operation, sizing up the scene and safety considerations, issuing instructions and gathering any available information from the witnesses.
‘One adult escaped and managed to get two kids out,’ he informed Stick and Jason. ‘There’s a three-year-old somewhere in the house.’
Jason swore under his breath. ‘Any idea where?’
‘No. She disappeared when the mother was carrying the baby and dragging the older one out.’
Another fire appliance was pulling up now and an ambulance wasn’t far behind, but Jason barely registered their arrival. He used his boot to kick open the front door of the house. He pulled the handle on the branch of the hose back to open the water flow enough to send a controlled spray, which he aimed towards the ceiling of the smoke-filled hallway.
The water vaporised instantly in the heat, and steam billowed downwards. Waiting only a second or two for the steam to dissipate, Jason and Stick walked into the house.
Another burst of water cooled the top layer of smoke and the firefighters threw themselves down to avoid the burning steam. Jason could feel the heat on his ears, which were the only unprotected areas of skin on his body.
A window exploded somewhere further away in the house and he could hear the faint shouts of another fire crew setting up a second high-pressure delivery system. The sound of his own rapid breathing inside his mask was louder.
Jason pushed himself to his feet and directed a new spray of water towards the ceiling. Cooling the top layer was intended to prevent the hot gas igniting and creating a dangerous flash over and transition from a localised fire to total involvement that could trap the firefighters. He wasn’t going to slow their progress any more than was absolutely necessary, however. Somewhere in here was a child and if she hadn’t already succumbed to the fire or smoke inhalation, he was going to find and rescue her.
One bedroom was virtually intact but there was no sign of a child through the drifts of smoke. Handing control of the hose nozzle to Stick, Jason wrenched open the wardrobe door and swept the beam from his high-powered torch under the bed. Nothing.
The smoke in the next bedroom was thick enough to kill anybody trying to breathe it, but the area below knee level was still relatively clear. The sight of scattered toys on the floor was an unnecessary reminder of how urgent this task was, and Jason clung onto the hope that the kid had crawled in any attempt to escape and would therefore have had a supply of oxygen for longer. He shook his head, giving Stick a thumbs-down signal before moving rapidly out of the second bedroom.
Another crew was now entering the house from the other side. Between bursts of water and avoiding injury from the steam, Jason veered away from the kitchen that was the most likely starting point of this fire as a charred beam snapped and sent a shower of debris into the area. A sitting room adjoined the kitchen, but that was closer to the back-up crew. Jason turned into another short hallway.
The bathroom was clear. So was another bedroom. That left only the laundry at the end of the hallway and there was no space for a child to hide there. A washing machine, a tumble dryer and a hamper full of dirty laundry filled all the available space. Jason turned again but then paused as he reoriented himself in the eerie darkness caused by the smoke and tried to clear extraneous messages bombarding his brain.
Logically, he should go and check the sitting room and kitchen with the new crew and then use them to help double-check the rest of the house, but as he shut his eyes for a second, Jason knew he wasn’t going to do that. He had been in this kind of space often enough to have learned to trust his instinct. That gut feeling that he had missed something closer to hand had been strong enough to make him pause and he couldn’t afford to ignore it.
Signalling to Stick, Jason turned back, passed the bathroom and third bedroom without a second glance and, after Stick had given the ceiling a good spray of water, stepped into the laundry again. He opened the door of the tumble dryer and smoke rushed in to dull the shine of the empty drum. He pulled up the lid of the wicker laundry basket again. This time he also pulled at the dirty linen it contained. Two towels, some baby stretchsuits and several bibs came flying out to land in the puddles of water accumulating on the floor.
He’d have to give Stick a hard time later about the amount of water he was using, Jason thought fleetingly. The aim of good firefighting was to use only as much as it took to make steam. That way, no water damage would be added to whatever could be saved from destruction by flames and smoke.
His gloved hand caught the corner of a sheet. It seemed to have become tangled with other linen. Jason pulled harder and then realised that no amount of dirty washing could weigh that much. He reached in more carefully, using his torch to illuminate the bottom of the large, square basket.
And there she was. A tiny child, curled into what looked like a foetal position, cushioned on more crumpled sheets and clothes. Jason hit the button on the alarm pack attached to his sleeve to summon urgent assistance. He dropped his torch and lifted the child into his arms. Fire officers responding to the loud beep of the alarm guided him through the quickest route out of the house, via the sitting room and a set of French doors leading to a verandah. An ambulance crew was waiting and Jason experienced a wave of relief at seeing the familiar faces of Tim and Laura.
‘Put her down on the blanket, mate.’ Tim couldn’t recognise Jason under his full protective gear. Jason put the little girl down as gently as he could. Did Laura have any idea who had delivered their patient? Or any idea how horrific he was finding this? The mother of the child obviously did. Jason could see her near the first ambulance that had arrived on scene. The blanket covering her thin nightdress was coming adrift, her oxygen mask had been ripped clear and the two ambulance officers caring for her and the other two children were both fully occupied, trying to restrain the woman from rushing into the resuscitation area that Tim and Laura had set up.
Jason could understand her anguish. The thought that he might have just carried a dead child in his arms was unbearable. He pulled off his respirator, turned off his breathing apparatus and then stayed, rooted to the spot, his eyes glued on the paramedics as they set to work on the child.
‘Respiratory arrest.’ Tim had his head very close to the child’s face and one hand was now resting on her neck. ‘No pulse.’
Laura was ripping open the child’s pyjama jacket. It was made of pale pink fabric and decorated with little yellow ducks, rather like the ones on Megan’s blanket. Jason found he had to swallow a painful lump in his throat. This kid had a father. How would he be feeling if he were standing here right now? He focussed on Laura’s actions. She clearly knew what she was doing, hooking up electrodes and pushing buttons on the life pack with deft, rapid movements. Jason sent another silent prayer in her direction.
A line appeared on the screen of the life pack. A wiggle that even Jason knew was a long way from normal, but Laura actually looked excited.
‘She’s in VF,’ she told Tim.
‘Really?’ Tim sounded amazed. ‘Great.’ He inflated the small lungs again carefully with the bag mask. ‘We might be in with a chance here, then.’
Jason caught the shred of hope and clung to it. A chance was good. A hell of a lot better than seeing the team shaking their heads sadly or packing up anyway.
‘Does anyone know how old she is?’ Laura was opening a side pocket on the life pack’s case, pulling out some paddles with small, silver discs on them.
‘She’s three.’ Jason didn’t recognise the strange hoarseness of his own voice.
‘Age times two plus eight,’ Tim said.
‘Yeah, but she’s tiny,’ Laura responded. ‘I’d put her weight at more like ten kilos.’ She turned a button on the life pack. ‘I’ll shock at twenty kilojoules initially.’
‘OK.’ Tim had inserted a plastic airway into the child’s mouth. The bag mask unit was connected to an oxygen cylinder. He reached for another pack and unrolled it. ‘I’ll get ready to intubate.’
‘We’ll need IV access as well.’ Laura slapped some orange pads onto the small chest. ‘Everyone clear,’ she advised as she positioned the paddles.
‘Clear,’ Tim responded.
The child didn’t give a dramatic jerk the way Jason had witnessed in some cardiac arrest situations. In fact, it didn’t look like those little paddles had done much at all. Maybe they should use bigger ones. There had to be
