supposed to say it,” Saint chuckles, scooping the vegetables up in his palm and sprinkling them in the chili.
“Oh. Why not?”
The alarm goes off, and my heart goes racing. I don’t have time to think about Ryan now. I’m in work mode. Captain Warwick runs out of his office just as the address is announced over the speaker.
“That’s the Piggly Wiggly,” I announce, suiting up as quick as possible. I notice from the corner of my eye Kincaid and Lock sliding down the pole and running to get suited up too.
“People are panicking because of this hurricane. I mean, we’ll get some nasty weather too. We’re only an hour and a half away from where the storm is supposed to hit. Have you seen it? It’s taken a mean curve to the East. It’s barely missing Baton Rouge. New Orleans is going to get walloped,” Taylor speed talks as he slips on his boots and snags his jacket to go.
“Man, they always do.” I hop into the truck and look out the window to see Ryan and Sunday hopping in their own rig.
As we pull out of the station, the sirens blare, and Saint takes a left, heading toward the bridge. From here, I can see the smoke billowing into the air. No matter how many years I put into this job, I’m taken back to that fateful day every time I see a fire.
“Get the fuck out of the way!” Saint shouts at the traffic, honking the horn so he can get people to move over.
It’s four in the afternoon and rush hour has started. We inch forward as cars move over one by one.
“I fucking hate people who can’t drive.”
“You’re the only one who’s so angry, Saint,” Baldwin jokes.
It has us laughing, which helps lighten the mood in the cab. There’s always this huge dark cloud hanging over us before we go on a job. Getting to smile before we tackle the fire actually helps us. Sounds like a lame Hallmark card, but I guess, in a way, it is.
Fucking smile and you’ll have a better fucking day.
We all feel like how that sounds, and it belongs on a damn T-shirt.
Saint whistles under his breath when we park in front of the grocery store. It’s a madhouse. Police are arresting people, probably for shoplifting. As we hop out of the cab, one of the police officers runs up to us as we finish suiting up.
“It’s a madhouse here. There was a propane tank a customer turned on, and he lit it because he believed it was the end of the world. As far as we know, the chaos is out here now. You take care of the fire, and we’ll take care of—”
His attention is diverted when someone throws a bottle of alcohol at his head. He yanks his gun from his holster and aims it at the citizen. “Get on the ground. Hands above your head.”
“Well, this is a shitshow,” Baldwin mutters, and all at once, we put on our masks.
No smoke jumping today.
“Taylor, Saint. Do the roof check. Baldwin and Kennedy go inside and do a sweep. Kincaid and Lock will be on the hose,” Captain barks the orders to us.
“You got it, Cap!” a few of us say.
We rush into the front doors, where it’s mostly smoke. Fortunately, the fire hasn’t made its way toward the front yet. Instead, it’s hanging in the back of the store.
“Damn, it looks creepy. Like we’re going through an apocalypse or something,” Baldwin says into the mic in his helmet. His voice sounds more profound and a bit distorted, but I’m able to understand him.
“Yeah, it does,” I reply, staring at the mess in front of us.
The cash registers are open, and coins litter the floor along with fruits and vegetables. There are a few splatters of blood, probably from a fight.
Even with protective gear on, the heat from the fire and the heavy weight of the equipment makes me sick. I mute the radio and begin to shove shelves and aisle towers out of my way with the ax. “Baton Rouge Fire Department! If you can hear us, call out!” I yell, then flip on the radio again. “I think you take the west side, and I’ll take the east.”
“Sounds good. We meet here in ten minutes. That’s it. Okay?”
I nod and take a sharp right, kicking a box of cereal out of my way. “Baton Rouge Fire! Call out if you need help!” I shout again, but