Page 130 of Firecracker

“Go meet with the captain from twenty-two,” Cliff told Tyler and Evan. “Stretch a line between the homes in case there’s a rescue.”

Tyler nodded and as the two captains talked, he pulled the preconnected hose line and stretched it to the front door of the house. Then he started donning his mask while the rest of the crew joined him.

Masked up, he opened the bail to expel any air in the hose line and adjusted the nozzle to a straight stream. Tyler advanced the hose line to the door, Crenshaw behind him, backing him up. “Let’s go, hit it!”

He, Cliff, and Crenshaw moved into the house. Inside, they discovered the fire had self-ventilated, having burned a hole in the roof, and they could see right through the rooms on the main floor to a back bedroom.

Jesus Christ.

Everything in the room was on fire—the wall, the clothes in the closet, the bed was a pile of flaming ash, and flames crawled around the door. It was quite a sight.

Adrenaline flowed through Tyler’s veins, making his limbs tingle and his heart beat faster.

He opened the line up. The fire roared and the water hissed. Clouds of smoke billowed. He made his way forward, putting out flames. In the bedroom, flames lit up the smoke.

Behind him, Cliff said, “I’m gonna go past you. Work on the fire.”

Tyler did that, Cliff moving into the smoke. Seconds later, Cliff shouted, “Evan! Give me a hand!”

Tyler’s gaze landed on the body on the floor. Fuck.

Tyler covered Cliff with the nozzle as he crouched. Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. The body, a man judging by the size of it, was black. Tyler swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. His face, his body…was it just covered in soot?

Evan stood there, frozen, staring.

“Help him!” Tyler yelled at Evan, dividing his attention between the hose, the fire, and Cliff struggling to get the body up. “For Chrissakes, help him, we have to get him out of here!”

Evan still didn’t move.

“Fuck!” Anger flashed through Tyler at Evan. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Then he realized—therewassomething wrong with him. He was paralyzed with fear. Thoughts blazed through Tyler’s mind as he weighed options. Acting largely on instinct, he shoved the hose at Evan. “Here! Take this. Cover us.”

Thankfully Evan grabbed the nozzle. Hoping to hell he was with it enough to protect them, Tyler leaped over to help Cliff lift the body. “I’m here.”

“Thanks. Right here…grab his feet,” Cliff said. “Let’s drag him.”

“Okay.”

They shifted the weight and Tyler shuffled backward through the smoke and water and debris, breathing through his mask.

“Keep going, Tyler,” Cliff encouraged.

Outside, the smoke lighter, the air cooler, they laid him on the grass. They both dropped to their knees next to him. Once again, Tyler’s stomach roiled but he started chest compressions.

“This is Engine 25. We have one victim,” Cliff announced.

Ronda and Cam rushed up, Ronda dropping to take over the compressions, Cam going to the victim’s head.

“No,” Cliff said, sitting back on his heels. He looked up at Tyler with sad resignation, shaking his head.

Tyler stood, almost ready to vomit, but he swallowed. “I need to get back in there. Crenshaw’s not doing so good.”

He strode back into the house where Evan stood like a zombie, still holding the hose.

“The attic!” Tremon yelled.

Again, Crenshaw didn’t respond, standing knee-deep in coals. His feet were going to burn. Tyler took control. He grabbed the hose and hosed down Crenshaw’s feet, listening to the chatter through his earpiece about the victim and other crews arriving, their instructions. “Get out of here!” he yelled.

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