Page 7 of Book and Ladder
“We’ve got you, Henry,” Cody says on his way to the pump panel.
Greyson’s already doing a partial 360 size-up of the building while Dustin and I mask up.
“Pull the one and three-quarter line to the front of the barn!” Cody shouts to me.
I shoulder the hose and Dustin takes up the slack, falling in line right behind me. We run straight at the growing inferno threatening to overtake the barn and the animals trapped inside.
Crouched low outside the barn, heat builds in my helmet, seeps into my boots, tingles my ears.
“Charge the line!” I shout into my lapel.
The hose stiffens as water floods the length.
I open the nozzle to purge air and check the spray pattern, making a quick sweep to ensure the flow. Then I pull the barn door open just a crack to read the smoke. I’ve transferred the hose to secure it under my arm. Dustin’s hand clasps my shoulder.
We’re at near zero visibility when I open the door and rush in.
The sounds of panicked animals banging against stall walls and their desperate bleats and neighs fill the air along with the crackling of wood and hissing of sparks.
We have to act fast. Rescue is the priority. The smoke is low and thick.
I paint the ceiling with water, sweeping a safe path across the floor as we push toward the stalls.
“I’m keeping the spray overhead!” I shout to Dustin. “Open the stalls!”
Dustin runs through the steam I’ve created, staying close to me as I move, unlatching stalls and smacking animals on the rear to get them moving toward the open door.
Greyson’s near the barn door, shouting orders and confirming, “Two calves out. Two pigs still trapped. The mare and her colt are still inside!”
Dustin shouts, “The stall door is jammed!”
I grab my axe off my toolbelt and hand it to him through the steam. He takes it and swings. Then he kicks at the door with his boot and it flies open. The horse rears up. Dustin ducks into the stall behind the animal. I momentarily lose sight of him.
His voice comes through the headset. “I’ve got her!”
He’s at my side a moment later while the mare and her colt gallop toward the open barn door.
“The pigs!” Greyson shouts. “They’re closer to the front of the barn!”
We turn, aiming the hose overhead to cool the ceiling, alternating with shots over the door to make a water curtain for the animals exiting.
Dustin unlatches the pen and Greyson starts making a hog call I didn’t even know he could do.
The pigs bolt toward Greyson in a panicked frenzy, squealing into the smoke. We’re right behind, spraying floor and ceiling as we clear the door. The fire licks closer and there’s a distinct crashing sound as Dustin and I clear the barn door and Greyson shuts it behind us. I turn just in time to see a beam crashing down inside the barn at the exact spot where Dustin and I stood only seconds ago.
The animals are singed with soot—sputtering and coughing from smoke inhalation, but they’re alive. We did our job.
But we’re nowhere near finished.
“You two—stretch a two and a half inch line to the east wall!” Greyson shouts.
Volunteers from local farms and our off-duty crew arrive with other trucks. Lines are fed from the pond. We spray the barn and soak the surrounding structures to control the spread. The animals are corralled into a pen on the other side of the residence.
Someone shows up with a skid steer to break apart burning hay bales.
We work for hours, finally extinguishing the last embers by mid-afternoon.
The McKeehan family and their neighbors gather at a distance from what used to be the barn, shedding tears in a combination of grief and relief.
