CHAPTER FIVE
Brock
Rapid Intervention Training
The guys get out of their vehicles and stare straight ahead, wide-eyed and ready to go. The tall brick three-story building looms before us, set back from a sand and gravel parking lot. We shrug into our coats and hats, button up, and pull on our turn-out gear. Today, I’m just one of the guys.
At first, no one says anything. Were they scared? Good. They should be. Even Williams appears to be at a loss for words when he sees the building. I already know what they’re thinking: This place is big! Huge, actually. Much bigger than anything we’ve used before in RIT training. “You can handle it,” I say when no one asks the unanswered question. I have to admit, I feel entranced by the flames myself. They’re so vibrant, so alive, so ready to kick our ass.
A little flutter hits my stomach. Is it wrong that I’m this excited? For a split second, I wonder if I’m the right man for the job. I’d been away from the action going on eight years now, but honestly it’s like riding a bike, right? It’s not fear for myself that grips me, but fear that I will do right by these guys. But I can’t think about myself. I have to think about them. I need to boost them up, make them realize what they’re capable of, let them know I have their backs and they in turn have each others. Project confidence to the whole crew. But how do I articulate such a thing? I straighten my spine and speak boldly. “Every one of you is good enough. Ready enough by far to take this one on. I believe in each and every one of you. Come on!” I can hear their boots crunching the gavel behind me, feel the tension in the air but I’m totally at peace with what I’m leading them into.
I trust them. These guys have a compassion for saving human lives like no other human beings on the planet. Each one would lay his life down for another. Not a man on God’s green earth can compare to a fireman’s tenacity. It’s more than a job. More than a way to draw a paycheck. It drives them. Fuels every atom of their energy. They are soldiers through and through. There isn’t a man, I don’t trust with my own life. I take a deep breath, readying myself.
The abandoned two-story brick building looks more like an insane asylum than what was once a thriving hotel. The bottom floor has bars across the windows, the words, ‘Hotel and Restaurant’ painted in big white letters scrawled across the front. Some of the bricks are so old, they’re faded white. A few air conditioners stick out of the top floor apartments. We shuffle to a halt before the front entrance and peer inside. Several tables are stacked on a back wall. All of them are a rich shade of red but the color is peeling here and there making them look speckled. From the distance, they resemble spattered blood.
I can’t take my eyes away from the flames. Yeah, it’s a dangerous location. More rooms. More opportunity for things to go wrong. Still, not a bone in my body hesitated with these men behind me as I led them through that front door.
“You’ve only got ten minutes, men,” I announce. “Fuck this up and one of you dies in here.”
“Shit,” mutters Garcia behind me. “You really know how to start a party, chief.”
There’s no laughing at his joke. No chiding with each other. If anyone felt hesitant or wanted to back out, I had no idea.
“Chief!” I turn to find two EMTs with blood pressure cuffs and stethoscopes running toward the entrance of the building. Fuck!
“Damn. Sorry. I forgot.”
We step outside just long enough to get our vitals checked by the EMTs and I look up. The fire blazes hot as fucking hell, the flames so high they lick the third floor and chimney. If I didn’t know better, I’d worry the oak tree a few yards away would catch fire but I know it won’t. I have complete confidence in the men that set up this exercise.
As exercises go, this place is perfect. Most of the windows are intact, containing much of the fire indoors. Not that it makes it any safer. On the contrary, it’s dangerous as fucking hell but I need this building to be as close to real life as possible. It’s as brittle as a haystack , which means it will burn out in record time, but those dancing flames could turn treacherous with the wrong tail wind. I’d checked the weather carefully though. No storms or even a slight breeze in the forecast. Not even a cross wind predicted for this part of the state. Just a disgustingly humid, bone melting— ninety degree August day.
I halt in my tracks, motioning the guys to gather ‘round. Just out of habit, not really because of a belief in anything, we say a quick prayer. Then I tip back my hat. “Okay, here’s the scenario… Garcia, you know there’s an old man on the top floor. He’s in a wheelchair so he can’t get out on his own and Robinson, you think you hear a baby cry but you can’t be sure if it’s a baby or a stray cat.”
Robinson, who never says much simply nods.
“Er…wait a minute,” Garcia says. “How can he be on the top floor?”
“What?”
“You said he doesn’t walk.”
Oh Jesus.
“There’s an elevator, stupid,” Clarke says.
“Oh yeah. That works.”
“And sometimes he walks but he can’t do any stairs,” adds Williams.
“Or maybe he broke his leg,” says another.
Christ! “You guys finished or you want me to write you a script?”
“No, that’s about it,” says Williams.
“Doesn’t matter anyway, Garcia. Use your goddammed imagination. Besides you get to be the odd man out today. Lucky you.”
“Huh?”
“He’s talking about your air supply running low. You’re the one we rescue. Essentially, our victim,” says Williams.
I can see the kid’s Adam’s apple sliding up and down his throat. “Kill off the young guy first. Is that it?”
I ignore his comment. I don’t have time to hold is damn hand. We’re firefighters. He may think he’s been singled out but he isn’t. He’s the newest member of the Company so it’s his turn.
“And Williams you’re the rescuer.”
“Got it chief.”
“Clarke, you man the camera”
“Yes, sir.”
I point to Robinson, a man I hoped I’d never have to find in a dark alley. “You take the tip, Robinson.” Without a word, he heads back out the front door, ambles over to the truck with those incredibly long legs and unreels the hose.
Once Robinson rejoins us I continue. “I got the pike. The rest of you guys just follow my lead. Now let’s go.” I feel my blood roaring in my ears, my thumping pulse racing to keep up. Excited and antsy, I realize this is what I’d missed the most. The unpredictability and yes, even the rush. Besides all those noble traits they talk about in the papers, this is another reason I became a fireman. A shot of adrenaline fills my veins.
The heat is excruciating and I’m shielded by a veil of darkness as billows of smoke swallow up the room. Add the fifty pounds on my back and it doesn’t take long before I feel like a foil-wrapped burrito. My feet pound the wooden floor but I can’t tell where exactly I’m headed. At one point, I stumble, throwing me off balance, but then I right myself like I’d done a thousand times before. Per protocol, we start our chatter back and forth inside our masks, our voices mixed with inhales and exhales like each of us is in a goddammed Star Wars movie.
“I see a lot of junk in here,” says Garcia stepping over skids along the floor. “Old furniture and…what the hell is that thing?”
“Haven’t you ever seen an icebox?” asks Williams.
“Is that what that is?”
“Yeah, we used them back when dinosaurs roamed the earth.”
“No shit,” says Garcia. “Was that when you were a little boy and you walked to school in the snow with no shoes?”
Williams chuckles. “Fuck yeah. Uphill too.”
“The fire isn’t contained to this particular room,” says Clarke. “According to the camera, it’s getting hotter toward those stairs in the back.” I look around but all I can see is a smoky haze. “Straight ahead,” says Clarke. “Over there.” He points with the camera.
“Follow it,” I tell him. I can hear the alarms of each man’s breathing apparatus. It beeps whenever a man stops moving for fifteen seconds. A prolonged beep would indicate the air supply is gone. I get thrown off balance again by something sticking out of the wall and then once more when I turn around a corner. I make a mental note to requisition new SCBA equipment. I saw a new design on the internet. Unlike what we wore, it could be worn on the hip, resulting in a lower center of gravity, aiding to a man’s balance. With all the gear we wear, it’s a miracle we don’t topple over.
The smoke thickens, making us blind in our travels. “Garcia?”
“Yup.”
“Williams, Robinson, Clarke?” Every man responded with a “Yo.” I almost tripped a few times over something on the floor and grab the wall just in time. The smoke is getting thicker. We’re forced to gather single file, each holding the shoulder of the man before us. I recalled being a rookie and how difficult that had been to learn, how to sense the light touch of a man’s hand through those coarse heavy jackets. Better keep an eye on Garcia.
I look down by my feet but the only thing visible is the snaking of the hose near my ankles and the bottoms of someone’s legs.
“Who checked the gear?” someone asks.
“That you, Garcia?”
“Yeah.”
“I checked it. Why?”
“Oh, uh…my mask is too big. I pulled it tight as I could but it’s still loose.”
“Are you good or do you need to get out of here?” I pause, holding up a beam and ducking under. “Just say the word, Garcia. Don’t be a hero.”
“I can deal,” he tells me. I thought he sounded a little hoarse but for a little guy, I know he’s tougher than he looks.
“You sure, Garcia? It’s only training, son. If you need to get out…”
“No, no. I’m good.”
The sound of crackling and whooshing flames are all around us gives me a sense of my own stupid mortality. I’m glad I’m here today. I hadn’t realized just how big the hotel was. Nervous jitters flood my chest but I’m careful not to let it show. Garcia is about six feet ahead of me. Shit! What the hell was wrong with his mask? “Breathe slowly, Garcia and don’t waste your breath.”
“I see the stairs,” someone yells.
“Right. Hey, isn’t the old man on the top floor?”
“Nah, he’s not here after all,” I say, not wanting to put Garcia in any more compromising predicaments.
“No, I think he’s still here,” Garcia argues. “I’m going up.”
Stubborn kid. “At least let Clarke go in front of you with the camera.” I feel the absence of Robinson’s hand on my shoulder as soon as the words leave my mouth. Apparently he was the one behind me. I get a faint reflection of his face beneath the mask as he passes by.
A few minutes later. “I think we’re getting to the source,” says Clarke. “Thousand degrees!”
Taking the pike pole off my back, I thrust it upward several times trying to make a hole in the tin ceiling, but it refuses to give. The boards behind it stays stubbornly in place. If I can’t penetrate the ceiling—we have a new problem to worry about. Back draft or flashover are a very real and dangerous possibility. I thrust the pike upward again—throwing all my weight into it. And again. And again. Finally a big sheet of melted metal curl around the pole. With a gloved hand, I pull it down with an aggravated grunt and then throw it against a wall. Smoke escapes through the opening and the air clears a bit. For a several minutes, I can actually make out the man in front of me before new smoke fills the room again.
The closer we get to the stairs, the thicker the smoke becomes, the danger more intense. I need an eyeball on the kid. I feel responsible. “Garcia! Are you there?” It’s impossible to see who is who in all our gear—so when he calls back, “Here, chief,” I heard it inside my mask. I can’t tell which direction he’s calling from. Even so, after hearing his voice, I sigh with relief.
The smoke makes it difficult to navigate and I have to slide my hands along the wall. I really want to know how far away Garcia is, but there’s no way to tell. Sweat pours down my back, puddling in my shorts. A parched throat signals I’m dehydrated but then so aren’t we all.
Then, I see it. A bunch of skids bursting all aflame in one corner of a room. The red dot of Clarke’s camera shines on the back wall. It should make me feel better but it doesn’t. “Get the line. Get the line!”
“Here I come with the tip,” shouts Robinson. Four of us kneel down as the hose flies above our heads. A lump forms in my throat. Something doesn’t feel right. I feel it in my gut but I can’t quite put my finger on why. A strong breeze as Robinson and three other firefighters move past me with the line. They extinguish the flames neatly.
My view changes from seeing fire—to the glow of the camera—to all black—to nothing but grey. Above the sizzling of wet embers I hear a long drawn out beep. “Shit!” I call out my men and everyone answers except one. “Where the fuck is Williams? Williams! Williams, where are you?”
“I think I saw him near the stairs,” says Clarke.
“Okay, roles reversed. Garcia…Your old man is safe. Find Williams. Find him. Now!”
“We’ve got another fire, chief,” someone says.
With one fire extinguished, another one escalates out of control near the stairs, flames licking the curtains so fast I know it’s only a matter of time before a window blows out. A long shrill beeping indicating a man is down somewhere. “Shit! Where the fuck are you? Williams, ole man…”
I continue to call out, my heart pumping like a jack hammer. Williams is my best friend. My only friend. After what seems like forever, a soft groan fills my ears. “Williams, that you?”
“You’re older than me, asshole,” says a gruff voice. The sweetest insult “Not breathing too well, man.”
Fucking hell!
Dropping to my knees, I find him pinned beneath the stairwell. Clarke rushes forward. With amazing strength, he lifts what looks like a concrete wall off Williams’ back. “Get him on air,” I yell. He takes off his face mask and presses it to the older man’s face.
Robinson is busy with the tip, while another fighter takes the extra tank off my back. I motion to Clarke, who’s been sharing his breathing mask with Williams. He nods in understanding and places his mask back on his head. I hook the extra tank to William’s face mask. It isn’t supposed to go this way. Why did he run out of air? Two more firefighters appear at my side. They get Williams to his feet and place each of his arms on their shoulders.“Get him outa here!” They limp past me. “Garcia!”
“Right here chief,” says a youthful voice. “I guess it’s not my day to be the victim huh?
“You’ll get your chance. How’s your mask?”
“I’m still breathing if that’s what you wanna know.”
“Good. One disaster is enough for today. Sound off.”
When everyone is accounted for, I relax to some degree. The air is already cleared to a soft grey mist and I’m standing in a puddle. “That’s enough for today. Let’s get outa here.” Single file, we leave the building. I have no idea what happened, only that I’m exhausted, but I can’t ignore the nagging at my heart. It had been my responsibility to check the gear and I could have sworn that wall had been sturdy when I poked it with the pike. How had it come tumbling down so easily?
Once we’re all checked over again, we pull off our gear. Williams is in the back of the ambulance. Tossing my hat to Garcia, I take hold of the grab bar and hop inside, taking the seat beside my friend. I take his hand. “If you wanted to ground me from calls, you could have just given me your job,” he says and then bursts out coughing. When he tries to sit up, the medic places a hand over his chest. “Please... I’m trying to get a pulse. Lie still.” Looking at my friend’s fingertips, I turn his hands over, scanning for a bluish or dark skin tone, the first signs of hypoxia. There are none.
“You keep looking at me like that, I’m going to think I’m dieing.”
“Shit! I’m just hoping I don’t have to do all that damn paperwork by myself.” I give him a tight smile. “Do you remember the wall coming down on top of you?” He can’t answer me right away because he’s coughing so damn hard. The medic gives him a sip of water , and it appears to do the trick.
“Yeah, I remember, but that wasn’t what knocked me over.”
“How’s that?”
“I knew the wall was weak. I could see the flames poking through.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I got dizzy way before the wall came down. I grabbed onto the door jamb to steady myself. I kind of pulled the wall over on myself.”
“You were dizzy?”
“Yeah. I don’t think my tank was full.”
Well, shit. Had I mixed up the tanks?
That night, the dream returns.