Brotherhood of Fire (18 page)

"Grand Falls base on the air at O'seven forty-five, twenty-one en route with five and a probie."
"All units, this is Chief three. We've got a three story residential structure, fully engaged. Fire showing on the north and east sides, looks like second and third floors, possibly first. Old Victorian, roof is a twelve-twelve pitch. This is going to be a tough one. We've got smoke on all levels. I need everyone to staging the second you're off the truck. Need everyone we've got."
"Copy that, Chief three, ETA for Grand Falls twenty-one about two minutes." John put the radio back in the clip and turned to the crew in the jump seats in the rear compartment.
"Listen up, guys, this is a hot one. If it's an old vic, we probably can't vent the roof; it's going to be hot and tight and you won't be able to see shit. Do
not
lose your partner! Keep your eyes open for shit falling; these things were built like tanks, and there's a lot of heavy wood, layers of paint and god knows what. Watch your asses. Everybody got it?"
Heads nodded, faces taking on more serious expressions. Satisfied they heard his warning, he rechecked his gear as they pulled up to the scene. Castille jumped out to get the pump hooked up, and the rest piled out as the Chief in command strode up. John's hackles went up instantly watching the way the scene looked. Trucks were haphazardly parked in the yard, and there seemed to be more confusion than not. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out in front of his crew. Experience with this chief for other mutual aid calls told him they would need to keep themselves tight, that the scene was a cluster fuck already and wasn't going to get any better.
"Lieutenant, I need two teams in and we need RIT. It's hot, and we need guys now! Probies hang back." The on-scene chief yelled out, waving his radio at them.
The second truck from their station pulled up with two more of their guys. They jumped out, joining the group.
"Got it, Chief. I'll get them organized." Turning away, John shook his head, knowing if the chief was leaving him in charge of who was going in and how, they were for sure on their own in this one.
"Gray, Marks, you two on RIT. Garrett"—he clapped him on the back—"not this one, buddy. I'll pull you if we get it down to manageable. Sorry, you heard the chief. Help Castille with the pump and hoses for now."
Garrett nodded his understanding, and John felt relieved nothing personal spilled over. This was no place for it. The job was the job, and nothing else should be part of it, and John had to give Garrett credit for being the kind of guy who turned off the personal shit when it mattered.
"Everyone else, team up, move out. Team one?"
"Hughes and Martin!"
"Tags to staging, get in there. Thompson, you're with me; let's move out!"
Heading toward the house after they left their tags with the staging captain, he did a quick assessment and took a deep breath. It was big, all right, and didn't look like the lines that were in already were making any headway.
"We're sticking to the first floor for now," he yelled to his partner. Yanking on Marks coat, he pulled him back before they went through the door. "First floor only! They're losing this bitch, and I don't want you guys stuck upstairs when they do!"
Marks nodded and turned back to Gray to pass on the info.
Pulling himself in tight, he moved to head through the door and heard at least one piece of good news through his radio.
"Coordination Chief on scene. Repeat, Coordination Chief on scene. Chief three, report to Chief one."
His own chief had arrived and was taking over. At least that meant things wouldn't go to hell in a hand basket from this point out. Then John was inside the inferno, and everything ceased to exist except raw adrenaline and using every godgiven sense he had to keep him and his guys safe.
Making his way through the wall of smoke, he caught brief glances through the blinding swirls. Flames licked along the ceiling and a couple walls, water dripped, and flashlights cast crazy arcs of light here and there. He moved in slow and steady, the heavy, pulsing hose line in his hands aimed at any orange he saw, listening to the radio chatter.
"Command to Coordination."
"Coordination, go ahead Command."
"Have the patrol car move these people back; they're coming around the side. We need clearance for the tankers. Tell them to bypass staging and come straight to the front of the driveway."
"Will do, Coordination out."
A brief clearing of smoke showed a team up ahead, and John made for them, watching the wall of fire in front of them eat the entire front of the house. No way one hose was going to do it, no way any hose was saving this place, but until they pulled them out, he would help these guys knock down what they could.
A cracking sound made him stop dead in his tracks. Impossible to tell where it came from in a mess like this. He cocked his head, waiting for more. The smoke blinded them, the radio in his ear chirped with constant chatter and commands, the heat blasted them like a flamethrower. He had to concentrate on his partner, the flames over their heads, the hose in his hands, and try to pick out any radio commands meant for them, all the while keeping his eyes peeled for anything he could manage to see through the haze.
"Command to Interior, fans are set, need more ventilation?"
"Affirmative Command, we can't see in here, working blind. Where's the second line?"
"Second line coming in now, sending in two at the back door. Where do you want them?"
"First floor, front wall."
"On our way there already, a few feet from you." He called out, letting the team ahead of them know he was in.
"Interior, is there still fire in the basement?"
"Affirmative, need a couple more guys down there, where's that ventilation?"
"Coming, it's coming. Roof's a tough one. It's taking too damn long. Red team, where the hell is the other fan?"
"Setting up now, had to break the door open."
That was when John saw the drywall start to peel away from the ceiling a few feet ahead. Swinging the hose in an arc, he cut through the smoke and saw a tan bunker coat in front of him. Whoever the guy was, he was behind his partner on their attack line, and he stood right beneath the part of the ceiling about to come down.
He made a grab for Thompson behind him, shoved the hose nozzle in his hand, and dove forward. Eyes pointed upward at the same time he lunged, he saw a wall of debris heading down.
There was a flash of flames, crushing weight, excruciating pain.
Oh God, Carrie, I'm sorry . . . .

"Interior, second fan in place now, another team is working on the upstairs windows. Line two team in place?"
A series of clicks and squeals came back across the radio.
"Command to Interior, is second team in place?"
"No! We've got a collapse! Second team didn't get through, send in RIT now!"
"Command to Coordination! We've got a PASS device activated, need RIT on the double on the double, we've got one down. Get those damn fans
moving!
"
"Shit! Command, second team is under the ceiling, collapsed on the main floor! We need help!"
"Command to all teams, on the double on the double, man down! RIT crew, find that god damned PASS device!"
"RIT is in, Command, we need more guys, we've got debris. We've got only one down, repeat, one down. Fuck, John! Can you hear me? Stay still; we've got you! Move those timbers! Get the hose on him! Go,
go, go!
"
"Shit! John!" A tan and yellow blur sprinted past the chief as he paced on the lawn, chewing his cigar to shreds, radio in hand.
"' O'Neal, stand down!"
"Sorry, Chief. It's John. I'm going in," Garrett yelled as he kept running. "Shit," Chief hissed. "Team one, ' O'Neal coming in, put him on your team." "Affirmative Command."
"Command to Coordination, notify firefighter Brenner is injured. Medics on the double, get the ambulance up here, move those people!"
"Affirmative Command, we're set, on the way. Get him the hell out. We'll be right there waiting."
Unusual radio silence followed for what seemed like an eternity. Not only radio silence, but complete silence. The smoke still billowed, flames licked the top of a window frames, and water dripped everywhere. The only sounds were distant sirens, the cracking of the timbers on fire, and water spraying somewhere inside the house. Every ' on the scene held their breath.
"Interior to Command, injured ' coming out. Debris is cleared. He's alive but unconscious. Get the damn medics here!"
"Waiting at the door, Interior, how's the fire?"
"Team one is on it, but they need rehab. Go ahead and send in the support teams if you want, otherwise pull and let it burn."
"Affirmative Interior, Coordination can make the call. Just get your guys the hell out of there."
All hell broke loose, and silence was long gone as instructions were shouted, 's ran in, then their sooty, sweaty, tired brothers stumbled out. None went to the rehab truck or to the medic on standby; they all clustered a few feet away from where the paramedics were loading John into the ambulance. Garrett hovered with him, half his turnout gear torn off, his face white as a sheet. Nearby, the ' John had pushed out of the way stood, head hanging low as he shook it. One of his brothers had him wrapped in an embrace as he repeated over and over like a chant, "He saved me . . . he didn't have to, but he saved me . . . ."
"We'll all be right behind you," Chief yelled out.
Garrett nodded and jumped up into the ambulance as soon as they had John in. The doors slammed, and another siren pierced the morning air.

The sight in the family waiting room was as bad as it gets. It's not like when a couple of family members are milling about, crying. No, a full-on sooty crew of 's, most crying unashamedly and all looking like they wished it were them instead, is a devastating thing to watch. Searching the room, Carrie felt the shock wash over her. She'd held it together the entire drive to the hospital after Garrett had called, having to keep herself lucid enough to drive, to rationalize while she needed to function. Seeing Garrett, her resolve crumpled. His face was tight and pale. He grabbed her right away, pulling her into him, sobbing with her.

He's alive; that's all that matters now, right?"
"Yeah. We aren't leaving until he leaves, right?"
"Right. We'll be here, right here, no matter what."
"Okay." She slumped into her husband, trying to decide exactly how much grief

"Family for Brenner?" The nurse looked around the room, accosted by a dozen pairs of eyes demanding information.
Carrie's head jerked up, and she froze, looked to Garrett, and then around the room. The chief stepped up to the nurse. "His immediate family isn't here yet, ma'am. I'm Chief Sutton."
Stunned, Carrie realized she had no access, Garret either. They were just another ' brother and their family here for support. What if there were decisions to be made; what if something worse happened? She felt like a spectator in the life of the man she loved, and worse, her love for him had to be in total secret. The empty gulf inside her opened wider as the awful feeling swept her. She knew what being on the outside had felt like. Why he was so willing to just leave, to end things without trying. When you had no control, everything you wanted, needed, loved, may or may not be in your grasp, but you don't get to decide. Your fate belongs to someone else.
The nurse addressed the chief, but she spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. "I know you'll be doing an official report, so I can release information to you on those grounds, Chief. The worst injury next to the burns is the head trauma. It's not life threatening, at this point, but he is being watched for swelling in the brain tissue, and he'll be going for a CT scan. He was unconscious and non-responsive, but we put him in a medical-induced coma to monitor the brain injury and to keep his pain down. That will last a few hours unless anything happens. Most of his burns are second degree; usually that means no permanent damage, but they swell and are extremely painful. One on his shoulder is third degree, but it's relatively small. He has two cracked ribs. One punctured his lung—that was treated in the ER. Infection is the biggest worry right now, and if he were conscious, he'd be in a lot of pain. He's getting fluids for the burns, he's stable at the moment, and all his vitals are good. It'll be a little bit, but once he's settled, someone can come and be with him. Are you the representative until family arrives?" She looked to the Chief.
"No. They are." He turned to look dead at where she stood with Garrett.
Her heart felt like it might pound out of her chest, and she felt her face grow hot when all the eyes in the room were on them.
"Uh . . . okay." The nurse looked confused, but addressed them. "You're not blood related?"
"N-no," Carrie said nervously.
The chief's booming voice broke through again. "He's his partner, mentor. John signed a release for them to have power of attorney if he was incapable. His nearest family is on the west coast."
Well. That answered that. She breathed a sigh of relief that at least some reasonable explanation had been given to hand off to everyone why he had chosen them.
"I see. Okay, well, you can see him when it's time, but just one of you for now. Let me check how he's doing, and I'll come back to get you when they've got him settled." Turning on her heel, the nurse strode back through the big double doors.
Carrie nodded at the chief in thanks as he turned to go back to the chairs. His eyes were red rimmed and dark, but she still caught the slight twitch of recognition when he nodded back. Any other time, she might have worried about it. Now, nothing mattered. Hell, she would stand on one of the cheap, plastic coffee tables in the room and proclaim everything they'd been doing out loud while tap dancing if it meant John would come out of this okay.
She giggled a near hysterical laugh to herself, catching Garrett's concerned look.
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
She rubbed her face against his chest, needing comfort because the hole in her threatened to shut her down. Clinging to him to keep from crumbling to the floor, she felt only a small measure of relief that John had an excellent chance to recover. They should be with him, both of them. There should be no barriers, no questions. She felt Garrett shaking under her hands, and her heart broke a little more.
"It's not your fault. Stop thinking it would be different if we hadn't messed this all up. He'd still be hurt."
"He wouldn't be hurt thinking he was alone," he said quietly.
The words flooded her. Garrett was not one to blame himself, or to voice his emotions. This was cutting him to the core.
"It's okay," she whispered. "We'll get him back."
They slumped into each other, silently doing what all devastated family do on hospital vigil. Praying, pleading, hurting.
A strong pair of hands on her shoulders, and Marcus' deep voice broke her fugue. "He's a fighter, girl; he's going to be okay. You're going to be here for him, and that's going to make all the difference."
He leaned in a little closer, his head inches from theirs. "I really hate to have to be in the middle of your business, but Garrett, you know John and I talked today?" he said in a low voice.
Carrie sucked in a breath.
Oh, god, please don't make this worse.
"Yeah. I haven't told Carrie yet what, uh—"
"You're all good, Garrett; now's not the time. He, uh, he planned on trying to talk to you both. In fact, he had his phone in his hand to call Carrie when the tones went out. He wishes it hadn't happened. John wasn't going to leave; he needs you."
A sob wrenched through her. She didn't know where it came from, how it grabbed her with no warning, but before she could breathe, she was shaking as Garrett held her, stroking her back while her lungs heaved for air.
"It's okay. Relax. He was coming home; that's not supposed to make you cry."
The nurse came back into the room. "Okay, he's ready. Whichever of you is coming, follow me, please." She held the big doors open.
Carrie looked to Garrett, silently asking the question.
"Go. I'll go next."
Nodding, Carrie straightened herself up, sniffing back the tears, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She may as well start facing other people's judgments now. This wouldn't be the last time she had to do so, and this was tame compared to what she could likely expect in the future. She lifted her chin and walked to the nurse with her back straight and head held high. A few sets of eyes tracked her, but most just nodded, conveying their sympathy and hope.
When she stepped into John's hospital room, she had to stop and take a breath before she went around the bed. He was still unconscious, but his face was tight and pale, the muscles in his neck corded and tensed as his body stiffened every few seconds. Small grunting noises came from his chest and a sheen of fine sweat glistened on his skin, the signs of pain invading his body even as he slept.
She went around the machines, the tubes, the carts, and found her way into the small space at the side of the bed. "John, I'm here," she whispered.
The tears fell as she wished for even the slightest movement, her brain telling her he was in a coma, so deep into subconscious he might not be aware of her presence, but her heart begged him to hear her anyway. Bandages covered half his torso, some sort of sleeve wrapped around his arm, and there were so many wires hooked to him she couldn't tell where half of them went.
"It's okay, sweetheart. Oh, god, I love you," she whispered. "I'm not leaving, ever, no matter what, you hear me?"