Chapter 7
Colby
The heat.
Oh, fuck.
It’s almost unbearable.
Thick, billowing smoke is banking down in the room. Visibility is horrible. I do a quick scan with my imager, but there’s no sign of the baby. Fuck! Where is she? I make a concerted effort to slow my breathing, trying to make the air in my tank last as long as possible, but it’s awfully hard to breathe slowly and calmly with almost a hundred pounds of gear weighing me down and my adrenaline surging.
When the four of us firefighters arrived at this house mere minutes ago, we immediately began unfurling the hoses and getting geared up, per usual protocols. And that’s when a hatchback raced up to the scene and its driver, a woman in her late twenties or so, tore out of her car and sprinted like a madwoman toward the blazing structure, shrieking at the top of her lungs that her baby girl was trapped inside with a babysitter.
My heart racing, I intercepted the woman and physically held her back from running into the house until, mere seconds later, a bystander thankfully assumed the job of detaining her. Jesus Christ! But before the guy had a firm grip on the woman, she broke free of his grasp, grabbed ahold of my arm, and hysterically begged me to please, please, please save her beloved baby.
Oh, man. I’ve seen all kinds of people in crisis during my five years on this job. Every single shift, I see people on the worst, most catastrophic day of their life. But that woman’s hysteria was the most heart-wrenching display of the emotion I’ve ever seen in my life. And I must admit, it rattled me.
I’ll get her.
That’s what I said to the hysterical woman as that bystander pulled her off me—and the minute those words left my mouth, I knew they were wrong. I should have said I’ll do my best. Obviously. But, shit, there was no stuffing the words I’d said back into my mouth. And so, off I went to finish gearing up, bound and determined to keep my promise and bring that woman’s baby back to her.
In record time, I locked my breathing apparatus into place, secured my hat, double-checked my air gauge and straps and axe and radio and gloves, and then, carrying a hose, I followed my fellow firefighter, Jake, into the burning house while my captain and another guy stayed outside to fight the blaze from the outside and await backup.
Right off the bat, Jake and I found an older woman keeled over a kitchen table, her jaw and eyelids already showing signs of rigor mortis. We radioed to the guys outside regarding our gruesome discovery, did a quick, fruitless sweep of the first floor, and then barreled upstairs.
And now, here we are having just arrived on the second floor, and it’s clear time is running the fuck out on this search. In just the few minutes since we entered this house, the smoke has thickened exponentially, making visibility almost zero at this point, and the flames are noticeably gaining ground. Twice now, as we’ve progressed through the house, Jake has shot water to the ceiling and the water has instantly evaporated into steam. That’s no bueno. It tells us the heat in a particular room we’re trying to enter is too hot for us to survive, regardless of our turnout gear. So we’ve had to flood and wait. Flood and wait. Which means progress has been incredibly slow. Shit. I’ve got to imagine the guys outside aren’t having much luck trying to contain this motherfucker.
I look down at my air gauge. Fuck. I’m breathing way too fast. My yellow light’s been flashing for a couple minutes now, warning me my air is only half full. In training exercises, I always make it much longer than this before my yellow light starts flashing. But in simulations, there’s not a real baby whose life is on the line. And there aren’t flames burning out of control all around me, either.
Yet again, I try to slow my breathing, but it’s almost impossible to do. I’m in serious danger here, the worst of my life, and I know it.
As Jake continues hitting the flames with the hose to stall their progress, I feel my way out of the room with my right hand, exactly as I’ve been trained to do when leaving my line and moving through a smoke-filled room. Any second now, I’m sure the red light on my gauge will start flashing, signaling I’m down to the last quarter-tank of my air supply, but I’m going to keep my word to that mother and find her baby if it’s the last thing I do. Maybe literally.
Okay, I’m in a hallway, I think. Oh my God, the smoke is so thick, I can’t see more than an inch in front of my face. I feel my way along the wall and come upon a door I’m almost positive we haven’t checked yet. Flames are fingering out from the top of the door and feathering across the ceiling. Every molecule in my body is telling me to get the fuck away from that door. To save myself. But my brain knows if I leave now and find out later that baby girl was trapped inside this particular room, I’ll never sleep soundly again. I sidestep some fallen debris engulfed in flames and inch closer toward the door.
My red light begins flashing. My warning alarm goes off inside my mask, telling me to get out.
But I persist. Breathing hard, I feel my way and enter the room.
Flames are licking up the walls. The smoke in this room is a deep black. That’s so not good. Black smoke is flammable. This place could blow at any time. I radio for Jake’s benefit, “Firefighter Morgan. Engine 262. Black smoke. Abort mission. Get out, Jake. Get out!”
But I don’t follow my own advice.
Because I promised that mother.
If the baby’s not in this room, okay, I’m out. I’ll have done all I can do.
But I’m not leaving until I know for sure if that baby is in here or not.
I stop just inside the doorway and scan with my thermal imaging camera... and there she is! My imager plainly shows me the body heat of a small figure on the floor about fifteen feet away. I barrel toward the figure as best I can through the opaque black smoke, crashing into something as I go—a dresser? Shit! I’m feeling my way, frantically chasing the red and yellow constellation I see on my imager.
Finally, I reach the baby and get down low under the bank of smoke where visibility isn’t quite so poor. She’s splayed out on the floor, still conscious and crying her little head off. When she sees me, she reaches her tiny arms up for me, begging me to pick her up. Begging me to save her life. There’s terror in her eyes... and relief, too. Relief that someone has come to rescue her from this nightmare.
My heart racing, I scoop her up and cradle her protectively in my arm, shielding her from the unbearable heat with my turnout gear as best I can. “Colby’s got you, sweetheart,” I say, even though I know there’s no way in hell she can hear me through my mask, let alone through the roar of the flames around us. But I figure she can see my mouth moving. See the assurance in my eyes.
I get on my radio. “Firefighter Morgan. Engine 262. I’ve got the baby. I’ve got her. I’m on the second floor, Charlie side. I think I’m close to the Charlie-Bravo corner. My air is low. My red light is flashing. I’m off my line, but I’m going to feel my way toward the hallway and try to locate it. Get ready for us. We’re gonna follow the line out.”
I feel my way with my left hand, exactly the way I’ve been trained to do, while shielding the baby with my right arm. But, shit, the smoke is so thick, I’m all turned around. The air around me is undulating from the heat, like I’m underwater. Through my peripheral vision, everything looks like I’m surrounded by stained glass.
The fire is closing in on me.
Oh, God, I’m so fucked.
I decide to make a run for the hallway leading to the stairs... to where I think the hallway is, anyway. But I’ve no sooner taken two loping steps toward what I think is the right direction than a beam comes crashing down right in front of me, blocking my escape. Shit! A wall of flames instantly springs up in front of me. I’m trapped.
I activate my personal alert system, signaling to the guys outside I’m still alive but in deep shit.
I get on my radio again. “Mayday, mayday, mayday!” I shout. “Firefighter Morgan! Engine 262. I’m trapped by debris in a room, second floor on Charlie side, and unable to get to the stairs. I’ve lost my line. Repeat, I’ve lost my line. I’m on the second floor, Charlie side. Charlie-Bravo corner! Air is low. Almost empty. If there’s a window on Charlie side, request ladder immediately. I’m going to search for a window now. Get that ladder ready!”
A wall of fire rises up a foot away from me and I barrel blindly away from it, slogging through thick, opaque smoke without a clue if I’m heading toward safety or incineration. Feeling my way with one hand through the smoke while clutching the baby with the other, I say a prayer. Please, God, let there be a window on the other side of this room. Because if there’s no window, or if, God forbid, it’s covered with bars, then I’m toast. Literally.
As I barrel through the thick black smoke, visions of my family members’ faces flash before my eyes. If I die today, especially like this, my poor mom will never recover. Same with my dad. And Ryan. Fuck! Ryan. In a heartbeat, I have a thousand thoughts, all at once. That I’ll never see Kat’s baby. Or watch Dax become the rock star I know he’ll be. Or laugh at one of Keane’s outrageous stories again.
How did I get here? When I woke up this morning next to Candice in my bed and looked out the window at the rising sun, I had no idea I was seeing my last sunrise. I thought I had fifty years’ worth of sunrises ahead of me. When I told Candice I was open to maybe getting married one day, it didn’t occur to me I was already all out of days.
I take a deep breath. Okay, Colby, you need to stop freaking out. You need to slow your breathing and use your training and calm the fuck down.
Oh, thank God. I think I see a window. It’s barely visible through the bank of dark smoke, but I’m almost sure that’s what it is. I radio to the guys and scream with what’s left of my air that I see a window on the second floor. “Charlie side near the Bravo corner!” I shout. “Get me a fucking ladder!” I bolt toward the barely visible square of light, clutching the baby like a football in the crook of my arm... when, out of nowhere, I’m taken down.
I’m on the ground. Unable to move. What the fuck just happened?
It takes me a half-second to realize a flaming beam has crashed down from the ceiling and taken me with it. I grit out a string of expletives as pain flashes through my left leg. I try to pull myself to freedom, but my left leg is pinned underneath the beam.
The baby.
My heart stops.
She’s not tucked in my arm anymore.
I look around frantically and, thank God, discover her on the floor right above my head. I reach up and grab her just as my gauge vibrates and flashes a sustained red. I’m completely out of air.
I grab my radio. “Mayday, mayday, mayday!” I shout. “I’m pinned underneath a beam. My air is gone. Repeat: no air left! The smoke is black as fuck, guys! Get me that ladder! I’m pinned but I’m coming!” I get off the radio. “Fuck!” I scream. “Fuck!” But then I remember I’ve got no air and screaming is an exceedingly bad idea.
My personal alert system starts going off like gangbusters, telling the guys outside I’ve been immobile for twenty seconds.
Still holding the baby, I try to push the beam off my leg, but it’s way heavier than I’d realized.
I’m dizzy. Out of air. I feel like I’m about to pass out.
I shake it off. If I pass out, I’ll never wake up again. I know it for a fact.
I put the baby down next to me, gather every last drop of strength in my body for one last attempt and, somehow, I’m able to push the beam off me just enough to let me roll my hips and kick with my right leg and wriggle free. In one fluid motion, I scoop up the baby off the floor and crawl like an injured alligator toward that motherfucking window, my twisted left leg dragging uselessly as I move, the baby tucked in my left arm.
When I get to the window, I pull myself up, grab the axe off my belt, and smash the fuck out of the glass... and the minute the glass breaks, dark smoke whooshes out of the room through the gaping hole. I smash away again and again, clearing shards of glass from the frame, and then hang my entire torso out the window, gasping for air. I look down. No ladder. Fuck! It must be at another window. I’m desperate to rip off my mask to breathe, but I don’t dare—not with the flames licking at my back.
“Mayday, mayday, mayday!” I shout into my radio. “I’m hanging out a window! Need a ladder! I need a ladder!”
I’m gasping for air. On the cusp of passing out. My lungs hurt. I feel like my turnout gear is about to melt from the heat. It’s got to be a thousand degrees in this fucking room! I hold the baby outside the window like she’s the Lion King, trying to keep her from the heat and flames.
Thank God, a ladder clacks loudly against the window sill and I quickly shift position, intending to climb out feet-first and slide down by holding the rails, but then I remember I’ve got the baby and the bailout maneuver I’ve trained on over and over again isn’t going to work. Fuck! There’s no drill I’ve ever run that has taught me how to do a ladder bailout with a useless leg while holding a baby. Should I lower her down with a rope to make sure she...
Boom!
The hanging black smoke explodes behind and around me. Oh, God, I’m so fucked. I know from my training I’ve got seventeen seconds at most before my turnout gear fails and I’m dead. So I do the only thing I can do: I jump. I dive headfirst out the window and down the ladder, clutching the baby with all my might while trying desperately to slow my descent at least slightly with my free arm and good leg. But this is pure chaos right here. I’m bouncing down... and then free-falling. The world turns upside down on me for a split-second. And then there’s a weird and terrifying weightlessness before I crash onto my left shoulder and land with a sickening thud to the ground. I flop and roll and wind up on my back, on my tank, gasping for air and screaming in pain. Fuck! I think I just dislocated my left shoulder! Or maybe I broke my collarbone? For sure, I broke some ribs. I don’t know. All I know is I’m in excruciating pain pretty much everywhere. And that I can’t fucking breathe.
The baby.
I look down and discover I’m miraculously still holding onto her and she appears to be in one piece. She’s burned badly, though. Her hair has been completely singed off and her skin is now blackened. She’s unconscious and flopping in my arm like a rag doll.
There’s a commotion above me. Boots. Someone grabs the baby from me. And then I’m dragged away, away, away from the inferno.
I’m convulsing in pain.
Drawing my dying breath.
I can’t breathe.
My lungs are on fire.
The dragging stops. My helmet and mask are ripped off. An oxygen mask is placed over my nose and mouth. I gasp and gag and then... breathe. Shaking, I take a long, gulping breath of sweet air. Oh my fucking God, breathing has never felt so... painful.
What the fuck is wrong with my lungs? They’re in excruciating pain.
Tears streak down my hot face. Tears of pain. Relief. Fear. Joy. I’m quaking with adrenaline. With aftershocks of my terror. My throat and lungs are on fire. I’m in more pain than I knew was possible. But none of it matters in the end because I’m alive.
I’m alive!
They load me into an ambulance.
I’m gasping for air.
Maybe I’m not free and clear yet, after all.
Oh well. At least I brought that baby girl back to her mother, the way I promised to do. That’s what they’ll tell my parents and siblings. That’s what they’ll say at my funeral. That I traded my life for the baby’s.
Service before self.
It’s the last thought I have before my eyes roll back into my head and the world mercifully fades to black.