Page 93 of Tasting Fire
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Per usual,the fire tone sounded about six seconds after Cash sank into a blissful snooze. But years of training had him popping straight out of sleep.
Over the radio, dispatch said, “Structure fire reported at 702 Main Street. Dispatch Engine Two.”
If there had been a wisp of fog left in Cash’s brain, it was gone now. That was the Murchison building. He thundered out of his room and yelled, “Let’s go!”
In the bay, for the first time ever, he almost lost his balance while stepping into his turn-out pants and Donaldson grabbed him just in time to keep him from going headfirst into the side of the engine.
“Dude, catch a breath.”
“The ladder truck and other engine are out on another station’s call. And the fucking Murchison building is on fire,” Cash shouted right in his face. “Get a fucking move on.”
He, Jackson, and Donaldson all swung into the engine with Cash riding shotgun and stabbing at the call button on his phone.
Pick up, Em. Pick the fuck up.
Donaldson reported back to dispatch, “Engine Two en route to structure fire at 702 Main. Dispatch, do you have secondary?”
“Engine One and Ladder are en route. ETA ten minutes.”
The ride was fast and wild, especially with Jackson driving the engine like it was one big red locomotive motherfucker. But when they stopped in the middle of Main Street, Cash could clearly see more than smoke. Flames were flickering behind the downstairs windows.
Ten minutes was too long. They couldn’t wait that long to make entry.
“Emmy McKay is inside.” Why had he let her stay there by herself? Shit, he hadn’t. He’d asked his cousin… “And maybe Grif Steele.”
Jackson shot him a speculative look.
“Not like that, asshole,” he snarled. “We need to get in there. Let’s use a ladder up front and then Donaldson and I will hit the fire escape on the back side of the building.” Because that’s where Emmy’s bedroom was.
“Can’t,” Jackson shot back. “Two people in. Two people out.”
Fuck that. Cash’s phone rang and showed Grif’s number. He answered and said, “I can’t talk right now. Your building’s on fire.”
“I know. Why the hell do you think I’m calling you?” Cash could hear clothes rustling on the other end. “Tell me you already have people inside putting it out. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Grif’s multi-fucks were full of self-recrimination.
“Why are you saying that?”
“I installed new locks and ballistic glass.”
“On both floors?”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to put anyone at risk again.”
That would make sense if this were a brick-thrown or bullet-shot scenario. But when it came to fire, true ballistic glass was going to cost Cash and the other firefighters precious time.
He looked up at the roof of the two-story building. “Have you replaced the roof yet?”
“No,” Grif said, and Cash heard the rumble of a sleek car engine starting up. “I figured it would go tits-up this summer, and I’d deal with it then.”
“Thank Jesus.” He hung up on his cousin and shouted, “Get up there and start working on a second-story window. It’s gonna take some time because that shit is ballistic.”
“Fuck,” Jackson said.
Cash turned to Donaldson. “We need a way onto the roof. We’re not getting through the windows that Grif put in. Let’s hit the fire escape around back.” Except when Cash and Donaldson popped out in the alleyway behind the building, the ladder was missing and the fire escape looked about ready to come loose and kill anyone unlucky enough to be standing beneath it. “It’s a fucking goner.” Cash considered the building next door. “If we can get in there and up on that roof, I can jump across and—”
“Kingston, are you crazy?” Jackson protested.
