and moved to the door, stopping to look out the window. “It hasn’t changed that much.”
“Did you grow up here?”
She seemed to be looking more inward than out. “There’s always more going on than what you see on the surface.”
I stepped to the island. “This probably sounds canned, but . . . you seem really familiar.”
She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it. She pushed on the door. “Have a good day, Firefighter O’Neill.”
“Wait. How do you know my name?”
She disappeared into the dayroom.
Tones cycled from the ceiling-mounted speaker.
A woman’s voice echoed. “Battalion One, Engine One, Engine Two, Engine Four, Truck One, Rescue One with the safety officer to a structure fire—smoke and flames seen coming from the front of a residence.”
My heart rate quickened. I opened the kitchen pole-hole door. The brushed-steel cylinder stretched from the ceiling to three floors down. I felt the cool metal on my palms and dropped through the circle of air.
CHAPTER
12
A cross the apparatus bay it rained firemen.
My head pounded with my pulse. I stepped into my turnout boots, pulled up my suspenders, and hopped in the back. Kat shot out of the barn and I threw on my coat, falling back into the rear-facing jumpseat. The ladder truck followed us with the rescue behind it. Chief Mauvain trailed caboose in a screaming train weaving down Evans Avenue.
I worked my arms through the shoulder straps of the seat-mounted air pack, standing to tighten the straps. The engine jerked, and I slammed against the door.
Butcher bent around from the front. “Get seated back there.”
I cinched the waist belt and dropped back into the seat. Timothy cranked on his air valve.
Butcher pointed. “Left here on Spokane.”
“I got it,” Kat said. “I’ll get you there. I’ll get you water.”
She pulled to a stop just past a hundred-year-old two-story house on my side of the rig. Butcher reported a wood-framed structure with an A-frame roof and heavy smoke showing.
The air brake snapped and hissed. I opened my door and hopped out. Everything felt right, back in step.
Until I saw the fire.
Black smoke rolled out the front door, swirling liquid fire chasing it down a darkened hallway. Two opalescent eyes formed within the flame. The fire morphed, and the world around it shadowed into a Mexican beach, bonfires raging—and there in the doorway stood the sickle-gripping reaper waving with the heat. A vacuum opened in my gut. I stepped back and collided with Kat.
“Look out, Aidan.”
I rubbed my eyes. Timothy hopped on the sideboard and put his arm through the hose loops. The fire was on my side, and he had beat me to the nozzle. He yanked the hose load to the pavement and winked at me, taking off up the walkway. The wind shifted and he vanished into the smoke-filled air.
Butcher walked in front of me, radio held by his ear. He slapped my shoulder. “Find the seat and knock it down before this whole thing flashes.”
The ladder truck turned the corner, Peyton spinning the rear steering wheel in the tiller cab.
Kat shoved the handle of my flathead axe across my chest. “Am I going to have to do everything for you guys?”
I grabbed the smooth linseeded handle with its familiar dark hickory veins.
My father’s axe . . .
She grabbed my jacket and pushed me toward the house. “Wake up, Aidan!”
Kat circled around to the pump panel and shouted, “Water comin’!”
It snaked through the flat hose fabric, swelling it solid. I slid the axe into my belt sheath and strode up the walkway. The nozzle jerked forward in Timothy’s grip, pointing at the doorway like a dog to its catch. Timothy pointed it at the side of the house and bled the air from the line with a hiss-splash . The heat was palpable. I knelt and strapped on my mask as flames wicked around the doorframe. Timothy crawled in, his boots assimilating into the smoke.
Sheol sucked him in.
I swore I heard laughter. Panic raced down my
“Did you grow up here?”
She seemed to be looking more inward than out. “There’s always more going on than what you see on the surface.”
I stepped to the island. “This probably sounds canned, but . . . you seem really familiar.”
She opened her mouth to say something, then shut it. She pushed on the door. “Have a good day, Firefighter O’Neill.”
“Wait. How do you know my name?”
She disappeared into the dayroom.
Tones cycled from the ceiling-mounted speaker.
A woman’s voice echoed. “Battalion One, Engine One, Engine Two, Engine Four, Truck One, Rescue One with the safety officer to a structure fire—smoke and flames seen coming from the front of a residence.”
My heart rate quickened. I opened the kitchen pole-hole door. The brushed-steel cylinder stretched from the ceiling to three floors down. I felt the cool metal on my palms and dropped through the circle of air.
CHAPTER
12
A cross the apparatus bay it rained firemen.
My head pounded with my pulse. I stepped into my turnout boots, pulled up my suspenders, and hopped in the back. Kat shot out of the barn and I threw on my coat, falling back into the rear-facing jumpseat. The ladder truck followed us with the rescue behind it. Chief Mauvain trailed caboose in a screaming train weaving down Evans Avenue.
I worked my arms through the shoulder straps of the seat-mounted air pack, standing to tighten the straps. The engine jerked, and I slammed against the door.
Butcher bent around from the front. “Get seated back there.”
I cinched the waist belt and dropped back into the seat. Timothy cranked on his air valve.
Butcher pointed. “Left here on Spokane.”
“I got it,” Kat said. “I’ll get you there. I’ll get you water.”
She pulled to a stop just past a hundred-year-old two-story house on my side of the rig. Butcher reported a wood-framed structure with an A-frame roof and heavy smoke showing.
The air brake snapped and hissed. I opened my door and hopped out. Everything felt right, back in step.
Until I saw the fire.
Black smoke rolled out the front door, swirling liquid fire chasing it down a darkened hallway. Two opalescent eyes formed within the flame. The fire morphed, and the world around it shadowed into a Mexican beach, bonfires raging—and there in the doorway stood the sickle-gripping reaper waving with the heat. A vacuum opened in my gut. I stepped back and collided with Kat.
“Look out, Aidan.”
I rubbed my eyes. Timothy hopped on the sideboard and put his arm through the hose loops. The fire was on my side, and he had beat me to the nozzle. He yanked the hose load to the pavement and winked at me, taking off up the walkway. The wind shifted and he vanished into the smoke-filled air.
Butcher walked in front of me, radio held by his ear. He slapped my shoulder. “Find the seat and knock it down before this whole thing flashes.”
The ladder truck turned the corner, Peyton spinning the rear steering wheel in the tiller cab.
Kat shoved the handle of my flathead axe across my chest. “Am I going to have to do everything for you guys?”
I grabbed the smooth linseeded handle with its familiar dark hickory veins.
My father’s axe . . .
She grabbed my jacket and pushed me toward the house. “Wake up, Aidan!”
Kat circled around to the pump panel and shouted, “Water comin’!”
It snaked through the flat hose fabric, swelling it solid. I slid the axe into my belt sheath and strode up the walkway. The nozzle jerked forward in Timothy’s grip, pointing at the doorway like a dog to its catch. Timothy pointed it at the side of the house and bled the air from the line with a hiss-splash . The heat was palpable. I knelt and strapped on my mask as flames wicked around the doorframe. Timothy crawled in, his boots assimilating into the smoke.
Sheol sucked him in.
I swore I heard laughter. Panic raced down my
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