pookie picked up the microphone to the truck radio.

  “Engine One leaving Coldwater station with Coldwater Four and Fifteen on board,” she said.

  “Dispatch copies. Engine One out of station at oh two, fifteen hours,” dispatch responded.

  Brad’s voice was next on the air. “All other Coldwater personnel report directly to the fire scene,” he said.

  “Coldwater Three copies,” Joe Bob acknowledged.

  “Coldwater Engine Two leaving station with Coldwater Seven on board,” Kathleen said over the radio.

  “Dispatch copies. Engine Two out of station at oh two, sixteen.”

  Judy looked toward the Haskell Ranch headquarters, not four miles from the fire station. She dared to feel hope when she failed to see the yellow and red flicker of flames in the distance. Unbidden, a joke she’s overheard Guy Guyette tell his cadre of young, male converts came to mind.

  “What’s the motto of a rural fire department?” Guy had asked.

  “What?” a dutiful firefighter responded.

  “Haven’t lost a basement yet.” Guy rarely laughed, but he laughed at his own joke, and Judy wasn’t sure if it was her own prejudice or a real observation, but she’d felt an anxious twitch as she listened, her ears detecting a hint of evil in that laugh.

  Whether she liked Guy or not, there was a kernel of truth to his humor. Distance and lack of fire main water systems made it particularly difficult for a rural fire department to actually save a structure. The thought made Judy press the accelerator just a little harder, and she consciously made herself ease up, maintaining an awareness of the maximum speed she could achieve while still feeling a confidence of control in the massive vehicle she drove.

  “We’re going to save this house,” Judy mumbled.

  “What?” Pookie half-yelled, striving to be heard over the siren.

  “Nothing,” Judy said. She paused to think. “When we get there, you start setting up the hoses and pump. I’ll turn off the propane and electric.”

  “You got it, boss,” Pookie responded.

  They turned off the highway and down the half-mile of dirt road to the Haskell homestead. There was still no sign of flames. Judy really began to hope. As they pulled into the yard, Judy finally saw the flicker of red and yellow she’d dreaded. It was visible through the windows of the barn and workshop.

  “Thank God. It’s the barn!” Pookie said.

  Judy heard Ted Rome’s voice in her head, like a new and highly active conscience.

  “Always allow for engine egress at a fire,” that voice said.

  She assessed the layout of the farm yard and backed the truck into an empty spot about ten yards from the barn. She pointed the nose of the truck toward the driveway, so that it could be easily driven away should the fire spread or the situation become suddenly hazardous to firefighters and their equipment. A small tendril of smoke escaped from an unseen gap between wall and roof in the barn. That hint of smoke gave Judy one more critical piece of information – wind direction. She picked a spot upwind from the fire, remembering the many hazardous chemicals almost every farmer or rancher stored in the barn. Pookie shut off the siren but left the emergency lights flashing as Judy parked the truck.

  “Coldwater Engine One on scene,” Pookie said into the truck’s radio mic.

  Kathleen’s voice followed immediately over the radio. “Coldwater Engine Two on scene.”

  “Copy, Coldwater Engines One and Two on scene at oh-two, twenty,” the distant dispatcher responded.

  Kathleen stopped the brush truck in the driveway near the pumper. She leaned out the open window of the truck.

  “There’s not much water in this truck.” Kathleen looked around, obviously assessing the situation. “I’ll park over by the house in case we need to cool the propane tank or use it for flare ups by the house.”

  “Good idea,” Judy responded. “Then it will be out of the way when the city’s tender and pumper get here.”

  While Pookie pulled hose to fully extend the pre-connect one line from the truck, Judy broke into a run, hampered by her heavy bunker gear, toward the propane tank. Ben Haskell stopped her when she’d only gone a few feet.

  “I already turned off the propane,” he said.

  “What about electricity?” Judy asked.

  “The breaker box is inside the barn,” he responded.

  “We’ll have to pull the meter,” Judy said.

  “Show me how.” They both half-ran toward the main utility pole on the property. Ben yelled breathlessly, “When this is over, I’m joining your fire department,” he said.

  “You’ll be welcome,” Judy responded. “Where are Delia and the kids?”

  “In the house. Should I send them away?”

  “No, they’re probably safer there for now.”

  “We would have slept through it, but the dogs woke me barking,” Ben said. “I smelled the smoke as soon as I stepped outside.”

  “Where are the dogs?”

  “In the house.”

  When they got to the pole, Judy used the spike end of the fire axe she’d taken from a rack on the truck to break the wire on the contraption the electric company used to show that there had been no tampering with the meter. Ted’s voice in her head continued to walk her through every step. She firmly grasped the glass meter, pulling it from the power box. Once the contacts were free and the flow of electricity stopped, she replaced the glass meter in a sideways position.

  “Why’d you do that?” Ben asked.

  “If we spray water this direction, the sideways meter keeps water away from the live connections.” Judy picked up her radio and keyed the mic. “Coldwater Four reporting that both propane and electricity are secured.”

  Guy’s voice responded. “Coldwater One copies. Propane and electricity secured.”

  As she spoke, she heard a vehicle pull into the yard. She sighed with relief as she saw Brad’s truck as he backed it into a spot well away from the action. A second sigh of relief followed as both Brad and Joe Bob jumped from the truck and rushed toward the pumper, each man already dressed in full bunker gear.

  “What can I do now?” Ben asked.

  “Truthfully, wait in the house with your family. We’ll let you know if we need anything. If you have a way to make coffee without electricity or propane, we’ll be wanting it soon,” Judy said.

  When Judy arrived at the pumper, Brad and Joe Bob already had SCBAs pulled from the compartments where they were stored. Brad had one air tank and regulator system on his back, and was snugging the mask into place. Joe Bob was just donning tank and harness. Pookie already had both pre-connect hose systems pulled and the lines charged with water. Judy grabbed an SCBA, Ted’s voice once again walking her
through the process of securing the harness, placing the mask and Nomex hood, and adjusting her helmet to fit over the entire contraption. As she prepared for interior attack, Brad looked carefully through the window of the barn, assessing the situation. Two more vehicles pulled into the yard. Judy recognized Guy Guyette’s vehicle in the lead. The personal vehicles backed in beside Brad’s truck, and Guy walked at an almost leisurely pace toward the pumper, his white helmet reflecting moonlight and proclaiming his authority as chief. Three of the younger firefighters walked behind him.

  “What’s the situation?” Guy asked Brad. Guy picked up the last of the four SCBA units and began to gear up.

  “Looks like it’s contained against one interior wall for now, but there’s a lot of black smoke,” Brad said.

  “Situation is ripe for a backdraft as soon as we open a door or break a window,” Guy said.

  Much to her surprise, Judy was relieved to see to Guy, to have access to his experience.

  “What now, Chief?” she asked, her voice echoing through the open mouthpiece of her air mask. She could still be heard clearly. Although she’d turned on the airflow from the tank, none of them had placed the regulator in their masks. They were conserving air for fighting the fire.

  Guy looked at Judy. Surprise flashed across his facial expression. “I’m the only one here who has actually fought a structure fire.” He turned to Judy. “You and I will be Attack Team One. We’re going inside.”

  Judy’s heart felt like it stopped and then restarted at a rapid pace.

  Guy turned to Joe Bob. “You’ll be Incident Commander for now.” He turned his attention to Brad. “Get one of the boys here geared up to work with you as Attack Team Two. You be ready to relieve Judy and me when we come out.”

  “Maybe one of the boys and I should—” Brad said.

  “You’ve got your instructions. Do it!” Guy turned to the three young men waiting for directions. “The other two of you, you man pre-connect two. I’m going to break a window. We’ll let it go ahead and backdraft if it’s going to before we open that door. You’ll be doing exterior attack through that window. Got it? Start after I break the window. Give it a minute or two to see if the windows blow out, but start cooling it off before we go in.”

  “Yes sir,” one young man responded with the other two nodding agreement.

  Judy picked up the nozzle from one of the two charged lines. She glanced back and saw Pookie working at the control panel on the side of the truck. Judy felt the push of pressure on the hose as Pookie adjusted the pump, increasing the pressure so that they could effectively attack the fire. An intense wave of pride in her young friend momentarily replaced the heart pounding fear Judy felt at her pending entry into a burning building for the very first time. She turned her attention back to the job at hand, as she carried the nozzle and dragged the hose so that she was in place to enter the personnel door into the barn. Now fully pressured, the hose was awkward to move, almost like fighting a muscled creature into place. Brad moved further down the hose, dragging a length into place to make her job easier. Judy knelt, holding the nozzle at the ready and inserted the fitting for the air regulator into her mask. She gave a hard exhale, activating the regulator. The coolness of the compressed air felt wonderful and the comfort of the air and the sound of her breath, enhanced by the Darth Vader sound of the regulator, helped to ease her fear. She had trained well and trusted her equipment.

  The second hose team was in place, ready to hit the interior from an exterior window as soon as Guy broke the glass. The Chief had taken a six-foot pike pole from a rack on the side of the pumper and stood to one side, the barn wall to his back as he used the pole to break the glass. For a few moments, black smoke billowed from the window opening, and then, as Guy had predicted, a bright yellow and red shone from inside and a rush of air broke out the rest of the windowpanes. Judy had just witnessed her first backdraft. Guy motioned frantically for the second hose team to move forward, and the two young men positioned the nozzle in the open window and opened the water spray to a coarse mist. Immediately, the bright colors of the fire inside lessened from the cooling effects of the water. Guy walked to the personnel door, pulling back the backside of his left glove as he did so. He used the bare back of his hand to test the temperature of the door, then turned toward Judy, using a “thumbs up” signal to ask if she was ready. She returned the gesture and the game was on. Guy inserted his own regulator into his mask, pushed the door open, and then rushed to his position as number two nozzelman immediately behind Judy. Together, they moved inside the barn, Judy adjusting the nozzle to a coarse mist, straight enough to be directed toward the flames and fine enough to offer an umbrella of protection for her and her teammate as they moved into the burning structure.

  It was an odd juxtaposition for Judy’s brain, a sensation she didn’t know if she would ever be able to explain. Her thoughts and senses went on triple speed and at the same time slowing to what felt like a near stop. She saw everything in slow motion as she entered the building. All fear was gone, in its place a cold intelligence so profoundly intertwined with animal instinct that it was impossible to know where one stopped and the other began. She had never felt more alive. Ted’s voice remained in her head, taking on a life of its own like an alter ego. The training she’d undergone walked her through every step as she spotted the primary source of the flames and used a subtle clockwise rotation of the water flow, directing it at the base of the fire. She directed the nozzle toward the back of the flames, noting that the flow of water from the exterior attack team was already having a beneficial effect. She directed the stream from the nozzle she held to work in collaboration with their efforts. She felt Guy’s shoulder against her back. He held the hose in the crook of his arm and worked with her to move the heavy hose, aiding her as she directed the water flow. In a momentary flash, Judy felt an intense camaraderie for the man at her back. She knew in that instant that no matter what the differences out in the world, a bond formed between those who face fire together.

  Then it was gone – the supporting shoulder, the aid in positioning hose and nozzle. She had no idea why, but Judy realized, beyond a doubt, that she alone now faced the flames before her. She continued to work, focused even more intently on lessening the fire. Then the whole world shifted and her life changed.

  Homemade shelves, heavy and awkward, rested against the wall beside where Judy worked. She’d barely noticed their presence, briefly thinking about the potential hazard from any toxic or flammable materials that may be stored there. She’d even taken a moment to direct water from the flames to soak she shelves, hopefully decreasing the likelihood that material there would ignite and create a second fire front.

  Those shelves became her primary focus. She jerked her gaze away from the fire as her peripheral vision caught a flash of motion behind her and to her left. She looked just in time to see those shelves as they shifted and tilted, a giant presence falling directly on top of her. Judy jumped, still holding the nozzle tightly. The jump was only partially successful. Her upper torso cleared, but her legs were pinned beneath the heavy shelves. She felt sharp pain in her left leg and hip, each pain tied to where the hard surface of a shelf connected with her body. She heard the varied sounds of tools and cans and seed sacks from the shelves as they hit the floor. One sound in particular filled her heart with cold fear – the sound of a can hitting the concrete and then rolling, a liquid gurgle as its contents escaped. An intense flash followed as the flammable contents reached the open flames and only her bunker gear and the water mist prevented Judy from severe flash burns.

  “Left for life,” Ted’s voice said in her head, somehow making its way past the most intense panic she had ever known. Judy instinctively reached for the control valve on the end of the nozzle, turning it harshly to the left, as far as it would go. The nozzle now surrounded her in a halo of fine mist, a water bubble protecting her from the flames, but not entirely from the heat of the steam as water met fire.

&
nbsp; Panic, pure panic. The intelligence and animal instinct had deserted her, and Judy struggled uselessly against heavy shelves, unable to pull herself free. She screamed inside her air mask, with no one to hear but herself.

  “Remember the film,” Ted’s voice said, and with a clarity so intense, it was as if Judy was back at the station, sitting in training. The film had been about wildland fire shelters and how to survive if a firefighter deploys the “jiffy-pop” shelters of reflective material just large enough to provide a thin layer of protection for a single firefighter. The biggest threat was panic, the irrational desire to throw the shelter aside and run. The man being interviewed had burn scars on hands and face and was missing part of one hand.

  “I remembered my family. They needed me to come home, so I stayed in the shelter, and I lived,” the man said.

  Judy envisioned Kathleen’s face. In seconds, she saw the peaceful features of her sleeping lover…Kathleen riding across the pasture…cooking enchiladas …sharing the over-sized recliner with Judy as they watched a movie on television.

  Judy’s panic eased. I choose to live, she thought

  The intensity of the original flames had increased ten-fold, but the flames lessened in her immediate vicinity as it consumed the immediate influx of flammable liquid. Judy adjusted the flow of the water to more of a stream and tried to reach the flames, but the fallen shelving was in the way, splashing more water back at her than hitting the fire. Judy paused to think, assessing her situation. She changed the nozzle to a straight stream and directed it toward the ceiling until she achieved a perfect ricochet, and water hit the flames directly. The fire began to lessen immediately.

  “Your PASS device,” Ted’s voice screamed in her head.

  Judy leaned against the hose beneath her so that she could hold the nozzle with one hand. She reached to the harness that held her SCBA in place and found the small box that was her Personal Alert Safety System and punched the button on the side. The screeching alarm that had so annoyed her when they checked the batteries in the station sounded like an angelic chorus to her now. It was doing its job, screaming that there was a firefighter down. Almost immediately, she felt the weight of the shelving eased against her leg. Through the dark, she saw the vague shape of two firefighters working beside her, lifting the shelfing off of her. From movements alone, she recognized her soul brother, Brad. It took the strength of both men to lift the heavy shelves. As soon as they reached the tipping point so that they leaned against the wall once again, Brad grabbed the strap at the nape of her neck on her bunker jacket and began dragging Judy toward the door. The other firefighter—Joe Bob—took the nozzle from her hands as they passed and turned his attention to the fire.