Page 1 of Burn

Ladder Company

A group of firefighters, officers, and engineers who staff a ladder truck.

“Fuck,” I murmur to myself, dragging my palms over my face, frustrated sleep isn’t happening for me.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, I notice it’s a little after three in the morning. It’s officially Christmas Eve.

I hate it when I can’t sleep. Mostly because any rest I get is needed.

Still, I lie awake at night. Hazard of the job?

Maybe. I’m a firefighter, and we have to be ready to go at a moment’s notice.

For close to an hour, I lie here listening to the sounds of the fourteen guys around me, some snoring, some talking in their sleep and one making a noise I don’t want to know the meaning of.

Then there’s our probie, Finn. Little shit is on his cell phone, white screen lighting up the dark room. It’s like a goddamn spotlight on the ceiling and only pisses me off more than I usually am.

Turning over, I tuck my hands under my chin and stare at him. “Turn that motherfucker off before I break it. I can’t sleep.” He’s not the reason for me not sleeping, but I blame him anyway. He turns to look at me and shakes his head but sure as hell, he turns off his phone. He knows his place.

He’s a probationary firefighter. It’s our job to give him crap and test his abilities. If you can’t take being treated like a grunt for a year, there’s no way in hell I want you beside me in the fire.

Why?

It’s a proven theory if you can’t stand your ground in a firehouse, you can’t take the heat of a fire.

Just as I’m beginning to fall asleep, a tone sounds through the fire house, a bell so loud you can be out to the world and still hear it.

It’s followed with our truck assignments. “1346 hours, aide response cross of Denny Way and Olive. Ladder 1o, engine 25, aide 25 . . . MVA.”

Here we go.

I dread the motor vehicle accidents the most because you never know what you’re going to be met with when you show up on scene. If you’re called to a fire, you have a general idea of what you’re getting into. Car accidents are something else entirely. I might be picking up body parts off the freeway or trying to pry a dead three-year-old from his mother’s arms because she thought it’d be okay to hold him in the front seat because he was crying.

Without hesitation, me and the other guys of ladder 10 and engine 25 move through the bunk room and into the apparatus bay. We have our gear on in under a minute and stepping onto the already rumbling truck.

“Shit, I have to pee so bad,” I mumble, knowing I don’t have time.

I hear a laugh next to me, and even though I know who it is, I turn to see Owen, my best friend, laughing, always in the same seat right next to me like he’s been for the last four years.

Asshole’s only laughing because this happened to him last week when we were battling a fire up in SoDo. He spent an hour with that unbearable pain of having to pee until he stumbled into what looked to have been a bathroom, or used to be. Only problem is when he started to take a piss, he didn’t realize the wall was gone, and when the smoke cleared, Owen was showing about a half a dozen bystanders his junk.

“At least I can hold it,” I tease. “Unlike you.”

Owen doesn’t say much, sits and smiles as the guys rouse him about it. There are just some things you can never live down with guys like us.

Aluminum overhead doors lift clear of the bays while our engineer hits the lights and sirens and punches the gas rolling onto Pine St.

Within three minutes from the time the dispatch was given, we’re on scene and most of us are shaking our heads at the situation before us.

“At least this joker’s in one piece this time,” Jay, another firefighter on ladder 10 with us, notes. “I don’t think I can stomach another dismembered body this week.”

I’m with Jay. At least he’s in one piece. Four days ago we went to a call where a man had been cut in half. Torso in the back seat, cell phone still in his hand and his legs in the front. All I’m going to say is if you see a flatbed hauler on the freeway stopping, my advice would be to put your cell phone down, and drive your goddamn car. Or here’s a useful recommendation too. Use your brakes.

People dial 911 for ridiculous reasons. Ask any firefighter around, and he’ll nod with a grin remembering the ones he’d like to forget butcan’t.

You’d never believe some of the calls we get. Anywhere from sunburns to teenagers experiencing menstrual cramps for the first time. Hell, even homosexuals with bleeding rectums. It was a bad day for that guy. But you know, two weeks before that he stuck a shower head up there, so we weren’t exactly surprised on that one. His name is Justin. Real nice guy but he’s bat-shit crazy if you ask me.

But seriously, some of the craziest stories start with someone calling 911. I’m sure the bleeding rectum guy would probably agree with me on this one.

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