Sabina decided to join Fred on engine-polishing detail. Her nerves couldn’t handle any more encounters with Roman, and Vader had hung up with Cherie in an even worse mood. As she ran a rag over the chrome fittings of the headlights, she could tell Fred was struggling to keep his questions to himself.
He lost the battle. “I’ve never seen Vader like this. Is he okay?”
Sabina shrugged. “He probably feels like an idiot.”
“Maybe someone should talk to him.”
“Be my guest.”
That silenced him. For a moment. “You’re his best friend.”
“This isn’t junior high, Stud. We’re firefighters. If you’ve got something to say to Vader, feel free to say it.”
His round, M&M’s brown eyes went wide. The little sprig of hair that made him look so boyish seemed to jump up like an exclamation point. He tossed his rag over his shoulder and straightened. “You’re right, Two. I’m going in.” He hopped down from the engine and hurried out of the apparatus bay. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, you might want to call for help.”
“Oh shit,” Sabina muttered. If Stud messed with Vader in a mood like this, who knew what bloodshed might result. She ran after him. Psycho, emerging from the bathroom, perked up at the sight of potential action.
“What’s up?”
“Don’t know yet. Whatever it is, it’s none of your business,” snapped Sabina.
“The hell with that.” He fell into step beside her.
In the workout room, Stud placed himself squarely in front of Vader, whose biceps were quivering and clenching from the effort of holding three hundred pounds of metal over his head. With a roar, he dropped the weights onto the padded mat on the floor. He roared again, glaring at Stud, who took an involuntary step back. The blood that swelled in Vader’s muscles made him look even bigger than usual, and about twice Stud’s size. He looked like a cartoon version of some mad scientist’s mutant creation.
Fred quailed before this mighty vision of manhood. He looked like he might run, but instead he stood his ground and tapped his ear.
Vader scowled at him.
Stud mimed the action of taking off headphones. Vader grunted and shifted one of the earpieces behind his ear. The tinny sound of AC/DC echoed through the workout room. By now everyone was watching—Psycho, Ace the rookie, and a couple of the A shift guys who’d come in to work out.
“Vader, I just wanted you to know it doesn’t matter to us if you’re . . . you know.”
Vader clenched his jaw until the muscles stood out like baseballs. “Shut the fuck up, Stud.”
“No. It’s too important. I won’t shut up.”
Vader’s mouth fell open. Sabina braced herself. If Vader decided to pound Stud into the mat, she’d have to step into the line of fire along with him.
“Look, Vader, I know you’re not gay like they’re saying on Channel Two, but if you were, it wouldn’t matter.”
“I’m not,” Vader ground out. “Some chick messed with my head, that’s all.”
“Well, I kind of wish you were.”
“What?”
Sabina took a step forward, but Psycho held her back. “Oh no, you don’t. This is too good.” Glee lit his bright blue eyes.
Fred turned the color of a brick. “Not because . . . nothing like that . . . I mean so we could, you know, set an example. Be a beacon of tolerance. Use all the publicity to make a point.”
Vader screwed up his face in a what-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about way, but at least he hadn’t yet snapped Fred like a twig. “Beacon, my ass.”
“No, I’ve been thinking about this, Vader. It’s an opportunity to make a statement to the media. You know, since they’re all paying attention to us.”
“You’re nuts, Stud,” Vader growled. He picked up a gym towel and wiped the sweat off his face. “That attention’s good for one thing only. Getting chicks.”
Fred’s face crumpled. He looked down at his feet, then back up, then did the whole routine a couple more times until Vader finished with the towel and slung it around his neck. “Vader,” he burst out. “I’m disappointed in you. I know you act like a dumbass steroid freak, but I thought you had more depth than that.” He shook his head with disgust and turned to go, nearly tripping on the mat.
Sabina whispered to Fred as he passed. “Give him some time.” She knew perfectly well that Vader had more depth, if that’s what you wanted to call it, than he let on. With the guys, he always acted the gonzo and party boy. Only with her did he relax and act like a normal guy.
“Hey, bozo.” Vader picked up a free weight as if he was going to lob it at Fred. Sabina flung out an arm to protect him, but Fred pushed it aside.
“I can handle myself, Two,” he said fiercely.
Vader launched into a rapid series of lifts. “Don’t you know not to mess with a steroid freak?” He snarled like a rabid dog about to go on the attack.
The rising tension was shattered by a long, loud tone from the intercom. Everyone went still to focus on the intercom. “Reported structure fire for Task Force 1, Task Force 5, Engine 6, Truck 9, Battalion 1. Location is 1220 North Walnut. Incident number 324. Time of alarm is 9:32. We’re receiving multiple calls.”
Before the announcement had finished, the firefighters had poured out of the gym and hurried into the apparatus bay. Quickly, efficiently, Sabina thrust her feet into her boots, pulled up her turnout pants, and snapped on the suspenders. She donned her hood, jacket, and breathing apparatus, checked her pressure gauge, donned her helmet, then put on her gloves.
Roman, battalion chief on duty, was already settling into the passenger seat. Double D jumped into the driver’s seat, and Vader and Captain Kelly launched themselves into the backseat next to Sabina. The door of the apparatus bay opened and, sirens sounding, they cruised out the driveway onto Main Street.
Roman punched up the GPS. “Looks like it’s on a corner.”
“I think I know the one. Big, at least six thousand square feet,” said Double D, who probably knew every house in San Gabriel. “Lots of other houses right nearby.”
Right on cue, the dispatcher clicked on. “Be advised, the next-door house is now involved in that fire on 1220 Walnut. Repeat, 1224 Walnut is also involved.”
“That’s the house to the south,” said Double D, turning a corner as cars scattered to the sides of the road. “That one’s even bigger. Seems to me they added a floor just to piss off the neighbors. Then the other guys put up a third floor, so the first one got themselves a cupola. ”
“Winds are fifteen knots out of the northeast,” said Roman, still looking at the laptop. “Any more houses that direction?”
“I don’t think so. You got the two richest people on the block in a pissing match. Don’t know why one of them don’t just move.”
All other issues forgotten, Vader and Sabina exchanged a glance. Fires and feuds made a suspicious combination.
“No assumptions,” said Roman sharply. “It’s a fire like any other.”
Double D nodded, and they passed the rest of the trip in the tense, adrenaline-charged silence that always preceded a working fire. Sabina always felt a little sick to her stomach beforehand, sort of the way she’d felt before the assistant director yelled, “Action.”
When they reached Walnut Street, several engines were already on the scene. Flames and smoke billowed from two huge, stately mansions. Visible waves of heat distorted the air. Even over the sound of the engine, they heard the roaring, insistent voice of the flames. On the dispatch channel, a calm male voice reported back with the initial size-up. “Dispatch from Engine 9, on the scene. 1220 Walnut. We’ve got a three-story, wood-frame single family dwelling with fire and smoke showing. Engine 9 will be known as Walnut IC. Engine 1, there’s a plug on the southwest corner. The bravo side is heavily involved, flames spreading to the alpha side.”
Double D spotted the fire hydrant and stopped the engine. Vader hopped out to hook up the hose. As soon as he gave the signal, Double D pulled forward, the hose stretching out behind them. He put on the parking brake, then they all jumped out of the rig. Sabina ran to her position at the nozzle of the hose and removed it from its housing.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a knot of people clustered at the edge of the lawn. Two of them seemed to be yelling at each other, the others struggling to keep them apart.
“Fire department coming through,” she yelled as she hauled the nozzle over her shoulder and got set to jog wherever the hose was wanted.
Commands crackled through the radio. “Engine 1, take the alpha side. Chief Roman, you’re on safety-recon. Truck 1, you got ventilation. You will be known as Roof Division.” Sabina spotted Psycho, fire axe in hand, jogging toward one of the ladders that had already been set up. He’d be responsible for hacking a hole in the roof to release the smoke before it built up inside.
“Anyone inside?” she yelled to a fireman coming to help her with the hose.
“Not so far. Still checking.”
Captain Kelly kicked open the door and she hauled the hose inside. A swirl of smoke burst toward them. She waited, adjusting her vision to the nightmarish, surreal state of this formerly elegant home. The ruthless nature of fire always shocked her. Fire didn’t care how much money you put into your decor, or how many treasured family heirlooms you’d accumulated. It didn’t care if you had a cat or a goldfish or a meth lab.
This didn’t look like the type of place to have a meth lab, but you never knew. The firefighters sweeping the interior for residents would be keeping an eye out for meth labs, grow rooms, propane tanks, funky wiring, anything that might explode in their faces.
“Firefighter Callahan from Roof Division,” came Psycho’s voice. “We’ve got one hole opened up.”
“Good job,” said the incident commander. “Join your crew on the alpha side and get those flames out, would you?”
“I’m on it.”
Sabina gave the signal and aimed the nozzle toward the heaviest smoke, which was coming from what was most likely the kitchen. She reached up and switched on her headlamp. Before her first fire, she’d never realized how dark it got inside a working fire. Dense gray smoke obscured her vision, and not even the occasional leaping flames offered enough illumination to make a difference. She could see other firefighters moving around, and the outlines of priceless pieces of furniture, soon to be charred heaps of junk.
Over the sound of the water hissing on the flames, and the constant, underlying roar, she could barely make out the pieces of vital information being communicated over the tactical channel.
“Upstairs is clear. Downstairs is clear.”
So no one was left in the house; very good news.
“Might need another vent hole on the delta side.”
“This looks like a grow room down here.”
“Those are tomatoes.”
“Any dangerous chemicals used in tomato gardens?”
Sabina smiled. With no people in the house, the fire crews could worry a little less, even though they were still working just as hard. It was no longer a life-and-death situation, although that could certainly change if something went wrong. But so far things were running smoothly.
Until the next blip from the radio.
“Fire’s running the walls,” said someone over the radio. “Damn, this is one stubborn-ass fire.”
“Let’s open up the ceilings. Fire’s running the walls and the attic.”
Sabina looked up at the ceiling. Pulling these cathedral ceilings would be a piece of work. Psycho and the others would love the challenge. As she looked back at the flames, something caught her eye through the murk. A flash of golden brown, the exact color of a golden retriever. “Take this!” She handed the nozzle to Vader behind her. “Think I saw something move. Do they have a dog?”
“Make it zippy,” said Captain Kelly. “Truck crew’s coming in with the pike poles.”
“Two steps, here and back.” She stepped forward into the gloom. The flames didn’t bother her—they weren’t bad on the alpha side—but the visibility sucked. But if there was an unconscious dog in there, no way was she going to leave it there to burn to death. Stan would never forgive her.
Well, if the incident commander had ordered her to leave, she would have. But he hadn’t.
The two steps had been a slight exaggeration. Three long strides and she’d reached the stairwell. She crouched down and peered into the smoky, dusty haze. What had she seen? Certainly not a dog. All she found was an ottoman upholstered in beige suede sitting in a little nook under the stairwell. Relieved, she started to get to her feet.
Before she could straighten all the way, something fell across her back. What the hell? She started to turn, but something else crashed next to her. Damn it. The staircase. It was collapsing. She flung herself away from it, but it was too late. A heavy chunk of marble spun through the air and bounced off her helmet. A sharp crack echoed through the metal and she fell to her knees. For a moment she saw nothing but blackness and confusion.
“Stairs coming down!” she yelled into her radio. “I’m coming out!”
“Partial collapse of the staircase!” someone else said over the radio. “Jones, are you there?”
“Here!” she croaked. “On my way.”
“No communication from Firefighter Jones,” crackled the radio. It sounded like Vader. “Stairs are still coming down. She might be trapped underneath. Can’t see a freakin’ thing.”
“I’m not trapped,” she yelled, but the sound was lost amid the tumble of wood crashing around her. She put her arms over her head to protect it, and felt it wobble. Good Lord. Her helmet was broken. Split right in half. Which meant her radio mic must be out.
Never mind that. Hold tight, she told herself. Protect your head. Wait until the sky stops falling, then get the hell out.
It seemed to last forever, the staircase tumbling down itself with the maniacal glee of a little boy sliding down a banister. Chunks of wood and bits of plaster rained down on Sabina’s back and arms. Even through her padded firefighter’s coat she felt them bouncing off her. She was going to have some bruises tonight, no doubt. Then something big and bulky knocked her over so she lay on her side, her ankle twisted under her.
Cruel pain rocketed through her foot all the way up her leg. Mother of God, it burned. She cried out even though no one could hear her. More debris pelted her cheek and neck. She pulled herself up onto her hands, gritting her teeth at the agony in her ankle. She had to get out of here. Now that the staircase had collapsed, the flames would leap toward this new source of oxygen. The foyer would turn into an incinerator in no time.
But when she tried to move, she realized she was pinned. Whatever had landed on her ankle wasn’t budging. She tried to tug her foot free, but went dizzy at the fresh onslaught of slicing pain.
Think, Sabina, think. Try the mic again. Shout. See if someone could hear her.
“Emergency Traffic, Emergency Traffic, firefighter down,” she yelled. “This is Firefighter Jones from Engine 1, I’m trapped under the debris from a collapsed staircase on the alpha side. I think my ankle’s twisted. Request immediate assistance.”
When she heard no response, it dawned on her that she hadn’t heard anything from her radio for some time. Her radio reception had gone dead too. All her communication was out. She was trapped, injured, and completely isolated.
It hit her. Holy crap, she was going to die. Horribly. By some incredible stroke of luck, whatever had fallen on her head with enough force to break her helmet hadn’t killed her. No, instead it had left her conscious enough to understand that she was about to get burned alive—along with the remains of an extremely expensive custom marble and teak staircase.
It’s a stairway to heaven, she thought hysterically. The melody danced through her mind, though the words were fuzzy. I’m buying a stairway to heaven.
Her head spinning, she mouthed the words like a chant until a kind of black calm settled over her. This was death, inevitable, relentless death. Firefighters faced it every day. She’d always known the risks. Every firefighter did. But . . .
Not yet. Please, not yet.
Sorry, Annabelle . . . Mama.
Not yet, not yet. She hadn’t done nearly enough before checking out. Not nearly. If she’d known it would come this soon, she would have skipped some of the jogging and spent more time . . . well, maybe she’d have a kid. Yes. A kid. The closest she’d allowed herself to get was Carly. What was wrong with her, why had she been so stupid?
No kid, no man, no family. All those bountiful, luxurious years had come down to these last few moments . . . and she’d never let herself love someone, and have a baby with him, and now it was too late and what the fuck had she done with her life?
Love. The word echoed again as Roman’s dark, fierce, beautiful face filled her mind’s eye. She feasted her eyes. Thanks for being here. I appreciate it. You’re a sight for sore, dying eyes. One of Roman’s black eyebrows swooped up. Oh, he was going to be furious about this. He’d probably call her into his office and pin her with that blistering black gaze, then maybe he’d throw the rule book out the window, snatch her up in his arms, and kiss her until the room spun six ways to Sunday and . . .
Time’s up.
Immersed in Roman’s kiss, she surrendered to the Grim Reaper, who took her into his rough arms and carried her up the stairway to heaven.