Fireproof
Copyright © 2008 by Alex Kendrick and Stephen Kendrick
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansâelectronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or otherâexcept for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.
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Scripture quotations are from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.
Publisher's Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wilson, Eric (Eric P.)
   Fireproof / novelization by Eric Wilson ; screenplay by Alex and Stephen Kendrick.
     p. cm.
   ISBN 978-1-59554-716-3 (softcover)
   1. Fire fightersâFiction. [1. Fire extinctionâFiction.] I. Kendrick, Alex, 1970â II. Kendrick, Stephen, 1973â III. Title.
   PS3623.I583F57 2008
   813'.6âdc22
2008025922
Printed in the United States of America
08 09 10 11 12 RRD 8 7 6 5 4
Eric dedicates this book to:
My one and only, Carolyn Rose . . .
Thanks for daring to love me these past eighteen years.
WE H_VE A L_V_ W_RTH F_GH_ING FOR.
Alex and Stephen dedicate this book to:
Our mother, Rhonwyn Kendrick . . .
Thank you for loving us and Dad these forty-three years.
You are a blessing.
We love you!
Sherwood Baptist Church . . .
May your faith and ministry always remain fireproof.
We thank God for you!
CONTENT
PART FIVE: FLAMES: JULYâAUGUST 2008
A PERSONAL MESSAGE FROM THE KENDRICK BROTHERS
FIREPROOF DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
D
ense smoke stretched between aisles of canned goods and wrapped its fingers around Captain Campbell's upright body. He tried to remain calm. He could see no farther than his leather gloves as he aimed the fire hose into blackness that pulsed with an eerie glow.
Snaking through aisles and licking along the ceiling, the grocery store's inferno seemed infused with a personal evil. It wasn't the first time Campbell had thought such a thing. Other firefighters had been known to say the same.
He told himself to take steady breaths. To stay focused.
No easy task.
The call had come into the station at 9:49 p.m. The locally owned store was getting ready to close its doors, and most of the shoppers had left. The main concern, as expressed by a cashier, was the safety of an assistant manager last seen heading to the back office.
The conflagration was spreading quickly now, seeming to rise from separate sections of the store and demanding the attention of all emergency personnel. Crews from three different stations had been sent to the scene. Campbell and his partner had entered the fray a half hour ago, with the rescue of human lives priority number one.
Stores could be rebuilt and inventory replaced, but nothing could bring back the dead.
“Tynes,” Campbell called out. “Tynes, you there?”
His partner was nowhere to be seen. It was possible the man had followed the hose line back outside, in danger of depleting his composite tank. Or he might've tried skirting the inferno, in search of the missing manager.
Either way, he should have said something, but Tynes was only in his second year and even the best made mistakes.
A fact the captain knew well.
Though Capt. Eddie Campbell had been part of the firefighting brotherhood since the late 1960s, with numerous awards and honors to his name, he had already managed to lose his two-way radio this evening, somewhere between the market's front doors and his present location. Maybe caught it on a shelf. Or dropped it while coupling two hoses.
He was on his own, that's all he knewâcut off from all communication.
The fire, meanwhile, seemed nowhere close to giving up the fight, and the captain stayed firmly planted. Although the quivering hose at his fingertips gave him some reassurance, impenetrable billows continued to close in around him. He felt like a rat in the coils of a boa constrictor.
Steady breaths. Steady.
But he couldn't maintain this position forever.
He called his partner's name a few more times, to no avail. His voice was muted by the mask, and if he called out much more, he would risk losing the precious air in his thirty-five-pound canister.
From his back, several high-pitched beeps sounded in rapid succession.
Could that be right? He peered through the sweat-streaked face guard, squinting to read the dial on his Type 2 SCBA self-contained breathing apparatus.
Was he really that low? The alarm meant he had five minutes max, and then he'd be sucking fumes. The majority of fire fatalities were due to smoke inhalation, and if he didn't find his way out shortly, he would be in deep trouble.
Time to get going. He'd just follow the line back.
He felt his heart rate settle as he eased off the nozzle's water pressure, turned carefully in his gear, and slipped to his knees.
This was routine. He had a plan to follow, a goal in mind.
Campbell started crawling. At fifty-five years of age, he took pride in his physical condition. He moved hand over hand along the hose, knowing that it would guide him back to safety and fresh air. He wasn't done fighting this fire. He'd come back. But he'd be no good to anyone if he were passed out and unconscious on the floor.
His gloved knuckles knocked aside a can of Hormel chili and a box of taco shells. His right knee slipped on a water slick.
How far had he goneâtwenty feet, thirty?
A single hose length was fifty feet long, and he and Tynes had been working with two in tandem. That meant it would take another minute or so to get out the door. In all this gear, progress was tedious, but he'd make it if he just kept moving.
Yes, just ahead was his proof. See there? Yellow and red bursts were prying at the smoke, and he realized he must be near the store's front windows. These had to be the fire engine's emergency lights rotating against the glass.
And was that clean air he tasted?
Just in time.
Something was wrong, though. Not only was his tank nearly empty, but the temperature was rising. Things were getting hotter with each knee forward.
“Oh no,” Campbell said.
The words hung ominously in the mask. He saw now that he was looking at flames, not emergency lights, which meant he had veered off in the wrong direction. How could he have gotten this far off? He'd been following the line, switching from one hand to the other as he shifted along the floor.
The hoseâ
But no, this wasn't a hose he had gripped in his fingers. It was a pipe.
That couldn't be right. A pipe?
He must've switched over onto an irrigation system that ran along the floor to the produce section. How could he have been so foolish? Despite his tenure as a firefighter, he'd let circumstances blur his focus on the details.
Captain Campbell was breathing heavily as he turned back around. He had to keep his senses about him. The store was shrouded in darkness, and the only safe route was to backtrack to the point where he had erred.
He feared for his life. Would he make it out of here? Would he ever see his wife and daughter again? Joy and Catherine were his world.
Joy . . .
After twenty-six years, they were still together. She was a gentle soul, and she'd spent more than a few restless nights during the course of his career. No doubt about that.
Catherine . . .
She was eighteen, almost nineteen, a bright and vivacious daughter with a streak of independenceâsome would call it bullheadednessâa trait inherited from her father.
Spurred by these thoughts, Campbell pulled himself onward through the store's suffocating environs. His pulse throbbed in his fingers, but he tried to stay attentive to each change in shape or texture along the pipe.
The hose had to be here somewhere. His only way out.
He kept crawling, even as a memory of three-year-old Catherine played through his mind . . .
CAPTAIN CAMPBELL STANDS just outside her bedroom door and sees shelves of toys and stuffed animals along the wall. A teddy bear has its head and arm wrapped in gauze. A tea set and a wooden fire truck crouch beneath a sign that reads “Daddy's little girl.”
He hears giggling as Joy says good night to young Catherine.
“All right, sweet pea,” she says at last, “it's time for you to go to bed.”
“Mommy, would you ask Daddy to come tuck me in?”
“No, he's at work tonight at the fire station. But he'll be home tomorrow.”
Campbell smiles, knowing how surprised his wife will be when she sees that he's come home earlyâwith permission, of courseâto celebrate their eleventh anniversary.
“Mommy, I want to marry Daddy.”
“You do?” Joy laughs. “Catherine, you can't marry Daddy. He's
my
husband.”
“Well, when you're done being married, can I have him?”
Campbell's heart swells. In the moonlight, he catches glimpses of his daughter's drawings tacked up beside her dollhouse. In one picture, blue crayon hearts surround the words “Daddy,” “Me,” and “Mommy.”
“I'm sorry, sweet pea.” Joy is chuckling. “We'll never be done. You'll have to marry somebody else.”
“Who?”
“We don't know yet. But someday.”
“Can I wear a white dress and white gloves?”
“Sure, if you want to.”
Campbell edges closer to the doorway. He spots the framed photo of himself, outfitted in his turnout gear and fire helmet, holding his darling, dark-haired girl and kissing her on the cheek while she flashes a grin wider than the pink bow in her hair.
From the bed, Catherine's voice cracks with the hope of every little girl. “Will we live happily after ever?” She mixes the words, but her desire is heartfelt.
