Page 25 of No Take Backs

Shit.

Because there is no way in hell I’m not going in.

Pulling my shirt up over my mouth, I ignore Gem’s protests and rush into the burning building.

I’m so gonna get fired.

10

JOSH

“Kid says they should be in the bathroom on the second floor.” Cap’s voice crackles through my headset, barely audible over the deafening roar of the flames. The urgency in his tone is unmistakable, and it sends a fresh wave of adrenaline surging through me.

My thoughts immediately jump to Nia, and the reckless courage it must have taken for her to even attempt to reach those trapped inside. She would have had to be crazy, or worse… desperate, to try and navigate this hellscape on her own.

The flames are no joke. They’re a living, breathing monster, and I know from experience just how unforgiving they can be.

“Clear the first floor first,” Cap orders, his voice steady but edged with the same concern I feel tightening in my chest.

Black smoke billows around us, thick and suffocating, reducing visibility to almost nothing. Every breath through my mask is a battle against the acrid air, and even through the safety of our fireproof gear, I can feel the searing heat from the flames licking at my skin, trying to eat me from the inside out. It’s like standing too close to an open furnace, the kind that doesn’t just burn, it consumes everything in its path. For a split second, I imagine what it would be like without the protection of my gear, how the flames would scorch my flesh, reducing everything to ash in mere moments. It’s a thought I push away quickly because there’s no time to dwell on what-ifs. Nia and the others trapped inside don’t have time for hesitation, and neither do I.

Old houses go up fast. They burn hot, ready to go up with barely any accelerant. The dry wood, ancient wiring, and layers of insulation feed the fire like kindling, turning a small spark into an inferno in minutes. I’ve seen it too many times before. These old structures burn too fast, and when the fire’s had its fill, there’s often nothing left but smoldering ruins. It’s a race against the clock, and every second we spend inside is another that Nia, the mother, and her child might not have.

My heart is racing as I prepare to do what I’ve been trained for.

The first floor of the house is like a maze, a chaotic jumble of furniture and bookcases that line the walls and create false rooms where there should be open space. It’s as if the house itself is conspiring to keep us from reaching the people trapped inside. Every corner we turn reveals more shit. Overturned chairs, toppled shelves, debris that has no business being in a place like this.

The smoke is so thick it’s like we’re wading through ink, the flames casting eerie, flickering shadows that make the twisted layout even more disorienting.

“Fuckin’ crazy,” I mutter into my mask, knowing full well that no one can hear me over the roar of the fire. The words are more for my own sanity, a way to channel the frustration and disbelief at the sheer insanity of the situation. We’re moving through a deathtrap, and every step feels like it could be our last if we’re not careful. But we don’t have the luxury of caution. We have to find them, and we have to find them now.

Hold on, Nia.

Slowly, surely, we clear the bottom floor completely. Five rooms, including the kitchen, and it is beyond excruciating. Every second we waste is another that Nia and the two others aren’t safe.

“Fire department!” I bellow, my voice straining to cut through the noise of the fire. “Call out if you’re here!” The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the crackling of flames and the creaking of the old house as it groans under the pressure. My heart sinks a little more with each unanswered call. We keep moving, hoping, praying that someone will respond, that we’re not just chasing ghosts through this burning shithole.

I hear the other men calling out the same thing, hoping to get an answer through the smoke and flames. Finding the stairs, I make my way up carefully, keeping one hand on the wall the entire time.

“Fire department,” I shout again as I begin to ascend the stairs, each footfall reverberating through the fragile structure. The flames are closer now, the heat more intense, and I can feel the sweat pouring down my back, mingling with the tension that’s coiled tight in my chest. I’m half expecting the stairs to give way beneath me, but I push the thought aside.

There’s no room for fear right now.

Only focus.

Ryder and Gino are right behind me, the perfect complement to my skills. Like we’ve done a hundred times before, the three of us move as one, checking the stairs and marching with purpose through the flames. We split up when we make it upstairs, clearing the rooms on either side of the hall. But there is only one closed door on the entire floor. At the end of the hall on the right. That has to be where Nia is.

The fire has spread to the walls, licking its way through the wood and insulation, devouring everything in its path. I can hear the unmistakable sound of water streaming into the open windows and onto the roof, trying to buy us as much time as possible. Time we will need to get the survivors out of the building.

“I got the door.” Ryder shoves it open, and I step into the tiny room, unsure of what I’ll find.

But there she is—Nia, crouched on the floor with a soaking wet towel in her hand, holding it gently to the face of a tiny, terrified girl. The sight of them nearly brings me to my knees, a mix of relief and horror crashing over me like a tidal wave. Nia’s face is streaked with ash, her hair matted with soot and sweat, but she’s focused, determined, her every movement calculated to protect the child in her care. The little girl can’t be more than three, her wide eyes filled with fear and confusion as she clings to Nia like a lifeline. In that moment, I’m shown exactly how strong Nia is. She’s stronger than any other woman I’ve ever met.

Beside them on the ground is an unconscious woman no older than thirty. Her dark-brown hair is wrapped in a ponytail on top of her head, and her skin is a mixture of ash and streaks of water where it looks like she’s been crying or something.

Doing a quick assessment through my mask and the haze, the fire roaring all around us, I know we are running out of time.

“Closed the door,” Nia gasps from behind a towel she is holding up to her face. “Ran water.”

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