A Beautiful Funeral (The Maddox Brothers #5) - Jamie McGuire Page 0,10
truck, standing on opposite sides of the hood. I point at him. “Don’t you fucking dare. We’re going to restrain this hungry whore, and then you’re going to pack up my niece and nephews and bring your family home.”
Taylor glanced at his watch while jogging to Engine Nine. “I’ve got two hours!”
I glanced at the warehouse and yelled back to my brother, “She won’t be out, but we can beat her back!”
Jubal and Sugar were already on fire attack, dragging a hose on the main floor, while Zeke and Cat were outside as their backup. Jubal had carried in a TIC—a thermal imaging camera—to locate the fire and any possible people inside.
“Hold off, Ladder Two,” Tyler said into his radio. “Let’s clear the building before we start throwin’ steam.”
Jew’s voice came through the speaker, “Copy that.”
“We’re going to need ventilation,” Jubal called over the frequency.
I gestured for Taylor to oblige Jubal’s request. “Copy, Jubal.” I lowered my radio. “Give me vertical ventilation, Taylor. With all that furniture in there as fuel …” I trailed off, troubled.
“We’re at a high risk for a flashover,” Taylor said, finishing my sentence.
“Then let’s make sure we ventilate her right,” I said. Fire fuel, whether it was hydrocarbons or natural vegetation like wood, released gasses at a certain temperature. Once those gasses ignited from super-heated air from the fire, an area could spontaneously combust, a phenomenon that would mean death for any firefighters in the vicinity. Other than a warehouse full of explosives or tires, thousands of pieces of furniture were a formidable rival for any fire department, and I knew my last fire was going to be my biggest challenge as commander.
I watched my brother walk away and felt my stomach sink. “Taylor!” He stopped. “Hold up. Keep an eye out down here. I’ll do it.”
“But,” Taylor began.
“I said I’ll do it!” I growled. I grabbed an ax off Engine Nine before heading for the aerial ladder to cut a hole in the roof. I signaled to Porter to follow me to the ladder truck. “Grab a saw!” I yelled to him.
He frowned, confused that a shift commander was running toward a ladder instead of remaining on the ground to keep watch.
We climbed onto the platform, and I waved at the operator, letting him know we were ready. Gears whined as the aerial ladder surged upward nearly fifty feet. As the wind whipped, heat pelted my face and glowing embers floated all around us. A nostalgic pang in my chest urged me to remember this moment because I was going to miss it. I had loved fire trucks since I was a boy, and I wasn’t sure how life would be without feeling the rush of running into a burning building when everyone else was running out.
Porter closed his eyes and swallowed. Even under his bulky bunker gear, I could see that he was breathing hard.
“You ain’t afraid of heights, are ya, Porter?”
He shook his head, his cheeks still fattened by youth. Straight out of school, he’d just joined Estes Park’s Station four months ago. We hadn’t even thought of a nickname for him yet.
“No, sir,” he said. “I mean, yes, sir, but I’m going to do the job.”
I slammed my hand down on the top of his helmet. “I just thought of a nickname for you, Porter.”
His face brightened. “Yeah?”
“Honey badger.”
Porter looked confused.
“You know what a honey badger is, Porter? They eat cobras. They don’t give a fuck.”
A wide grin spread across his face, but he quickly sobered when the ladder came to an abrupt stop.
“This is us,” I said, hopping onto the edge of the rooftop. I tapped the butt of my ax down before putting all of my weight in one spot, making sure the roof wasn’t spongey.
“How does it feel?” Porter asked.
“Stable,” I said, carefully stepping down. After a few more tests with my ax, I waved Porter over, drawing an imaginary circle in the air above the spot I wanted him to cut. “Here!”
Porter nodded and then yanked on the chain of his saw. The flames were already licking the edges of the roof, and the heat was nearly unbearable.
“We don’t have much time,” I barked. “Get it done.”
Porter carved through the thin top layer of the composite and the next layer of insulation. Just minutes after Porter began, smoke billowed from the hole he’d cut, and he took a step away from the intense heat.
I called Taylor over the radio. “She’s opened up. We’re headed down.”