Page 20 of Hearts to Mend

Search and rescue for animals is different from search and rescue for people. This time I look under the furniture instead of on top of it, crouching to peek under tables and beds.

With Drew attacking the fire from inside and the ladder crew outside dousing the flames that burned away portions of roof, everything that’s not actively burning is damp and steamy. Torrents of water pour through holes in the ceiling like sooty gray waterfalls. Charred beams and rafters creak and groan from the stress of the fire and the weight of the water.

In the main bedroom, the sheets on the bed are charred, turned to an ashy paste where the fabric spontaneously ignited from the heat. And beneath the bed lies Leroy. He’s on his side, his white fur now gray from the smoke and soot. He’s not moving, and my heart sinks. Please be okay, little Leroy, please. A stubborn streak works through me as I get down on my knees and pull Leroy out of his hiding place.

“Leroy!” I yell at him, hoping for a response. I don’t get one, but I do detect a faint, fluttery pulse. Awkwardly, I cradle the little dog in my arms and move back onto my feet, ready to hustle us both out of this building.

That’s when I hear it: the snap, the crackle, the dreaded pop. The sound comes from over my head. I have enough time to look up as a portion of the ceiling gives way, charred beams and the remnants of soaked Sheetrock and insulation raining down like an avalanche.

Adrenaline burns through my veins as I move, filling my head with the deafening roar of blood pumping faster and harder, making me feel stronger, untouchable. With Leroy pressed against my chest, I dive across the floor out from under the collapse.

I make it, mostly. Debris pelts my helmet and back, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. However, the pain that shoots through my ankle and up my leg takes my breath away.

As the dust settles, my radio squawks, Watts instructing, “Engine 31, it’s past time to get out of there.”

I agree, one-hundred-percent, but when I try to move my left leg, pain shoots through me again, and the debris pinning my ankle to the floor won’t budge. I respond to Watts, “I’d like to, but I’m stuck.”

“Received.” Watts’s voice is loud and clear as he stops all other radio chatter with the announcement: “Fletcher of Engine 31 is calling a Mayday. She’s on the second floor, Delta side. We’ve got a Mayday, Mayday, Mayday.”

The Mayday tones sound over the radio. There is nothing more frightening than that sound, which indicates that a firefighter is trapped or injured. A shiver blasts through me as I realize that, this time, it’s me who’s trapped and injured.

“Emerson, report,” Watts instructs after the tones.

“Partial collapse of the ceiling onto her legs.” Drew’s voice filters over the radio, and I turn as much as I can to see that he’s here in the room, assessing the ceiling.

Relief washes over me at the sight of my fire brother. I might be injured and trapped, but I’m not alone.

Drew keeps talking to Watts as he tests the weight on the debris pinning my leg. “Remainder of the ceiling appears stable, but I’m going to need some help lifting this off her and the dog.”

Right, the dog, the reason I’m here. I look down at little Leroy in my arms, shielded beneath me. He’s still lethargic and unresponsive despite our traumatic tumble. I radio to command. “Prep the pet med kit too. Leroy needs some good air.”

Within a matter of seconds, Rooster comes bursting into the room, Kramer from Engine 12 right on his heels. Drew and Kramer put their dead lift practice to work, pulling the beams and debris up enough that Rooster can grab my gear and yank me out from under.

Blood rushes back into my ankle and foot with pins and needles, and I wince at the sharp pain. Rooster hands Leroy off to Kramer, so my crew can focus on me, quickly examining the condition of my injury before Rooster wraps one arm around my shoulders and slips the other under my knees, lifting me like I weigh nothing, like I don’t practice my dead lifts right along with them in the station weight room. He carries me while Drew grabs the hose, and we make egress.

The indignity of being carried out of a fire I walked into hurts worse than my ankle. I complain loudly, assuring Rooster I can walk fine on my own. He ignores me, and rightly so. I’m lying. My foot doesn’t feel like it’s there. No pain, no tingles: there’s just nothing.

Concentrating for a moment on my legs as they bounce against Rooster’s arm, I try to really feel my foot. There’s no sensation. Jesus, is it gone? Did it get torn off by the falling ceiling?

With a peek over Rooster’s elbow, I’m relieved to see both of my boots bobbing with his steps. “Oh good,” I say and smile at him when he frowns at me, looking confused. I explain so he’ll understand. “I’m glad my feet are still attached.”

“She’s a little loopy,” Rooster says to the paramedics as he delivers me to one of the ambulance gurneys in the street.

Without Rooster’s bulky shoulder blocking my view, I look all around at the sea of curious onlookers, everyone strobed in the red and blue disco of emergency lights. Nearby, Pamela and Leroy are being tended to. Leroy appears to be awake. Sooty and lethargic, but alive. Hooray.

Behind them, another ambulance hosts an old man with a shock blanket wrapped around him so tight you’d think it were winter in Siberia. Earl from the first floor, I presume.

“He’s in shock,” I explain to my medic.

“Huh?” he asks, not really listening as he pulls my mask and helmet off and flashes a penlight at my pupils.

Around the blind spot he’s created in my vision, I see Drew heading toward our engine. Then Chloe bursts free from the crowd and tackles him with a mighty hug, getting coated with soot as she wraps her arms around him. She must have heard the Mayday call over the radio and come running, thinking it was her man pinned beneath debris in a collapsing building.

“Nope, just me,” I mutter as Drew rips his mask off so he can plant a smoking hot kiss on Chloe. Now, I grumble: “Must be nice.”

My medic looks up from where he’s trying to remove my boot to examine my leg. “What’s that?”

“It must be nice to have someone who cares about you.”

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