Page 1 of Branded

Prologue

5 Years Ago

Isaac

“Get in. Clear it. Get out!” I shout out to anyone within the vicinity of my voice. My throat is scratchy and painful from the near constant relay of commands and communication over the past day.

There are so many different crews mixed together, trying to put some kind of dent into this monster of a wildfire that is shredding through Southern California, it’s hard to keep track of who is with me now and who is somewhere else in the area.

“It’s a lost cause, man. Just put a man down, send in the redline, and move on. We don’t have time to clear every house!”

I don’t recognize the voice at all, which tells me it’s someone who isn’t from my station because none of our men would dare say something like that.

Tempers have been sizzling on the edge of boiling over all day. We are on our eighteenth straight hour. We’ve been fully suited, head to toe, in our bunker gear the same. It’s heavy. It’s hot. It’s hard to navigate. It’s really fucking hard to keep under control without a clear head.

“I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just fucking say that.” I point his way as the truck barrels through the blazing roadways. “You know how fast fires like this move. If there is even a chance we can save one life, we are doing it.”

It’s like something out of a horror movie. Everywhere you look, there is an orange glow with raging flames not far behind. Ash is coming from the sky like snow, and the smell… Christ, the smell. It’s nothing you soon forget as wildlife, homes, memories, and unfortunately… even people, are completely engulfed. Their lives snuffed out in one of the most horrific ways.

“The choppers in the air are saying it’s bearing down hard and there are multiple residences in the danger zone,” 0ur chief says from his spot behind the wheel.

“Evacs sent out?” I ask.

“Yes, but they weren’t sent quick enough. It’s almost impossible to get out. Winds picked up and have essentially been gasoline. If it’s dry, it’s igniting.”

The silence that spreads over us is palpable. No evacuations usually equals death at some level. Not every time, but especially in situations like this.

Ever since I was a little kid, this is what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to be the hero who got to strap on the cool uniform and run into burning buildings to save the day.

It’s an idealistic thing as a child, but what you don’t know until you are in the thick of it as an adult is; you will see dead bodies. You’ll have to hold people as they take their last breaths because their lungs are too full of poison from the smoke to get them help in time. You’ll hear families screaming and crying for their pets that had to be left behind and stand with them as they watch everything they’ve worked for disappear into ash. It’s you who arrives first to the scene of a fatal car crash, and it’s you who has to bring in the Jaws of Life to pry a scared, crying child from a destroyed vehicle. It sticks with you like Venom inSpider-Mancomics: inky and black, crawling up your skin and making a home in your subconscious. That definitely causes fucked-up dreams when you least expect them.

No one speaks as the truck continues up the hillside to the small neighborhood that houses a dozen single family homes. According to reports we are getting from above, there are flames coming in from the west, and the back halves of the homes are already on fire. This needs to happen fast. If it doesn’t, it could be catastrophic.

“We’re going to have to check each house in pairs while the two trucks behind us pull the hoses and work on containment until we can get out,” Chief says, as he takes a sharp turn into the neighborhood that resides at the top of the hill.

We quickly run through what little of a plan we can throw together, because once the wheels stop and we move into action, it’s got to happen in the blink of an eye.

When all of this started last week, firehouses across the state of the California and even into Nevada were pulled in to try to keep this from becoming the catastrophe it already has.

From San Francisco, to Orange County, San Jose, and my home, Sunset Valley, we’ve banded together as brothers, as one team. There’s a mix of gear, of all colors, with multiple different patches, badges, and equipment, making it more than difficult to keep track or even remember who anyone is. I don’t even try. Right now, everyone is a stranger I have to trust with my life. It’s not the easiest thing to accomplish, but I have to do what is needed to make sure everyone is safe.

The truck grinds to a stop and everything explodes into high speed, into organized chaos.

The houses sit on a stretch of road that curves into a cul-de-sac at the back. Five houses down each side and caddy-cornered at the end. It’s hard to even tell what the scenery is like around them because all there is now is soot, ash, smoke, and fire.

With a partner on my six, I take off on foot toward the house in the far left corner. It’s the most at risk, so I need to ensure everyone is safe and it is empty.

Running in full gear is a feat, and not as easy as it looks, but the pure adrenaline pumping into my blood right now fuels me when the lack of food, water, and rest threaten to send me to the ground.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” I hear from behind me as we are finally close enough to the house to see the true damage. The entire backside is completely engulfed, nearly to the point of a lost cause, but the scream coming from the interior is all I need to hear before I head straight inside.

The smoke is thick and black, making it impossible to see anything even a few inches in front of my face.

It’s a two-story home with a long hallway that leads straight back from the front door, and it’s glowing red and orange, telling me anything past the stairway to my right is already too far gone.

“Fire Department,” I shout out. “Is anyone there? Make some kind of noise so I can hear you.”

“Help him!”

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