“Come on out, Probie! For the last fucking time!”

I sigh, but at the same time there’s a smile on my face as I adjust the frilly pink apron, making sure the big Minnie Mouse hair bow is still attached on my closely cropped hair. More than any of the other privileges that I’m going to earn after today, I’m looking forward to being allowed to grow my hair out, not to ridiculous lengths, but I’m not in the fucking Marine Corps either.

“One more hour,” the other probie with me, Gerald Manheim, says. He and I have been through a lot together, going through the Fire Academy together, rooming for months as we learned how to be firefighters. We were accepted into the Chicago Fire Department together, both of us getting assigned to Engine Company 48 together. Now, we’re on the last day of our probationary, ‘probie,’ status. Just another hour of the guys getting in a little bit more hazing in before the ceremony with Captain Franklin pins us.

“You look good, sweetheart,” I tease him as he adjusts his French maid’s top and hat. “You got your falsies in?”

“Nah, Guerrero told me not to any more,” Gerald says. “She said the department can at least get to the twentieth fucking century.”

“She’s been the worst of the lot,” I laugh, putting the lid on the big pot of beef stew that we’ve been making. Gerald picks up the two pitchers of iced tea, and we head out of the kitchen to the cheers and whistles from the crew.

“Sirs and Madams, your dinner is served!” we declare in loud voices, putting our armloads down. “We shall return!”

“You got ten seconds, probies!” Guerrero, who definitely seems to not mind our outfits at all, taunts us. “Or else!”

We run back into the kitchen, grabbing the already prepared big pots of rice to go with the stew and emerge just as the company counts down past three. Barely getting it done in time, we stand together as Engine 48 and our sister company, Ladder 28, start digging into the dinner we’ve slaved over for the past three hours. As the steaming bowls of food are passed around, everyone tosses off questions towards us, a mix of firefighter knowledge, department history and trivia, and just general bullshit.

“Time for the entertainment!” Captain Franklin declares once the food’s passed out. “Come on probies, if you want some dinner you better dance or something for it!”

Gerald and I glance at each other before breaking into the two songs we worked up. The first song’s a Chicago classic, as Gerald and I break into Gimmie Some Lovin’ from The Blues Brothers. We even put on shades, and I ditch my Minnie Mouse ears for a floppy black fedora I found in a Goodwill store. We’re terrible singers, but it doesn’t matter as we dance and entertain the two fire companies. When it’s over, we’re totally booed, but we expected it. I’m pretty sure John Legend would get booed by this crowd.

“Come on, can’t you do anything better?” Captain Franklin, who we asked to be in on this, taunts us. “You got one chance to soften our hearts before the pain begins.”

“Well sir, if that’s the case,” Gerald says before dropping to a knee in front of Guerrero. The petite Hispanic woman, who’s tough as nails and can outwork almost anyone in the station, turns beet red as I start the music and Gerald and I start singing Chicago’s You’re The Inspiration, with slightly adjusted lyrics. We raunch them up a little, but also work in digs at her tough bitch treatment of us. Regardless, I respect the hell out of her, she knows her shit.

Everyone gets a kick out of it, but just as we launch into the second rendition of the chorus, the alarm blares. “Engine 48, Engine 48. 10-70 Structure at 2713 West Hamilton Avenue. 2713 West Hamilton Avenue.”

Captain Franklin stands up, the rest of Engine 48 running for the brass pole downstairs. “Guess the party will have to wait,” he says. “And the pinning.”

“Does that mean we don’t get paid right?” I joke as I wait for Gerald to clear the pole. “I got bills, Captain.”

“Don’t worry, you’re gonna get your extra nickel in next month’s paycheck,” Franklin says, shaking his head. He’s old school, been around the department a long time, even before Chicago firefighters were issued pants and instead wore the long coats and hip boots. Hell, I think Captain Franklin might even be one of the real old-school ‘smoke eaters’ who eschew air masks unless someone orders them to.

“Glad to know the people of Chicago appreciate me,” I grunt as I slide down the pole. Hitting the tile floor, I run over to my gear and pull on my gear quickly, jumping in the backseat of Engine 48 just as it begins to pull out. Across from me is Guerrero, who’s adjusting her throat flap.

“Hey, Dan,” she says, and it takes me a moment to realize that she’s talking to me. For twelve months now, I’ve been ‘Probie’ or ‘Benson.’ She waits for me to recognize she’s talking to me, and gives me a grin. “Nice song.”

“What can I say?” I reply. “Gerald’s the singer, I just do backup.”

“Uh-huh… and we all know if I wasn’t married which one I’d baptize on top of the hose bed,” she teases back, earning a few grins around the cab. “You got the look, Prince Charming.”

“He’s even better looking when he gets to grow out that hair,” Gerald adds. “I got to see it that first day at the Academy. A thousand girls hearts broke when they shaved his head.”

“Okay people, tighten up,” Lieutenant Danvers, who’s riding up front while Captain Franklin follows in Squad 48, says. “The computer’s saying the building’s a single family structure. You know what that means.”

Shit. This part of Chicago is one of those that’s split, part of it ‘gentrified’ with new buildings that are a breeze to fight fires in. Strong, secure, and usually with their own fire sprinkler systems, responding to a fire there is more often than not just spraying down the last of it and making sure there’s no more hot spots.

But those are multi-family units. The single family homes are old, some of them built even before World War II, and they’re… uncertain. I see Guerrero mutter a curse in Spanish and adjust her gloves again before crossing herself. I adjust the neck flap on my coat. Everyone’s got their little good luck mannerisms, I guess. For me it’s the neck flap, the idea of burning my neck just makes me shiver at night.

We see the smoke before we even turn down West Hamilton, and as we pull up the flames are already licking at the downstairs window. Just as the truck comes to a stop the window explodes outward, and I see a gaggle of people freaking out on the front lawn.

I jump out of the truck, and as soon as I do a woman who looks like she might be a hard lived twenty comes running up, panicked. “Kids! My kids are in there!”

Shit… kids. “Where?” I ask, grabbing an axe off the side of the truck.

“Upstairs… I took them up to play Playstation before dinner and-”

I ignore her, knowing what I need to know. Bitch, you ran out of the house and left kids in there? If you’re their mother, I might just take this axe to your ass when this is all done.

“Benson!” Lieutenant Danvers yells as I cross the lawn. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“Kids inside!” I yell, pointing upstairs. “Going in!”

“Benson get-” the Lieutenant yells, but I ignore him as I lower my shoulder and blast through the door. I know there’s a risk of triggering a backdraft, but this fire’s eating this house like it’s a fat kid with brownies, the structure must be older than shit and the wood timbers are probably dry as fuck. I don’t have time.

The first thing that hits me is the heat. I’ve been in fires before, after all I completed the Academy and have been on the job for a year now. But this fire’s very hot, and I push hard, knowing that if it’s hot down here, upstairs it has to be nearly deadly already.

The stairs groan but I don’t care, the smoke’s thick as I try not to choke. “Kids? It’s the fire department! Where are you?” I yell, coughing. I hear noise behind me and it’s Gerald, he’s got a 1 ½ inch line with him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Saving your ass!” Gerald yells as he sprays over the banister. “This place is a fucking tinderbox!”

“No shit! We need to find the kids!” I yell, shouldering open a door. It’s a bathroom, nobody there and I move on, kicking doors as I do. There’s no fire up here yet but it’s hotter than the inside of an oven and I can see smoke starting to rise from the towels hanging over the shower curtain. Gerald’s got my back and we move fast, taking the right and left on the narrow shotgun style townhouse in seconds.

They’re in the back, huddled on the floor when I find them. A boy and a girl, maybe four years old or so, huddled together and already gasping for air in the intense heat. Grabbing them one in each hand, I pass one to Gerald. “Move!”

Gerald takes the girl and takes off, the hose dragging behind him. As we go down the stairs I hear a creaking, and see the fire licking at the beams over our heads. Oh shit. “FLASH!”

I’ve seen flashovers before on video, they’re dramatic. One instant, everything’s looking sort of normal but sort of shimmering with heat. Then the smoke starts, then the ‘angel fingers’ of flame… and an instant later everything’s on fire. Nine hundred fucking degrees, and they’re all aimed at us.

I know I broke procedure in busting in the doors the way we did, but we didn’t have time. I see the door ahead of us and I plant my hand in Gerald’s back, shoving him towards the opening. He gets through just in time, but the fire hits and the door collapses just as he gets through, throwing me and the boy in my arms backwards.

All I can hear is the roar, and I scramble, holding the boy and hoping there’s a back door or a window nearby. Grabbing at the quick releases on my coat I pull it open, clutching the boy inside my turnout coat to try and give him at least some protection. I see an open room to my left with a smudge of what could be a window and I take a step, but before I do, the floor and wall to my right explodes, and I feel myself falling… heat, then darkness.