Page 75 of Burn

Probie hasn’t seen his first real fire yet. He’s about to have his cherry popped.

After masking up, Owen hands me my irons, halligan in his hand. “Ready, man?”

“Always, brother.”

Us guys on the ladder, we go in when everyone else goes out. We’re all crazy motherfuckers for sure. You have to be to go into a burning building.

Owen smiles back at me when we hear the roar of the flames and continues up the stairs.

Finn stops midstep and I run into the back of him. Turning, he points to his mask. “I forgot to fill my tank after the last job.”

“You’re such a douchebag,” I say. “How the fuck have you made it this far in life, let alone graduated from the academy?”

He looks confused.

“Go back to the truck and get the spare one.” He does as I tell him, barreling down two flights and then returning just as quickly.

Most know firefighting is inherently dangerous, along with operating some of our tools of the trade. To me, and most of the other guys, the waiting around seems to be the most stressful part . . . when all our work is done for the day and you’re sitting around, waiting to see when you’d be called to duty. This shit, I live for it.

Once we’re on a job, we do what we’re trained to do without thinking.

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” Jay notes from behind Owen and in front of me.

Never fails. Owen’s usually first in and last out. It’s just the type of guy he is, full of dedication, valor, and commitment most people can never understand.

I look up to Owen in many ways, both professionally and personally. Aside from him being a dirty fuck.

Around us, black smoke billows through broken windows, letting us know we don’t have long. The smoke, a vapor so dense it’s like tar clinging to me and my lungs.

The path a fire will take is hard to calculate, and being on the pipe with a hose in hand is essentially a lot safer than search and rescue. There’s nothing between you and the flames when you’re on rescue.

Fully charged with black smoke, the second and third floors are completely engulfed.

Command radios in just as we make it to the third floor letting us know the woman is in fact on the third floor.

Once we find the apartment, we can hear moaning but can’t see anything, the heat so intense it’s blinding.

To my left, Owen gets out the thermal imaging camera and searches, crawling on all fours.

I’m behind him, below the heat, searching, calling out, “Seattle Fire Department . . . anybody here?”

Straight ahead seems to be the kitchen, a dirty orange glow consuming it.

That’s where we find her, unresponsive and not breathing.

“Ladder 10 to command,” I radio in. “We got her and are bringing her down now.”

“10-4, another resident said there’s a male victim trapped on two.”

Owen motions for me to go and he continues searching.

I pull the woman from the home, lay her in the grass and check for a pulse. Nothing. I begin CPR until the paramedics take over and continue compressions.

Then I go back inside with Evan this time to help the guys with the male victim.

Calls like this, they remind me that you could be doing anything, like making dinner, and shit happens. Fire happens.

The second time I go back in, the smoke is thicker. There are times when the smoke is so thick and the heat is so intense you can’t hear, let alone see anything. All you hear is the roaring of the flames and it sounds like a freight train coming at you.

---