“Got a line on it?” The captain’s voice rang through the speakers in his SCBA. The Nomex hood and the closed in space around his ears made the sound tinny and muffled.
“Yeah!” he yelled back, struggling to hold the bucking hose he had trained on the flames creeping over their heads. The blasting heat rolled over him in waves, the sweat poured down his back, and he was thankful he’d listened to John and wore nothing but a t-shirt beneath his bunker coat.
“Command to interior!”
“Interior, go ahead,” he barked.
“Fans are set, O’Neal, ventilation’s done. You knocking it down?”
He looked around, trying to make out how much orange flame he saw licking through the thick smoke. Hell, his hands were barely visible on the hose in front of his face, but the heat was lessening, and that was a good sign. He looked up as a curl of flame sucked itself into the cracked drywall where it met the ceiling.
“Getting there. We’re in the back bedroom. Somebody needs to hit the room next door; I think the fire’s in the wall.”
“Got it, interior. Sending in two. Castille, jump in on O’Neal and check Hughes; he’s been in awhile.”
“Got it, Chief; Castille and Klein coming in.”
“Pretty thick in here. Everybody check your teams!” He heard his lieutenant call out.
“Castille! You in?” He felt movement behind him, but in the dimness and the soot, he couldn’t make out a damn thing.
“Right behind you, bro; got two more next door.” He felt the hose give a jump when Rick grabbed on behind them. “Hughes, head to rehab. Gray, you too; Klein is taking your spot. Team up and head out.”
Garrett grinned. Seasoned guys like Hughes and Gray would grumble at having to leave halfway through, but they wouldn’t deny his privilege to stay in on his first fire.
“How’s that bitch doin’, O’Neal?” He heard the grin in Castille’s voice, even through the muffled sound. The SCBA masks made it sound like they were talking through tin cans stuffed with socks.
“Kicking it, Captain, you know it.” He grinned beneath his mask and shook his head at his own ridiculous glee.
“Interior to command, two coming out, firefighters Hughes and Gray on the way out.”
“Got it, interior, now cut the chatter, and put the fire out, probie.”
A low snicker followed through the speaker in his SCBA, and he tried not to laugh, tried to keep his breathing down to normal even through the excitement so he
didn’t run out of air before the fire was out. No way he was leaving ’til this thing was done.
“Command to interior.”
“Interior, go ahead.” He lifted the hose to the high corner of the wall, arms tight, back straining. A few hours from now, every damn muscle in his body would be sore, but right now, the adrenaline wasn’t letting him feel a damn thing except the rush, his heart beating like mad, and the ridiculous grin he still had on his face.
“How’s it going?”
Almost there, Chief.”
“Let me know when you got it down, and I’ll send a team in with the thermal.”
“Got it, Chief.” He shook his head. Thermal, my ass. By the time he was done, they wouldn’t need that damn thing; this bitch would be cold.
“Hey! Where the hell is Torman?” Marks’ voice rang through the speaker clear, sharp, and pissed off.
“Marks! You in the second bedroom?”
“Yeah, and I can’t see a thing. Where’s my partner?”
“Who’s your partner, Marks?” Castille’s voice radiated irritation. “Torman? He just high tailed it past me.”
“I’ll be a son of a”””
“Interior! Firefighter Marks, you on your own in there?”
A momentary silence weighed. The fire still crackled low along the floor, and he attacked it with the hose, but he held his breath for an instant, as likely did every other guy in the house knowing what had just happened.
“Yeah, you need to find Torman; he left, and I don’t know where he went. I got Castille and O’Neal right here.”
“Leave together, all of you, I know right where he is, I’m looking at him. Don’t bother searching for him.” The anger hissed in the Chief’s voice. Everyone in earshot knew the Chief would deal with Torman but even worse would be what came when Marks got a hold of him.
A half hour later, without further incident, the fire was completely out, but it was going to take days to put out the burn in his gut.
A proud burn. His first real fire. One of the captains clapped him on the back. “Great job, man; still have a hard on?”
“Hell yes!” He grinned as he headed for the truck, sweaty, covered in soot, and feeling like a million bucks. He peeled off his bunker coat, cool air rushing over his skin. It was eighty-five degrees out, but he shivered. When you go from over a thousand degrees to normal, it feels like the difference between an oven and the North Pole. His bunker coat still felt hot in his hands, and covered in ash.
“Shoot. Hose me, Gray,” he said, putting it back on and cringing at the feel of the damp insides clinging to his sweat-soaked shirt. Gray hit him with a low stream of water, blasting off the cinder and ash clinging to his coat.
He shook off the water, peeled the bunker coat off again, and headed for the truck, feeling the cool breeze drying his sweaty skin. He shook off the chill and wiped his forehead.
“Hey, man, good job,” John said, a shit eating grin plastered on his face as he stood leaning on the back of the truck waiting for him.
“You go in?” Garrett asked, eyeing his dry clothes and clean turnout gear.
John shrugged. “Roof. Ventilation.”
“You hung back for me, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, well, it was your time, man; I’ve seen plenty. I wanted you in before those other numb nuts.”
“Thanks.”
John shook his head “No problem, man, that’s what we do, right? Look out for each other. You’re my brother.”
“Well, thanks. You know I got your back. Always.”
“No rolling hose for you, O’Neal!” Their Captain yelled over. “I think Torman has that covered. Head to the station and shower so we can get to that damn picnic; I’m hungry!”
He and John grinned at each other. They both looked over to where Torman was rolling up the hoses as the Lieutenant stood over him, barking orders. The mocking laugh he let loose was almost as loud as John’s.
Chapter Two…
It was a beautiful fall day, so she decided to walk to the post office. She only lived a ten minute stroll outside of the small town that sported one small market, a telephone company, a tiny bank, a farmer’s co-op, two churches, two gas stations/convenient stores, three restaurants, a Subway fast food shop, and four bars. Among the 453 citizens, a Mexican family of five, a Black family of four and then herself, the fifth Black citizen could be counted. There was farm land aplenty. Long roads with nothing to see but herds of cows. Some farms had cows, sheep and goats. Others had Emu, a big ostrich-like bird which was delicious to eat.
Stepping out of her kitchen door and onto her small porch landing, she walked down the stairs slowly, all the time inspecting her surroundings for something out of place. Coming out from between the house and garage, she looked across the road at her new neighbor’s place. “I should have bought that house,” she said to herself aloud, placing her manuscript to be mailed under her left arm. The bright shining sun prompted her to put on her shades, as she stepped onto the asphalt driveway. Across the road where her sights were trained, she inspected the scene and found it undesirable. There were three trucks, one of them had a trailer with two motorcycles sitting on top, four cars, two vans, and two SUV’s littering the drive and yard. Beer and soda cans littered the area and from what she could see, the front door was wide open for the world to just come on in. “Hmph!” she huffed walking by and made the L-sign to her forehead as she commented about the resident within, “Loser.” Then proceeded with her walk.
“Mornin’, Sylvie. Submittin’ another one I see,” the one and only lobby postal worker greeted. A man of middle age, attractive and married.
“Mornin’, Frank. Yep, gonna keep on till I get a bite.”
“That’s good. Somebody’s gonna nibble sooner or later.”
“That’s what I figure. I’m determined.”
“That’s what it takes,” he agreed. “I hear there was some party out by your place last night. Had to call for a noise violation. That’s them city folks for you.”
“Ouch”¦I’m from the city!” Sylvie pointed out.
“So you are”¦sorry “bout that.”
“You know who they are? Man, I was just gone for the weekend and came back to neighbors. Oh, well, there goes the neighborhood!” Sylvie flashed her bright whites, laughing out at finally having a chance to use that one. Frank made a face, not sure how to react to that. “Yeah”¦well, I hear it’s some single fella,” he recovered to inform her.
“Single fella!”
“Yep.”
“Real young, or middle age?”
“I hear “bout your age.” Frank smiled and flexed his brows.”Sorry, I don’t think so,” she responded to that show, turning from the counter, hearing the door open. As she was leaving, a man stepped within holding the door open for her. She looked up””into the most handsome face she had ever seen. He looked like an Italian. Very dark, with short-cropped, extremely thick, black hair. Thick square, black eyebrows, over absolutely beautiful blue-gray eyes framed in long thick lashes. His face was a perfect long square shape, holding a strong square jaw that hadn’t been shaved that morning. He stood at least six feet, if not more. It was also very apparent that he worked out. He wore clothes that emphasized it.
Taking all of that in, she decided right then and there that she didn’t like him one bit. No man that looked that good was worth his weight in sand.
“Good morning,” he greeted politely.
Sylvie curled her lip and muttered, “Um, hm. Thank you.” Making a grand exit with her head held high, she expected to hear the door close behind her, but it didn’t. She knew he was still standing there looking at her, grinning no doubt. He had that look about him. Everything would be funny. Amusing. Well she wasn’t going to look to see if he were looking. She didn’t care if he was; made her no difference. She bit the inside of her lip, forcing herself not to look back to see if he were looking. She picked up her step, walking faster. Wishing she could stop herself from switching with just a little bit more shake than usual. She had to pick up some eggs, cream cheese, celery and onions. Maybe check to see if Maggie’s Market had any decent steaks.
Stepping into the ancient store with its old grayed wood floors, and ring-a-ling bell hanging over the door, she was once again greeted. The town was 98% white and all that she’d encountered was kindness and cordial greetings. The people actually waved at you when you passed. Be it, you were in a vehicle or walking, they waved when they passed. They didn’t know her from Eve but they waved. The first time it happened, she thought the person had mistaken her for an acquaintance, but it happened again and again until she realized they were actually greeting her neighborly. After living there for a year and a half, she could now fully relate with Mayberry. If you waved at people like that in Chicago, they’d think you were out to take them for something. Or that you had escaped from Cook County hospital’s top floor. It took her weeks to get use to waving at total strangers, but she wanted to be a part of this town. So wave she did, smiling as if she’d known the individual her whole life.
Browsing the aisles, she picked up what she came for, and more items than she’d intended. After having written non-stop for so long, the house needed a thorough cleaning. She picked up some Mr. Clean, other cleansers and some carpet freshener. As she walked slowly with loaded arms, she heard the store bell jingle. Another customer. Or a few more by the sounds of it. Girls in the group, because their infectious giggling and chatter carried easily to the isle she was in. Then she heard a deep voice among them. Deep with a soft confidence. Then giggling again. She stopped and made a face. She knew the sound of flirting from a mile away. Something instinctive told her to brace herself. As her presence joined the others in the store, the three young girls harnessed their nervous energy from vying for the attention of the hunk now looking her way. She pretended not to notice him, which wasn’t hard to do, since she was about to drop one or two of her items. “Are you gonna make it?” Jill, the cashier, asked as Sylvie rushed to the small counter. She didn’t make it. Two items hit the floor, and of course, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dashing had to be the perfect gentlemen. “Here, let me help you,” he offered. Bending down before her, she swore she saw a grin. I was right! He’s a grinning, arrogant ham! she fumed in thought, but smiled and said, “Thank you, I always do that. Come for a few things and overload myself,” she finished as he stood placing the items on the counter in front of her. “No problem.” He looked her straight in the eyes and grinned, as if he knew what she was thinking. Now she really didn’t like him. The second smile she cut him was sarcastic and quick, turning away from him as Jill rang up her goods.
“How’s that book coming? Done yet?” Jill asked, politely making conversation as she always did, but this time it irritated Sylvia. She wanted to pay and go. She had that nagging feeling on the back of her neck that he was peering at her. Sizing her up. Checking her out. Categorizing her to determine her type. Jerk, she thought as her bill was totaled.
“I just have to do a final sweep of the material to clean it up of the typos. Stuff like that,” she answered, flailing her hand to dismiss the topic. Jill bagged her groceries.
“You’re a writer?”
See! That’s why she wanted to get out of there. She knew that was going to happen. She just knew it. She didn’t want to give this man anything on her, or about her, but politeness was the core of her being. Faked or not. “Just trying to be. Haven’t succeeded in anything yet,” she answered and grabbed her bag, heading for the door, not waiting for more conversation. “See ya, Jill.” She was out. From her peripheral, she could see the three young girls watching her and him curiously. Not to worry, girls”¦have at him was her exiting thought.
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