Page 14 of The Fire Between Us

"My wife called it in," he's saying. "Ethel was baking something—she does that when she's showing properties. The rental cottage is out back, and she was expecting someone to look at it today."

My blood runs cold.

"Chief," I call, already pulling on my SCBA mask. "What if that person is here now?!"

Brock's expression hardens. "Lewis, you and Davidson take the main house, primary search for Mrs. Beaumont. Grant, circle around to check the cottage. Ollis, get water on that kitchen fire now. Move!"

I check my mask seal, switch on my air, and nod to Lewis. We approach the front door together, assessing conditions. Smoke is thick, but visibility still exists near the floor. Heat levels are concerning but not immediately life-threatening.

Lewis tries the door—locked. Without hesitation, I swing my Halligan tool, forcing our entry. We drop low, crawling into the smoke-filled living room.

"Fire department! Call out!" Lewis shouts, his voice muffled by his mask.

No response. We move quickly but methodically, Lewis taking the right side of the room while I go left. The heat intensifies as we approach the hallway leading to the kitchen, flames now visible licking across the ceiling.

"Mrs. Beaumont! Fire department!" I call, scanning for victims as we progress.

A faint sound from the back bedroom draws my attention. I tap Lewis's shoulder and point. He nods, and we move toward the sound, staying below the worst of the smoke.

The bedroom door is closed—a good sign that might have kept the smoke at bay longer. I check the door with the back of my gloved hand—not hot. Carefully, I open it, revealing a haze of smoke but better visibility than the rest of the house.

There, on the floor by the bed, is Mrs. Beaumont, conscious but clearly struggling to breathe.

"I've got her," I radio to command. "Bedroom, east side, conscious victim."

Lewis and I move quickly to her side. "Mrs. Beaumont, we're going to get you out," I assure her, doing a rapid assessment. No obvious injuries, but she's suffering from smoke inhalation.

"The girl," she gasps, clutching my arm. "The cottage—showing the cottage—"

My heart rate spikes. "Was someone in the cottage?" I ask urgently.

She nods weakly. "Young woman—baby—"

"Command from Davidson," I radio immediately. "Confirm possible victims in rear cottage. Repeat, mother and infant possibly in rear cottage."

"Copy that," Brock's voice crackles back. "Grant is approaching cottage now. Focus on your victim, Davidson."

I hear the order. I understand the order. But something primal overrides my training, my discipline, everything that makes me a good firefighter.

"Lewis," I say, my voice tight. "Can you handle Mrs. Beaumont?"

Lewis stares at me through his mask, eyes widening in understanding. "Davidson, don't—"

But I'm already moving, transferring Mrs. Beaumont's weight fully to him. "Get her out. I have to check the cottage."

"Max!" Lewis hisses. "Brock ordered Grant—"

"Grant doesn't know who he's looking for," I say, already turning toward the hallway that leads to the back of the house. "I'll radio if I need backup."

I don't wait for Lewis's response, pushing through the thickening smoke toward the rear door I know connects to the backyard. The rational part of my brain is screaming at me—I'm breaking protocol, endangering the team's coordination, potentially putting myself at risk. But all I can think about is Jennie and Amelia possibly trapped, not knowing the layout, not having the training to navigate a structure fire.

The kitchen is fully involved now, flames crawling across the ceiling and licking down the walls. I stay low, using my forearm to shield my mask as I navigate around burning debris. The rear door is just visible through the smoke—ten feet away, then five.

I reach it, check the handle for heat with the back of my glove, then push it open, gratefully gulping cooler air through my mask as I step into the backyard. From here, I can see the cottage—a small one-story structure about thirty yards from the main house. Smoke is beginning to envelop it as the wind carries the plume in that direction, but no visible flames yet.

"Grant, report position," I radio, scanning for my colleague.

"West side of cottage, preparing to make entry," comes the reply.

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