Dan emerges ten minutes later, two kids covered in blankets in his arms. I take them from him, and he disappears inside once again. There is no time to give me status, no time to pause. I look down at their small tear-streaked faces. They’re trembling. The boy calls for his father and my heart aches.
“We’re going to get them out,” I try to assure him. When they’re in the capable hands of paramedics, I make my way back to the house.
“Come on, guys,” I mumble.
We could use some of that rain right about now. Thunder and lightning continue overhead, but the droplets are holding out on us. Freddy and one of the other guys strap on tanks and move in with a hose, spraying as they go. I hate being the one waiting, but it is the plan. I radio Dan and Kyle, just as Kyle bursts out of the front door with a coughing woman.
“My husband and mom. He went downstairs to get her . . . They’re trapped in there,” she wheezes.
“I’m going back in,” Kyle tells me. One of the guys wraps a blanket around the woman’s shaking form and helps her to the ambulance where her kids are.
After what seems like an eternity, Dan stumbles out. He and a man in soot-covered night clothes have their arms wrapped around the waist of an older woman. She looks frail and disoriented, and a paramedic hurries over with a stretcher. The man falls to the ground, and I move over to him. He’s blacked out, but he’s breathing. Smoke inhalation is the one thing more deadly than the flames themselves.
A medic straps an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. I look up and realize it’s been five minutes and Kyle is still not out of the house. Loud noises have me pulling down my helmet and bolting inside. I can barely see anything other than the angry flames covering the walls. The wooden staircase has collapsed and lies across the floor. “Kyle,” I yell, but there’s no answer. I move through the house carefully; at any minute, a beam could collapse and bury me with it.
“Help,” Kyle yells. “Over here.” Following the sound of his voice, I make my way deeper into the house. I nearly trip on something — someone, I realize.
“Kyle.” I drop to my knees beside him. “I’m here, buddy.”
“The beam, man,” he tells me, his voice hoarse.
His helmet mists and I know he’s trying to suck in air. I strain to shift the beam off his leg, and he cries out in agony.
“It just caved under me, man,” he trails off, and I know I have to get him out of here. Wrapping his arm around me, I lift his bulky form to his feet. His hurt leg gives, but I prop him against me, my arm around his waist as we make our way to the door. We stumble out with seconds to spare as an explosion sounds behind us. I’m pushed forward, with my friend in my arm, by the force of it. Hands are gripping me, but it’s a daze. Somehow, they manage to get us to a clearing. Medics surround us. I push them off. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” I scurry over to where Kyle lies on a stretcher. A man is working to free him of his helmet. He’s gasping for air, scratching at his throat.
“He’s suffocating. Do something, for fuck’s sake,” I yell. “You’re good, buddy, you’re good.” He stops breathing, and my eyes widen. “No.” I shove the paramedics away and start CPR on him. One of them joins in with the chest compressions, and my heart sinks with every pump. I can’t lose you, too.
“Let me take over,” a woman says. I back away because I’m spent letting her resume. I feel my insides lurch as I watch them work on my friend, and just when I think all is lost, he starts to cough and splutter, greedily sucking in air until his breathing is even. My ears are ringing from the noise, and I feel lightheaded.
“You crying, Wild?” he croaks, and I let out a breath, laughing loud and hard.
“Fuck off, asshole,” I cough. He forces a smile as he’s carried away. I run my hands through my hair, closing my eyes and pushing away all the reminders of the night my world came crashing down around me. Twenty years later, and I can still see it all so vividly, feel the heat on my skin, smell the smoke, and the feel of my mother's cold skin the last time I saw her.
I choose to relive the nightmare every single day, hoping nobody else has to. The rain comes down hard, and I sit with my arms on my knees, my head up to the sky, droplets of water soaking me through. The fire is contained, but it almost destroyed the house in front of me. This family has lived to see another day. They’ll rebuild the damaged parts, replace the furniture, maybe move away from here. All that matters is they’re together. They needed us, I remind myself. We risk it all for that reason.
“We’re driving back to the station.” Dan places a hand on my shoulder. I nod and walk to the ambulance. Looking at my friend on that stretcher, I can’t help but wonder, what about those that need him?
3
Ocea
I duck into the bar to avoid the downpour outside. My heart thuds against my chest after the brisk walk from the hospital a block away. I should have taken my car, but walking clears my head. I’ll go back for my wreck when I’m positively buzzing.
The bell above the door chimes and the warm, smoky atmosphere is a welcome reprieve from the chill outside. Shrugging out of my damp jacket, I hang it up on an empty hook, shake my wet curls, and make my way over to the counter. The smell of meat on the grill makes my stomach rumble.
Darren chats to a customer at the end of the bar but looks up when I take my seat. His smile is infectious. “Starfish!” he shouts a greeting and walks over, grabbing a bottle of my favorite beer. “It’s raining the devil and pitchforks out there.” He leans over the bar, kissing my cheek. That nickname is by far the worst I have ever had, but it’s Darren, so I tolerate it.
“Tell me about it. I powerwalked the entire way here and still ended up soaked.” My hair hangs in streaks around my face, a few droplets of cold water dripping onto my shirt. The heating causes goosebumps to spread across my skin. I take a swig from my beer and close my eyes for a second. “Thanks, Dee.” I offer him a friendly grin.
“You could have driven here and parked out back.”
“But then I wouldn’t have this lost, forlorn look that gets me special treatment.” I wink.
DK’s is a hole-in-the-wall bar I’ve frequented since I started working at Portland General Hospital a year ago when I moved here. I was lucky to land a job so quickly, but emergency nurses were in short supply here. The bar is a warm escape from the dull and dreary weather outside and the eerie quiet of my house. After a twelve-hour shift, it is just what I need. No more bedpans and blood, just buy-one, get-one-free beer hour.
The chatter and laughter of the other customers and the banter between Dee and I add to this place's cozy appeal. I eat here every day. They have the best grub, from steaks to wings, garden burgers, and warm pot pies. Then there’s the beer, imported and on tap. I’ll have one tonight, two if I’m feeling adventurous. Perks, I suppose, of the single life. I can get flat-out drunk on the night before my three days off where I’ll do nothing but mope around. I feel that unsettling ache in the pit of my stomach whenever I think about it, so I push those feelings aside, concentrating on the television. The news is on; it’s either that or football.