The Pike: Ships In The Night (15 page)

He chuckled almost sadly.  “No that's our captain.  Old man Porter.  Her parents died in a car fire when she was fifteen, in an accident on I90.  She never told you?”

Died... in a fire?  Was that why she became a firefighter?  Was that her drive?  Why she is always helping people?  My stomach was knotting and my chest hurt and I couldn't determine the source, couldn't understand the reaction.

I shook my head and murmured, “She never supplied that data subset.”

He stepped beside me and said, “That woman there is a bonafide hero.”

I turned to look up at the man and cocked my head in a silent request for further input.

He kept his eyes on her as he spoke to me, “A little over a year back, we were at a five-alarm fire at the Klein Warehouse at the docks.  The windstorm outside was making a clusterfuck of everything as we battled the blaze.  The wind was pushing the flames, and it was a losing proposition.  Finally, we got the call to save the foundation.”

I furrowed my brow and Jamal supplied for me, “It means it was going to be a total loss.  All you can do is pull back, contain it and watch it burn to the ground.”

I understood the reference now.  If not for the negative connotations of it, then save the foundation would almost be humorous.  Why did they apply humor to something that should be sad?

Trip took a deep breath and said, “We were pulling out an unresponsive warehouse worker on the second floor when the call came out.  We were humping it double time toward the exit when there were radio calls to two probies who were hose wrangling from Station Three, who weren't accounted for.  They responded that they were on the second floor and got separated from their squad, they couldn't find the way out, there was too much smoke.”

He exhaled that breath then said, “They were panicking.  Sparky looked at me then slapped my helmet, pointed to the stairs and said over the radio, 'I got them Three, our medic is on the way out with a man, get someone to the south stairs.'  Then she disappeared into the smoke.”

He sounded almost mad as he said through gritted teeth, “I got the worker down the stairs when the probies came barreling down the stairs.  We got the man out just as the roof caved.  No word from Sparky.  She didn't respond to our calls.”

He looked haunted as he relayed, “The entire Five went in against the Chief's orders and found Allison on the first floor.  The collapsing roof had torn through the second floor, taking her with it and had her pinned.  We were able to get the beams off of her but not before twenty-five percent of her body had third-degree burns.  Broken ribs and leg...”

He raised his chin in pride. “We heard from the lost probies that she had just marched straight through the flames and smoke up to them like a specter and slammed her hands on top of their helmets and yelled at them as she pointed at the hose connections.  'Remember your training probies!  Lugs lead out!'  She had glanced around and told them, 'I'll do a final sweep.  Get your asses out.  Lugs lead out!'  She saved their lives.”

I furrowed my brow again, not understanding the reference. “Lugs lead out?”

Levar supplied, “If you ever get turned around in a fire.  The lugs on the fire hose couplers always point toward the truck.  It is pounded into our heads in training that lugs lead out.”

I nodded in understanding now that I was supplied with the information.  She had risked her own life to save the inexperienced men.  Then her station risked their lives to save her.  I glanced over at her, and she looked somehow bigger to me as she led the older man over to me.

She released his arm and said, “Liya, this is Captain Porter of Station Five.  Cap, this is Ligaya Imelda Hannigan... my... date.”

I held out my hand to the man, and he tugged me into a hug, saying, “None of that Captain crap, call me Gus.  Thanks for bringing our girl out.”  He released me and Allie held her hand out, and I took it, she laced our fingers in the way that just felt right to me.

I offered her the cane, and she looked at it, then all around before hesitantly taking it and leaning some of her weight on it.  I said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

He cocked his head expectantly.  Had I not followed social protocol properly?  My parents have taught me to use sir and ma'am when addressing my elders.  Oh, I understood and supplied, “Gus.”

He grinned at that and said, “Great.  I have to get back to the grill, hobnob a bit, and I'll start serving up some prime beef in a moment.”

He looked at Allison and added with the tone of a reprimanding father, “And you.  We'll talk more.  I'll need your decision before you go.  I got the Chief and the Mayor breathing down my neck, and I can only stall for so long.  Now get the hell out of my sight. I'm sure the men would be thrilled to catch up.”

She nodded, and he was off, everyone sort of moved aside as he went back to the oversize barbecue grill.

Then she guided me over to a group that greeted her with the familiarity of family.  I was happy to sit back and just listen to to the interactions, I have never felt comfortable in groups.  She kept making sure to include me in the conversations.

I couldn't get over the feeling that something felt off.  I evaluated the interactions and the actions of those around us.  There seemed to be three distinct atmospheres.  The yard as a whole seemed upbeat, but the ring of people directly around us had a different feel as they kept glancing our way.  The people speaking with Allie were always animated, and it felt like almost like forced cheer on their part and Allison's part.

I kept trying to understand the mood of the people in the closest people to us.  It felt familiar.  Then I remembered where I had witnessed that sort of behavior.  I have only been to one funeral in my life.  When Grandpa Hannigan died.  These people's actions had the same feel.  Had someone died?  Was this barbecue a wake?  I felt self-conscious suddenly as I was wearing bright colors and not black as social protocol dictated.

But there was that contradiction in the feel of the overall group that felt like they were having a good time.  I sighed in resignation, knowing I would never comprehend the complexities of emotions or interpersonal interactions.  So I just put the gathering into context I could grasp.  It was similar to when my boys and I have lunch in the break room each day.  It is for camaraderie with people of like interests.

At one point the focus had turned to me when Allison had divulged I was a quantum physicist from the University.  I buried my face in her shoulder, almost like I was trying to hide, the irrational portion of my brain felt that she could protect me from the attention.  I loosened up a bit when I got into a discussion about simple thermal dynamics with a Hispanic man named 'Slim'.  The smile Allison was giving me had that warmth spreading inside as I spoke.

The Capta... Gus, rang a hand bell and everyone cheered and started to organize over by the grill and the long table of food by Gus.  Allie wiggled her eyebrows at me; it made me smile; and she said, “Come on short stuff, let's get some food in you.  The old man grills a mean burger.”

She grabbed a couple paper plates from the table and playfully pushed us into the line of people near the front.  A woman in one of those blue station shirts complained, “Hey, there's a line Sparky.”  The woman was smiling, and that contradicted her reprimand.  I sighed.  I'd never understand proper human interaction, it is so contrary to basic logic.

Allie winked at the woman, which made me feel uneasy, then she said, “Dilligaf probie?  Seniority biotch.”

The woman chuckled and gave a humorous mock bow with a flourish of her hand.  I looked between the two then asked, “Dilligaf?”

Trip stepped in behind me, bumping his posterior into the woman and squeezing in, with a toothy grin at her as they all said in unison, including a few others in the line, “Do I look like I give a fuck?”

I felt the heat on my cheeks, and I looked down at my plate and processed it.  They all chuckled at my reaction, and Allie kissed the top of my head.  It was sort of a humorous if not a vulgar acronym.  They used harsh humor as a bonding ritual it seemed.  I sort of enjoyed it because it seemed to erase that feeling of a wake around us, if only for a few moments.

When the few people in front of us went up to get their steaks or burgers from Gus, he lifted the hood of the grill and juices from the meats splashed down on the burners and little gouts of flame licked up as he dished out the meat.  Allison stopped moving.

I glanced up at her, and she seemed frozen in place, I could see the flames reflected in her eyes and I realized she wasn't breathing.  I whispered, “Allie?”

She finally started breathing in short quick breaths as her hand started crumbling the paper plate in her hand as she made a fist.  I was starting to panic, not knowing what was happening. I whispered a little louder when Gus looked over to us since we were next.  “Allison?”

Gus' eyes narrowed, and he lowered the spatula in his hand and asked almost like he didn't want to spook a skittish animal,  “Sparky?”

That seemed to snap her out of it, and she looked around as she panted, sweat was beading on her brow, and she placed her balled up plate on the table and said in a hoarse voice, “Sorry Cap, I can't do this.”  She started hobbling quickly toward the front yard.

Trip, Jamal, and I chased after her.  I called out, “Allie, wait.”

She looked back and looked surprised to see me, then glanced around and offered her hand.  I took it, and she dragged me quickly along whispering in apology, “I have to get out of here, Imme.”

I glanced back as Tanner asked, “Sparky... Allison?”

She turned but didn't stop, and she gave an apologetic look to him, I saw people following behind.  She said in a pleading voice to him, “I have to get out of here.”

She nudged her chin past him.  His lips were a thin line on his face as he pursed them.  He gave a single nod and turned in place, spreading his arms to bar people from following.  “Alright people, nothing to see here.  There's good meat just waiting to be consumed in the back.”

We didn't speak, I juts let her drag me to the Chevy.  I reasoned that now was not a good time to ask questions.  She released me and opened the passenger door and said in a whisper to me, “I'm sorry.”

I ran around to the driver's side and started up the car and drove away as I asked, “For what?”  Gus, Trip, and Jamal were standing on the front lawn, watching us drive away.

She was silent as I drove.  I was scared.  I didn't understand what was going on and that just compounded the feeling.  What had happened?

Finally, when we were a few blocks away I pulled over by the Woodland Park Zoo and asked, “Where am I going?”

She looked so small suddenly as she said in a small voice,  “The fire beat me.  The god damned red beast beat me.”

I cocked my head, realization dawning.  I stared at my hands on the wheel for a moment, not speaking, then I reached down and turned the car off, setting the parking brake, and I turned to her.  It was a panic attack.  I didn't know how to fix this.  I wanted to so badly because she was hurting.  What good was a one-eighty three IQ if I couldn't help her?

I assembled all of the variables and data I had available to me to find a way to bring her smile back.  Logic was not a useful tool when emotions were involved, I have had plenty of empirical evidence of that contradictory fact, it was a constant like the speed of light.  So I wondered what the man I looked up to would tell me.

I could imagine dad saying, “Don't use your head Imme, use your heart.  It has its own yardstick.”  Yeah, that sounds like the type of input he would supply in a situation with these particular circumstances.

So I did something that would get me endless ribbing from the boys at the lab, and I asked my heart what to do.  How did I... feel... about what she had just said?  Oh.  I blinked.  I looked at her and reached out to take her hand, she took it on instinct, and I shook it a little to get her to turn her watering and defeated looking eyes to mine.

I shook my head and smiled at her, “You are operating out of false assumptions and a flawed data set, Allie.  The fire didn't beat you.  The fact that you are here, and that fire is not, is conclusive proof of that.  After a traumatic experience, it is normal for your brain to release certain chemicals as a defensive response to make you avoid the same things that hurt you.”

She started to shake her head, but I continued, “The fire cannot change who you are.  You help people, it is part of what makes you who you are.  Even after a debilitating accident, you are the same person.  A hero who thinks of others first.  A hero who goes out of her way to help others.”

I was frustrated that she had so much self-doubt.  That wasn't the Allie that I had grown to... I swallowed at the thought and then got mad.  Daddy says you have to choose words that match what your gut is telling you, even if they are harsh.  I hissed out at her, “It took a fucking building falling on you to stop you while you were helping people.  And guess what?  It failed!  The damn fire failed because here you are.  You are in my life because it failed, you came to help me, and I am...  happy.  I don't have many strong emotions I can identify, but I do know that you make me so very happy that you are who you are, a hero.  No accident can take that from you.”

She snorted and wiped a tear from her cheek.  She locked eyes with me and gave a smile that I would classify as sly as she asked, “Cussing?  It's like hearing a kitten swear.”