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Captain Dawson and Lieutenant Korth stood beside the engine, hot and sweaty from making an exterior attack on the building. The abandoned four-story brick mill was around the corner from their station, so it had taken only minutes to arrive. They’d knocked down the fire somewhat, holding back the blaze that threatened to advance to a conflagration, with their engine alone. Long before Station Three’s ladder and engine could arrive.
Korth was slamming compartment doors as he put away equipment. Dawson knew that meant he had something he was angry about and wanted to get off his chest.
“Lieutenant. What’s the problem?”
Korth wheeled on him, his hair sweaty and messed up, his eyes flashing with malice. His soot-stained face gave him a sinister look as he advanced on Dawson, hands fisted at his side. “You’re expected to follow department policy. You were supposed to wrap a hydrant, lay in the line, and pump the sprinkler system.”
He’s trying to ream me a new hole. Dawson wanted to look suitably contrite, but the facts of the situation dictated otherwise. “The fire was on the roof. There’s no sprinkler system up there.”
“We need to be following standard operating procedures, Captain Michaels.”
“When the situation fits the policy, Lieutenant, we will. In the meantime, you follow orders from your superior officer,” Dawson barked. “That would be me, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Lieutenant David Korth turned abruptly and started to walk away, muttering what might have been obscenities as he went.
“Lieutenant,” Dawson called him back.
Korth paused but didn’t turn around for a few seconds. When he did, he looked as though he tasted bile. When Dawson didn’t say anything, waiting to be acknowledged, Korth finally ground out between his clenched teeth, “Yes, sir?”
“Do not forget to replace any used air tanks. I want all air tanks inspected, full, and ready for the next call.”
Korth nodded before stalking off to the other side of the fire engine.
Dawson turned back to the scene to find Battalion Chief Lonny Greg watching him from ten feet away. His stomach fell as he was gestured to approach.
“Did you wish to speak with me, sir?”
“You thought fast and decisive. This could have been a five-alarm fire if you hadn’t stopped it so quickly. Smart move, Captain.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “Glad you stood your ground with Korth. There was a reason you got the promotion to captain, and he didn’t. Don’t let his sour grapes get to ya.”
Yeah, maybe. But not smart enough to earn a further promotion. Dawson’s jaw was tight as he replied, “Thank you, sir.” He knew no one liked Korth, not even the upper command. Still, if they knew Korth was an ass, why did they promote him to lieutenant?
Dawson heard Greg relaying the message to dispatch over his communication radio that the fire was out and Engines Four and Five could return to quarters.
He retreated to his engine to size up the packing of the line back into the hose bed. Lucas was up on the rig, folding the hose as it should be. At least until they returned to the station and could hang it to dry. Then they would pack another line of hose on the rig in case they received another emergency call. “Lucas, let me know when you’re ready to leave. We should probably stop for more fuel on our way back to the station.”
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
The cool air from the A/C sent a shiver down Dawson’s spine as he entered the cab’s passenger seat. He hadn’t realized how hot he was until he’d removed his helmet. Though it felt good, his sweat-dampened hair chilled him to the bone. Korth. He’s got to go. Picking up his run sheet, he began to recount the details of the call for department records.
They were on a fuel run when their station was dispatched to a fire at a manufacturing plant. Since the engine was only two blocks away when dispatched, they arrived first on the scene to report smoke showing and flame on the roof, possibly from the HVAC unit. While Lucas and Bob Merrill laid the hose line, Dawson positioned a ladder against the building’s outer wall to gain access to the roof. Bob took the line up the ladder to report it was indeed the HVAC unit, and he and Lucas promptly put the fire out before it could spread along the flat roof.
While it was over in less than five minutes, a second alarm had been called automatically as the plant used flammable chemicals to clean aircraft parts and assemble them. Had the fire gotten away, the conflagration could have been historic.
“Ready, Cap?” Lucas said, climbing into the driver’s seat.
“Let’s go home.”
Back at the station, Korth remained out of sight. He was supposed to be changing out the air tanks used at the last call. Not that they had used any. Still, it was his job to ensure every air pack had a full tank. The most important duty he had, but it was the one he resisted doing. Just as well he was staying out of sight because Korth’s words were gnawing at him. The lieutenant quickly found fault in his fellow firefighters but never looked at his own failings.
The men cleaned up the apparatus, hung the wet fire hose in the hose tower, packed the rig with dry hose, and then cleaned themselves up.
In the duty officer’s private shower, Dawson sudsed head to toe. He hadn’t been in the fire or smoke’s way this time, but the day’s ninety-degree heat was made worse by the forty-two pounds of turnout gear he and every firefighter had to don for each call. The lukewarm water rolled over his skin. He leaned against the tiled shower wall to let it do its magic. It was nearly dinner time, and his stomach was reminding him to eat soon. With any luck, their dinner of Crockpot pork roast with sauerkraut and apples would go undisturbed.
Once dressed in his spare work uniform, he gathered his sweat-soaked one and hustled it to the laundry machine before Bob started it. He’d need that dirty set cleaned just in case they had another call. Sometimes Dawson wondered why he didn’t keep more sets in his duffle bag, so he didn’t have to re-wash them as they got soiled.
In the kitchen, he was greeted by Lucas. “Hey, Cap. Korth booked off the rest of the shift. He spoke with District Chief Hood while you were in the shower. Jerry Nost from Station Three is being sent over to cover.”
Dawson’s teeth clenched as flames rose up in his body. “He didn’t notify me of his departure according to department policy.” What a prick for busting his balls when he turned around and refused to follow procedure. He knew it was Korth saying, “fuck you, I don’t consider you my superior officer.”
Pulling a disciplinary report form out, he sat staring at it. Korth deserved to be reported. Most of him wanted to report the lieutenant as AWOL. But if he really had received approval from Hood, there was nothing Dawson could do. He crumpled up the form, threw it in the recycle bin, and walked back to the kitchen.
The other firefighters were already seated at the table, their plates heaping with pork and all the fixings, including fresh dinner rolls. Dawson picked up an empty plate beside the Crockpot and reached for the serving spoon. The box alarm bell went off.
“Shit.” He dropped the plate on the countertop and grabbed a couple of dinner rolls from the basket on the table on his way to the engine’s cab. He donned his gear, mounted the apparatus, belted himself in, and quickly consumed the roll. Swallowing hard, he nearly choked on it as he tried to answer the dispatcher on the radio.
The alarm was for a supermarket two blocks over. The dispatcher relayed witness information reporting flames showing. Heavy smoke could be seen billowing from the doors and off the top of the building as the engine and tanker approached the scene, parting a crowd of people to the far side of the parking lot.
Bounding out of the cab, Dawson was met by the store manager. “Is everyone accounted for?” Dawson asked.
“For my employees, yes. But I don’t know how many shoppers were inside. Someone thought they heard a dog barking.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Dogs aren’t allowed in the store.”
Lucas and Bob grabbed a hose line off the rig while Engineer Randolph pulled the levers on the pump panel. Pressure increased in the hose line giving the crew water to start their attack. They could hear small explosions inside the building, probably aerosol cans exploding. Dawson put on his air pack and followed them into the building to assess the extent of the fire. With the line under his arm to keep him oriented and with his men, he advanced, finding heavy smoke but little actual fire among the market’s shelves and aisles. They moved deeper into the store. It was hard to tell how far back they were. Dawson suspected they were getting closer to the rear of the building. The smoke had become thicker until they could barely see one foot in front of their masks.
Suddenly Bob’s air pack tank sounded the low air alarm. Dawson tapped him on the shoulder and took his place behind Lucas. Even though the hose wasn’t spewing water, it was heavy. It would take a minimum of two men to advance it further into the building. Bob headed back to the front of the building, his hand staying in contact with the hose as it indicated his only way out.
In minutes, Lucas’s tank sounded a low air alarm. Dawson tapped hard on Lucas’ shoulder, taking over his spot at the nozzle so he could return outside the building before his tank ran out. Glancing over his shoulder, he made sure the rookie was following the hose line out.
The hose line was heavy, and advancing it further into the building would be even harder for one man. He couldn’t see in front of him, and a feeling of danger and dread crept through his gut. If Lucas’s and Bob’s tanks were running low, his might be next. No sooner had he finished the thought than the low air alarm sounded on his pack.
Shit, full air tanks should have lasted a lot longer. Korth. He didn’t replace the tanks after the last call. I’ll have the bastard fired for this.
Grinding his teeth together, he dropped the nozzle but held on to the hose as he turned around. The smoke was too thick to see the way to the front doors. Instinctively, his hands followed the hose line he couldn’t even see, heading to the front of the store.
Nearing what he thought were the checkout lanes, a crash sounded overhead. What must have been the suspended ceiling grid knocked him to the ground. He twisted and lost his grip on the hose line, the thick gray smoke enveloping him like a smothering blanket. Blind and breathless, he struggled to stand but collapsed as pain lanced up from his ankle.
Despite the killing pain, he frantically searched on his hands and knees for the hose line but became more entangled in the debris. Partially broken metal grid sections and fragments of ceiling tile fell off his back as he struggled to free himself. His air tank was caught on a long metal section, preventing him from getting to his feet and finding his way out.
Not that he could stand. He wasn’t sure if the stars he saw were from the intense searing pain in his left ankle or if his air had completely run out and he was hypoxic. He sank back down to the floor, sweat pouring from every inch of his body as he swiftly contemplated his options. If he could locate the hose line, he could ditch the air pack and make a go for the store’s front doors. Disoriented and shrouded in smoke, he had no idea which way to go, even if he found the hose. Choosing the wrong way would be a disaster.
You can lie right here and join your father. He was thirty-one when he died. You almost made it that long. The thought was tempting, and his chest heaved with a sob at the thought of seeing his father again. He broke down for a few seconds. The air in his tank felt thinner. The feeling spurred him to grab his radio and hit the transmit button. He called out. “Mayday. Captain Dawson. Mayday.”
He lay still, waiting for the thirty seconds necessary to activate the automatic distress signal device on his air pack. The ninety-five-decibel alarm blared from the air pack into the darkness.
Help will be on the way.
It was like a foggy nightmare. Orange flames danced overhead as he lay unable to escape. His hands continued to search around him for the hose line. It couldn’t be far. But the debris hampered his search.
Men shouted from what seemed to be far off. The thick smoke prevented him from seeing anyone approaching, but he could hear them. He knew they were coming.
His air seemed even thinner now. A dull halo of light gleamed. Is it a flashlight? Or is this it? The light at the end of the tunnel? He knew it was a silly thought and fought the urge to laugh. Sleepiness was also coming. He knew the giddiness, the silly thoughts, and the drowsiness were all caused by the diminishing air.
He tried to control his breathing, the phrase slow and steady repeating in his mind. The sounds of crashing close by, then something or someone stepped on his hand. The weight of materials lessened as if being removed from his back. He gasped for the last ounces of air in his tanks.
He closed his eyes as his arms and legs were gripped hard, and he felt himself being dragged; heart racing and gasping for breath, he tried to claw off his mask to get air.
When he came to, he was out on the sidewalk, his pack gone, his turnout coat and helmet gone, and an oxygen mask trying to force air into his lungs. He grasped the mask, pinning it to his mouth and nose, breathing hard and fast as his body tried to make up for the airless minutes.
“Cap, where do you hurt?” A paramedic shouted in his face.
Dawson ignored the medic until his breathing slowed and the muscle aches from oxygen deprivation subsided.
A cluster of firefighters stood immediately behind him, intently watching as they stripped off their helmets and unfastened their coats. Bob and Lucas were among them. Thank God! They’d made it out. All were sweating profusely, their labored breathing proof of their emotion. His men must have rescued his ass.
As his wits reawakened, Dawson pointed at his left ankle, buried deep inside his boot. When the medic lifted his foot to remove the boot, searing pain erupted, and he cried out.
Gently returning his foot to the ground, the paramedic said, “Okay. Let’s get you on the gurney and into the ambulance instead. We can work on your boot in there, then your bunker pants come off.”
“I don’t think you need to take them off. Nothing else hurts except the back of my skull.” If he remembered correctly, the ceiling grid had hit his helmet hard, dropping him to the floor. Well, that and the weight of the grid and ceiling tiles.
Lucas and Bob helped him get on the stretcher as the medic tried to stabilize his foot. Again, the stabbing pain returned, then settled down to an ache so intense he thought his foot was going numb. Fear gripped him tight around the chest.
“Hey, Doc, my foot feels numb.”
When the gurney latched into the back of the ambulance, paramedic “Doc” Simon, as his name badge indicated, gestured for the guys to hold his left leg. “We’ll have to get the boot off sooner rather than later. Brace yourself.”
Dawson could feel the blood draining from his face and his teeth clenched hard as Simon reached for his boot with one hand and cut-all scissors in his other hand. Dawson held the stretcher’s metal rails in a white-knuckled grip. The searing pain continued as his boot and his sock were cut from his foot. Simon immediately felt for a pedal pulse. “You have a pulse.” With a careful flick, he exposed the entire foot. Shaded an angry red color already turning purple, Dawson managed to wiggle his toes despite the pain.
Simon nodded. “Another good sign.” He reached down and squeezed the nail bed of the big toe and the little toe. “Capillary refill isn’t compromised.” He looked Dawson straight in the eye and said, “You might be able to keep it.”
All four men seemed to sigh with relief in unison. No pulse would have meant it was not getting any blood supply, thus jeopardizing the life of his foot so much it might need to be amputated. Nightmare.
Lucas Campbell poked his head over the paramedic’s shoulder. “Want me to call anyone for you?”
“You know the Chief makes those kinds of notifications in person. You go tell him not to notify my mother. She’s had that visit one too many times already. I don’t want him scaring the rest of her life out of her by knocking on her door again.”
Lucas looked stunned.
“When you get back to the station, you check all those air packs and the tank logs. Make sure they were changed out with full air tanks before we left.”
Lucas looked at him again, his eyes wider, understanding the implications. The firefighter stepped back and hesitated, obviously not knowing what to do first.
“Get my phone first and hand it to me,” Dawson barked. The pain in his ankle was spreading up his lower leg and intensifying.
Would Cortland dump him if he only had one foot? Cortland. He wanted to have her called. But the last thing he wanted was her hysterical and trying to fly back to Colby, even though he didn’t think she was the hysterical type in an emergency. Thanks to her medical training. His phone. Where was his goddamn phone? Probably in the engine.
Dawson called out to Lucas again. “Luc, get my phone from the cab.”
Lucas had been on his way to the rig but turned back when Dawson called him.
Just shut up and let the rookie get your phone. Dawson watched Lucas jog off from the open back doors of the ambulance.
The ambulance waited for to Lucas returned with Dawson’s phone. Then the back doors were slammed shut, and the ambulance departed for Colby County Hospital.