"Hell no. We don't need the public seeing what we're doing." Wally chewed on the end of his cigar. "Remember that time Captain Rico staged a dead snake on the truck steps? Gave the driver a rucking heart attack when he was getting in for a call."
Tony's mouth curved in recollection. "Or the time we had a tennis-ball fight in the hallway."
"Hell, 1 remember that." The captain leaned forward. "Where did we get a bucket of them?"
"Frye, I think."
"Didn't Frye rig the toilet to spray water out when you flushed it?"
"Yeah, he got the back of my shirt wet—"
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The female dispatcher's voice came over the speakers. "Engine thirteen, Engine one, Truck two, Engine five, Battalion two, structure fire on 2012 Twelfth Street, map section N32 cross of Grand and River."
Cigars were tossed into the ashtray and the trio stepped into Danner boots and Kevlar pants. Turnouts were slipped on over their long-sleeved blue shirts.
'Tony, you're chauffeur." Captain Palladino stepped into the engine as the wide front door rolled up and open.
Tony took his seat, punched the engine's motor to life and the truck rolled out of the firehouse with the warning lights and wigwags flashing in alarm.
Nightfall sharpened the effect of neon lights in parking lots and the marquees on roadside businesses. Headlights blurred past as Tony turned left onto the street the captain directed him to. An adrenaline rush surged through Tony as he punched the accelerator. Sweat gathered on the back of his neck, wind from the open window blowing through the cab.
Walcroft's voice carried through the headsets. "This building's been boarded up for a year."
The captain's gaze was on the hydrant grid. "One block up, Tony."
Lights from other fire engines came into view at the end of the block; the ladder truck from Station 1 was pulled up in front of the building. Moments later, the engine from Station 5 appeared.
Smoke rose in gray ribbons from the upstairs windows. A plywood board had been removed; the remaining glass was broken and spidered with cracks.
Tony stopped the engine, and then the three of them went into action. First in was the engine from Station 1, their driver running the pump while the captain and hoseman went in to attack the blaze. It was organized chaos around them with the ladder company, as the rapid-intervention team, on standby.
Hydrants were tapped, lengths of hoses unrolled. Men in reflective turnouts worked around each other, helmets on heads and faces masked with the somber-ness of their duties.
Flames began to lick at the upstairs floors, a flicker of orange and red recessed deep within the building.
A bystander ran toward them, her voice raised with panic. "There's some homeless people in there. A family. I know there's two kids."
The battalion chief ordered Tony's engine to aid in the fire attack.
"Pull a line off Engine 1," he said with authority. "The three of you go in."
The battalion chief spoke to the woman, while the captain, Walcroft and Tony fit their oxygen masks on and prepared to enter the burning building.
The Engine 13 hose line ran down the street, hooked into a line from the Engine 1 pump and, once water was released, the hose rose to life as it filled with pressure.
There was no time to think about what they were doing. Two of the other firefighters were already in on the first floor. A thick gray haze made it difficult to see. Tony swept his gaze through the rooms, Wally forging on ahead toward the base of the stairs while holding the hand line, the captain motioning which direction they should go. Meeting the two of them at the stairs, Tony climbed the risers and they met the blaze on the second story.
"Fire department!" Captain Palladino called out. "Fire department! Hello?"
No answer.
Wally motioned to the left. Tony held back, studying the perimeter in their immediate area. Flames licked the wall ahead, closing off entry to a passage on the right. A third stairwell climbed to another floor of the Victorian-era building.
The seed of the fire got darker before it got lighter. It was extremely hot and Tony could hardly see objects in front of him as he surveyed the area to his right. A knocked-over chair, boxes, fast-food bags. He had to do everything by feel, relying on his sense of touch. He followed the hose string from Engine 1, then stopped and listened to the fire.
His breathing sounded surreal in his ears, an echo inside his oxygen mask, it was slow and steady. He felt as if he were on another planet.
Both of them manned the hand line, Wally crouching low beneath the smoke and leading the way. Tony held on to the hose, keeping a closer distance to Wai-croft than he did to Captain Palladino. Tony saw the reflective back of the captain's turnout. In his mind, Tony made calculations on how he'd drag Wally or the captain out if he had to. He was bigger than Walcroft, equally as big as Captain Palladino, and would be able to carry either of them down the stairs. Still, the thought of not being able to help his fellow firefighter out stabbed at the back of his head. He was on full alert, ready at an instant to make a move.
The roar of the fire blew up behind him, a crash and billow of sparks as the third-floor ceiling near the stairwell began to give way. The hose line jerked, breaking Tony's grip for a moment; long enough that Walcroft took a step ahead of him.
Tony looked up and saw a storm of cinders raining down, felt the sweat bead on his eyebrows and run into his eyes; he blinked, trying to focus better in the ashy haze as it suddenly grew impossible to see. And then he heard the telltale groan of strained timbers.
Not one second ticked off as time ceased to measure on the clock.
And in the following instant, everything around him went black.
The last
