Nash Brothers Box Set - Carrie Aarons Page 0,108

set of fire pants I keep here. I grab for my boots, pull my protective socks on and then shove my feet into the bulky pair of shoes. I’ll find a jacket and the rest of my gear when I get there.

I just need to get there.

As promised, I’m at the scene of the fire in twenty minutes flat. I did almost eighty all the way here, and if I hadn’t slammed the detachable siren to the top of my truck, I would have been pulled over for sure. Not that every cop in a fifty-mile radius wasn’t on site at this blaze.

“Keith!” I run up, waving frantically to the chief.

“Bowen, thank God you’re here. The rest of the guys need some relief, plus we think there are still two vics trapped inside.”

I could argue that these guys really weren’t victims, but I didn’t know the semantics of who was in that house, and there wasn’t time for hostility.

“Grab your gear and grab a hose.” He pats me hard on the back and I’m off.

Into the truck, grab my jacket, helmet, gloves … race back out, check the lines on the truck, see who needs the most help.

My eyes assess every inch of the situation, from the way the flames lick up from the foundation of the house to the roof and fly up toward the canopy of trees above. The smell of acrid flesh and soot hangs in the air, and it’s either horrible that I’m used to it or a relief to know that I’m no longer affected by the scent of burning skin. All around me, organized chaos ensues, and I pinpoint where I’m needed most.

I know Keith told me to help man the tree line, to keep the fire from spreading past the forest and to the land beyond … but that’s never been my strong suit. Part of why I’m an asset on our all-volunteer team is because I’m quick. Maybe not quick enough to run the bases professionally, but I’m fast, especially for my brawny size.

I need to go into that house.

My boots clomp toward the porch, the wood there all but crumbling as men try to douse the flames long enough to bolt through the front door.

Being a firefighter, or any emergency responder means fighting every single instinct to run that invades your brain. While others are running away from danger, you’re running toward it. While buildings are falling, you’re marching into them to help save anyone you can grab. It’s against all logic to do this, yet in some twisted corner of my brain, there is a thrill extracted from it. Maybe I’m tempting fate, taunting death … but besides wanting to save lives and help people, I do this because I’m ill in some sort of way.

“Keith, give me the okay to go in.” I stare him down.

He assesses me, looks at the house, and then back to my helmeted face again. Keith always has a level head, even under the most stressful situations. Measuring what takes priority is why he has the job that he does, and that also comes with picking the right person, with the right skill set, for the job.

Me? I am fast, and I can carry fifty pounds more than a lot of these guys. I can jump higher, and for some reason, the smoke has never affected me as much. I don’t have a wife or children … essentially, if I’m lost in a fire, no one will miss me. These are things a good chief or captain will weigh out.

And clearly, Keith does. “Go! Go! But if you feel that floor going out, or that building start to come down, get the hell out. You don’t need to be the ultimate hero, not at this scene.”

What he’s saying is, these guys got themselves into this mess, and he doesn’t want me killing myself over them.

In an instant, I’m running into the building, ash and fire raining down on me. The front door is a ring of flames and I push past it, the heat trapping itself inside my suit. I can feel the sweat slicking every part of my body and feel the way my lungs begin to seize. This is the thick of it … this is what I dread but also what I crave.

There is coughing coming from the next room, and I’m surprised anyone is still conscious at this point. With smoke this thick, I won’t even really be able to