Page 127 of Burn

Oh, God, this can’t be happening. Please no. Don’t do this. Don’t be real. Let him be alive. Please just fucking be alive.

Anger grips me. This isn’t fair. What will this do to Jacey? What will it do to my family?

Owen lets me up when he knows I’m not going to try and run in there, my body shaking with uncontrollable sobs. I throw my mask aside and stare at the apartment building, now fully engulfed. Numbness takes over, and all I can do is stare at the scene before me. Firefighters on the pipe take over, scrambling to gain control at all angles so we can get back on there, but I know, with flames like that, the heat is unbearable, and he’s not coming out of there alive.

I stand there for a moment, watching the flames pour through windows. The brightness lights up the early morning sky. The whole time I’m helpless.

I can’t focus on anything else and the harder I try, the worse it gets for me.

I look to my left at those little boys and again, it happens. I see myself and my brother, and Heath holding me in his arms. For something I claim I don’t remember, the images of that night he rescued me seem real. I remember it. I do.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I attempt to force the tears away.

Beside me, Owen and Jay watch me cautiously, but they’re struggling too. Any one of us would give our lives to get to him, but we can’t. I turn away from Owen, who’s looking right at me with a blank face. It’s pretty obvious what’s happening to me. Or might happen in the next few minutes.

And then it does. No hero tough-guy bullshit from me. I’m bawling. With my hands covering my face, I break down on the street.

I’ll always remember the silence when they remove Evan from the fire, his lifeless body carried by the guys from Ladder 1.

As the fire fades and overhaul begins, one by one the trucks return to their firehouses, and the police and fire marshals take over their investigation.

I don’t move from my spot on the pavement until Evan’s loaded in the ambulance.

News helicopters hover, reporters search for a story, but for the firefighters here, who were inside that building when the explosion happened, we’re stunned silent, unable to answer their intruding interrogations as to what went wrong.

Watching the ambulance pull away is sickening. Revolting.

The bile rises, and I vomit at the side of the truck as the tears and trauma take over.

It takes me twenty minutes before I’m able to stand again, my dad next to me. “Are you okay?” he asks, and I’m not sure why he’s asking me. His oldest son might be dead. How can he be concerned with me at a time like this? But he is because that’s Heath Ryan, the epitome of strength and heroism who gave his life for me to live.

I nod, though it’s a lie. We stare at one another. He knows me. He knows the war raging inside of me, the one where I’m trying to convince myself this has nothing to do with any move I made in that fire, but did it? Can I say I did everything in my power to get him out and be okay with that statement?

I can’t. I won’t be.

“You can’t change what happened in there. You did nothing wrong, Caleb.” With his hands on my shoulders, Dad’s chin shakes with the emotion surfacing, and he yanks me to his chest, a tight embrace holding me to him. “I love you, son.”

I don’t say anything in return. It’s not because I don’t want to tell him I love him, because I do, but I can’t force the words through my trembling lips and the tears consuming me.

“They’re taking him to Harborview.” Letting go of me, Dad leaves.

When he’s out of sight, Captain Gibson finds me. “We’re heading back to the station. The other companies will finish up here,” Cap says, tipping his head toward the truck where the rest of the guys are, all with their heads bowed.

In the distance, I see a figure crouched near the edge of the pier about fifty feet from me on the other side of Ladder 1.

It’s Corbin, Evan’s best friend.

On one knee, his head is lowered as he silently cries into his gloved hands, his helmet at his feet. Everywhere I look there are firefighters and emergency personnel, but for the boys at Station 25, our world has stopped.

I make my way over to Corbin, my feet slogging through inches of water. Nothing needs to be said. We stare out at the enflamed apartment with tears in our eyes and hearts breaking for the unknown of what happens next.

“Sorry,” he says, fumbling with his helmet at his feet. His forearm sweeps across his eyes.

I say nothing. I have no words.

BACK AT THE station, Cap addresses the crew two hours later as we stand shoulder to shoulder. “I don’t know his condition.” His wavering voice breaks around the words. “I’ll update you when we know.”

I can’t look at anyone. I don’t want to, my thoughts drifting steadily from Evan to Jacey, to even Mila in those moments, though none stick and I’m left with nothingness surrounding me, as if I’m not given a lasting memory.

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