Chapter Nine
The next morning, Ransom got his chance to set things straight with Bachelier. They went out on a call to a minor two-car accident a few blocks from the station. As he and Bachelier were sweeping up debris from the road, he commented as nonchalantly as he could, “You need to keep your thoughts about Jane to yourself from now on.”
“Yeah?” Bachelier paused and leaned on his industrial push broom. “And if I don’t?”
Ransom kept right on sweeping. “I tell the rest of the guys you tried to rape her.”
Bachelier straightened and strode closer, one hand tight around the handle of the broom. “You son of a bitch.”
Ransom paused and eyed the other firefighter. “Listen, bud. When a woman gives you half-a-dozen excuses as to why you can’t come in for coffee, even if she finally gives in because you won’t let up, that doesn’t mean she really wants you. When you push her down onto the couch and she’s shoving at you and saying no, that doesn’t mean she really wants you. And when the only way she can get you off her is to knee you in the ’nads, that definitely does not mean she really wants you.” He leaned toward Bachelier and continued in the same quiet voice he’d been using, but this time he let some of his rage bleed through. “The only reason you’re standin’ in front of me right now without any broken bones is because Jane asked me not to beat the shit outta you. But if it were up to me, you’d be hooked up to a breathing machine in the goddamned hospital, you fucking, fucking asshole.”
Bachelier’s lips thinned, his jaw flexed. Finally he muttered, “I wouldn’t have raped her.”
“Yeah?” Ransom stared him in the eye. “Make me believe you’re not that guy, then, and shut up about her.” He turned and went back to clean up.
After a few seconds, he heard the other broom against the pavement. He let out a sigh. He’d either gotten his message across, or he’d made things much, much worse.
* * *
That night Ransom was afraid Jane’s worries would be put to the test. Station 58 got a call for a three-alarm, and the men on shift rolled out to assist the other stations. A small storefront was on fire, flames already shooting through the roof when Tory Wilcox brought the big fire engine to a stuttering halt. It was ten-thirty at night and the humidity was still a killer. At least it would be helpful with firefighting efforts, having so much moisture in the air.
Lieutenant Boone had already been coordinating with the commander on scene, and started barking directions as soon as Station 58 personnel hit the ground. “Station 15’s ETA is two minutes. Raines and Bachelier, Malloy and Wilcox, I want you inside with Station 34 personnel. We still have three workers who are missing and presumed inside. Double time, gentlemen.”
“Roger that.” Ransom buckled up his turnout gear and headed to the side of the engine where the equipment was stored. Like a well-oiled cog in a big machine, he and Bachelier grabbed what they needed in just a few seconds, quickly took turns checking each other’s gear and once they were sure everything was good to go, they headed for the building at a fast clip, self-contained breathing apparatus bouncing against their backs. He could hear Jax and Tory right behind them.
As they approached, two people lurched through the door, bent nearly double and coughing without ceasing. Ransom called for the EMTs and grabbed the person nearest him, a woman, and helped her get to a safe distance from the building. As he settled her onto the curb near the EMS truck, he saw Bachelier doing the same with the other person, a uniformed police officer.
“There’re at least two more people in there, northwest corner of the building.” The cop coughed but fought off the medic’s attempt to strap an oxygen mask to his face. “Tried to get to ’em. Smoke’s too thick.”
Ransom put a hand on the man’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “We got it from here, man. Let the EMTs treat you, yeah?”
The man nodded and allowed the oxygen mask to be placed over his nose and mouth.
Ransom and Bachelier resumed their jog to the building. At the door to the building, Ransom paused and looked at Bachelier. “We good?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Bachelier’s reply was quiet but seemed sincere. “We’re good.”
Ransom gave a nod, pulled on his mask and turned on his bottle. Just as they pulled open the door to hell, Station 15 engines and ladder truck rolled up, joining the companies already on scene.
The roar of the fire made it impossible to have a conversation sans radio. With a quick hand signal, Ransom indicated their course of action. Bachelier nodded his agreement and they headed at a jog toward the northwest corner. “Lieutenant, this is Raines,” he yelled into his radio. “Mark and I are headed to the northwest corner of the building. Cop outside reported there are at least two people there.”
“Roger that. Watch yourselves.”
Ransom was used to jogging while wearing an extra sixty to seventy pounds of equipment. It wasn’t easy, but he knew how to control his breathing to conserve as much air as possible. In ideal conditions, he could get thirty minutes out of his self-contained breathing apparatus, but being in the middle of an inferno wasn’t an ideal condition by any stretch of the imagination. He glanced over his shoulder to see the fire had spread to the door they’d entered.
He clicked his radio to get Bachelier’s attention and jerked his head to direct the other man’s gaze behind them. Bachelier’s eyes widened briefly before he looked again at Ransom. “We need another egress,” he said.
Ransom nodded. They reached the area where the police officer thought there were people, and sure enough, there were three women in a tear-soaked huddle behind a workstation. He looked around and saw a bank of windows. He tapped Bachelier on the shoulder and pointed to them. Bachelier nodded and turned toward the women while Ransom hoofed it over to the windows. Drawing his fire axe from the holder on his belt, he began breaking the panes of glass and then hacking away at the wooden dividers. He paused and spoke into the radio. “Lieutenant, it’s Raines. We’ve located three women and need to bring them out of the building through a window on the west side. It’s about an eight-foot drop. We need personnel on the ground to assist.”
“Roger that.”
Ransom finished clearing away shards of glass from the bottom and sides of the window. Even with all his gear on, he could feel the heat from the flames. They had to get these women out of there, now. There wasn’t just smoke inhalation to worry about; the fire was heating the air to the point it could sear lung tissue.
He went back to Bachelier and the woman to discover the other firefighter had explained what was going to happen. The woman moved with them back to the window. Ransom glanced out to see two from his station maneuvering an extension ladder into place. “All right, ladies. Right this way.”
The first two went out the window with little fanfare. But the third one, a brunette who looked to be about twenty or so, shook with fear. “I…I can’t!” she wailed, fresh tears wetting her face.
“My beauty, you have to,” Bachelier said in the gentlest tone Ransom had ever heard from him. Maybe their come-to-Jesus meeting that morning had had some positive impact after all. “You can’t stay here. And we can’t leave without you.”
She shook her head and wrapped her arms around her waist. “I can’t.”
Ransom blew out a breath. They didn’t have time for this. Even as they stood there, parts of the building were starting to fail. “We have to move. Now!”
Bachelier lifted his chin in acknowledgement. To the young woman he said, “Look there.” He pointed to the window, where now another firefighter stood on one of the ladder rungs, his hands resting on the brick window sill. “He’s going to be behind you the entire way down, so there’s no way you can fall. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” She walked over to the window, Bachelier supporting her with a hand cupping her elbow. He lifted her and swung her out legs first, turning her so that she faced the building once her feet were on the ladder. He did it in such a fluid movement she barely had time to stiffen up. He told her, “Now you just go on. You’ve got Murphy there to catch you if you lose your balance. You’ll be on the ground before you know it.”
She nodded and started down the ladder, stopping with both feet on the rung before moving to the next one. As soon as there was room, Ransom told Bachelier, “You’re next.”
Knowing every second counted, Bachelier didn’t waste time arguing. He went out the window and followed the civilian. Ransom bent, ready to bug out the window, when he heard a roar and something heavy struck him in the back, slamming him down.
He heard Bachelier yell his name, but the hit knocked the breath from him and he couldn’t speak for a moment. Time seemed to shift, moving fast then slow. He heard someone shout something then there was silence, and he thought his teammate had left him behind. Then Bachelier was at his side. “You hurt?”
Ransom did a quick inventory. Everything moved all right, with little pain, though he figured whatever it was that hit him—that smoldering beam, probably—would leave some kind of damage behind. “I’m good,” he told Bachelier. As the other man helped him to his feet, he said, “Go. I’ll be right behind you,” he promised.
And he was. As soon as they were on the ground, the other firefighters, from Station 34, grabbed the ladder and started back toward the front of the building. Ransom and Bachelier did the same.
Ransom spoke into his radio. “Raines and Bachelier, out of the building with all three civilians.” Then he and Bachelier hurried over to the array of Dallas Fire and Rescue vehicles parked in a cluster near a fire hydrant. They saw two sets of firefighters working attack hoses, trying to get water on the roof of the building. Ransom went to one pair and Bachelier to the other. Ransom again communicated to Boone through his radio, and synched his movements with the other two men on the hose, knowing that any loss of focus could send all of them to the ground from the sheer volume of water flowing through the hose.
It was ten hours later before the primary fire was out and a specialized crew started going through putting out hot spots. As soon as they gave the all clear, the hoses could be rolled up and put away, and the men could head back to their respective stations for much-needed showers and rest.
Ransom sucked back half a bottle of water then poured the rest of it over his face. Good God, but this fire had been hot. And the building apparently didn’t have a working fire suppression system. At least he hadn’t seen any of the overhead sprinklers covering the area with water.
Whether it was a deliberate failure to work via sabotage or just a system failure would be determined by the fire marshal.
Boone walked up and handed him another bottled water. “You and Mark did good tonight, Ransom. I’ll be making special note of it in my report.”
“Thanks.” He took a swig of water. There wasn’t much else to say to that, was there? Besides, he was beat. All he wanted was to cool off, get clean, and fall into bed. And maybe not necessarily in that order.
“Guess this should put Jane’s mind at ease, right? She worried he wouldn’t have your back. Now she can rest easy.”
Ransom stared at his lieutenant, who grinned. “You guys think you can pull anything and I won’t find out?” He shook his head. “You’ve been at Station 58 long enough to know better.” His smile faded. “Mark tells me you got hit with a beam. You have one of the EMTs look at your back?”
Ransom shook his head. “It’s not that bad.”
“Have ’em look at it.” When Ransom started to demur, Boone added in a hard tone, “Or go to the hospital and get checked out. Those are your two options.”
Ransom bit back a curse. He didn’t need anyone fussing over him. He was okay. When Boone crossed his arms and stared him down, he acquiesced. “Fine,” he grunted.
Boone lifted one hand and pointed to where one of Station 58’s EMS vehicles was parked. “Alec is waiting for you.” He sauntered back to the cluster of fire officials near the command unit.
Ransom let out a curse this time and strode over to where the EMT stood with medic kit in hand. Alec motioned to the wide bumper and told Ransom, “Have a seat.”
Fifteen minutes later Alec pronounced him fit for duty. “But if you start peeing blood, it’s time to see your doctor.” At Ransom’s raised eyebrows, Alec grinned. “I kid. Sort of.” He began packing up his kit. “I think you got hit too low to worry about kidney problems. But, if you see blood, seriously, you need to see your doc right away.”
“I will,” Ransom promised. Jesus Christ. Now wouldn’t that be something to send Jane right over the edge?