Page 43 of To the Moon and Back
Brady was immediately on high alert. Fully involved was never good.
He’d been trained for moments like this. Trained to go from zero to a hundred in a few heartbeats. All around him firefighters were slipping into their gear, racing to get to the truck as fast as they could. Eric Munez, thirty-year-old father of three, jumped into the cab beside him. “Biggest fire of the month.” Eric raised his brow. He and Brady had been working together for a long time.
“Biggest of the year.” Brady was behind the wheel. He slammed the truck door shut. “Let’s roll. We got this.”
Wind whipped through the city. Brady felt it gust against the side of the rig. No wonder the fire was spreading. If they didn’t get it out quickly, other buildings would ignite. The fire was in an area where structures sat almost on top of each other.
They reached the scene at the same time as four other trucks, from the lower east and central stations. All of them first responders. Even before they parked, Captain Jerry Cranston took charge over the radio.
“Checking the retirement home.” Cranston ran up to a man who looked like the manager of the place. A dozen elderly residents milled about. Some leaning on nurses. Several in wheelchairs.
Cranston barked out orders for two trucks to get water on the residential building. The other three were to start on the warehouse. Brady and Eric’s team was part of the latter group. The wind was fierce now, and already several other buildings were in imminent danger.
Even as Cranston shouted the instructions, Brady could see the threat. The warehouse was the tallest in the district. Four stories, easily. They could spray water from the ground, but they wouldn’t gain control over the blaze unless they got on the roof.
The sound and heat from the fire were like something from hell. Brady squinted at Eric through the smoke, but before he could speak, Cranston gave the order.
“Munez, Bradshaw, get on the roof.” He rattled off another four names. “All of you. Hurry. We need to take the life out of this thing.”
Brady grabbed a hose from the truck and led the way as the six men scrambled up the ladder to the flaming roof. The most dangerous spot was the middle. Warehouse roofs were generally weaker and less supported than roofs on other buildings. Collapsed warehouse roofs killed more firefighters than almost anything.
The headsets inside their masks were all connected. Brady shouted over the line. “I’ve got middle.” No way was he going to let Eric join him out there. He had a wife and kids at home.
Brady had no one.
Cranston must’ve agreed with the decision. “Munez, the rest of you, take the perimeter. Bradshaw, be careful. Don’t go too far.”
“Yes, sir.” Brady trudged across the surface with the hose. Flames were whipping up and over the edges, lapping at the structures on the north side of the warehouse.
“Unit Three, hurry up. Those people don’t have time!” Cranston sounded frantic.
Brady kept his eyes straight ahead. There was no time to look down at the ground, no time to see if the other team—Unit Three—had rescued the residents or not. Brady focused. Get the hose to the middle of the roof and he’d take out the heart of the blaze. He dragged the line further, toward the center.
“Bradshaw, that’s far enough.” Munez hung back near the roof’s edge.
“A little more,” Brady shouted over the roar of the fire. He could feel the spray from two additional hoses behind him. Munez had his back for sure. His friend wouldn’t let him get caught too far out. He’d be okay.
His hose shook in his hands, the force of the water at its maximum level. Brady doused the flames but as he did he took another few steps toward the core of the fire.
The cracking sound was exactly what he didn’t want to hear. It pierced the roaring blaze and wind and shook the building. Brady lost his footing and fell to his knees. The roof was collapsing! “No!” he shouted, desperately trying to reverse, to find his way to a safer spot.
Someone was pulling on his fire hose, dragging him back. Eric Munez. His friend had him. Everything was going to be okay. The last thing he heard was Eric’s voice, telling him he was almost safe. Just a few more steps and then—
The roof gave way and Brady was tumbling down, forever down. Steel beams and sheet metal and flames engulfed him even before he hit the ground. This was it. Firefighters didn’t survive these situations.
Something shot at his gut and a metal rod smacked against his head. Brady fought for oxygen, for a way to keep his face above the blazing debris. Smoke and searing air. That’s what killed firemen who fell through burning warehouse roofs.
Stay awake, Brady. They’ll come for you . He ordered himself to survive, to fight. Keep his head up. But as his body landed he was buried alive. The heat from earlier wasn’t hell.
This was.
He clawed at the rubble, at the wreckage pushing him down. “Get me out! I can’t breathe!” Panic pressed in on him, the weight of the roof more than he could bear. Why couldn’t he draw a breath? Brady pushed hard at whatever was crushing him. There was no room for air. Just heat and flames and smoke.
Several thoughts hit him at once. First, he flashed back to the bombing. This is what it was like for my mother. Her final moments. She had gone from these terrifying seconds into paradise.
That wasn’t all. He would never see Cheryl and Rodney Fisher again. Why hadn’t he gone by their house more often? Taken them up on the offer of an occasional dinner.
I’m sorry. I should’ve cared more for them. How could I miss that ? Regret burned hotter than the flames. Give me another chance. Please . . . He didn’t know who he was talking to, who could possibly help him now. He tried to inhale, but nothing came. He was dying. This was it. Please, get me out!
