America's Bravest (9 page)

Because on the bed was a sight to behold.

The bedroom looked like any normal one in a
modest home, except that a gray-haired man was handcuffed to the
four poster. Both his legs and arms were bound. He was totally
naked. Rachel bit her lip at the sight of his floppy penis. An
assortment of sex toys graced the nightstand. Two women were off to
the side, dressed in robes, their makeup smeared, their hair a
mess. She guessed them to be in their fifties, too. This was a Sex
Call. All fire departments got them once in awhile, and details of
the events were passed around year after year.

“What’s going on here?” Gabe asked gruffly,
stifling his mirth.

“We, um, were having some Morning Delight, I
think you called it, didn’t you, Henry?”

“Yeah. Hey, my chest hurts.”

“Probably a heart attack from too much
excitement,” Felicia muttered under her breath.

Already at his bedside, Brody took out a
stethoscope.

Gabe asked, “Why didn’t you unlock him?”

“The key dropped into the register behind the
bed,” one of the women told him, her face flushing.

Gabe ordered saws brought in.

“And call 911,” Brody ordered. “I think this
is serious.”

Rachel and Tony brought back a power and
handsaw. Sydney was with Brody at this point, giving mouth-to-mouth
on the guy.

“Heart stopped,” Gabe said. “Hurry.”

Power saw sounds rent the air, making
Rachel’s teeth hurt. But her blade cut through the metal like
butter. Then they worked on his feet bindings. By the time the
ambulance came, Brody and Syd had him breathing again, he was free
of his restraints and the women were cooing over him.

“All right, we’re done here.” This from Gabe.
“I’ll meet you all at the truck.” Rachel let the others go but
stayed back while Gabe approached the women. “Ma’ams. Next time you
do this, have a spare set of keys.”

“Oh, we will, won’t we, Mona? Can’t have
anything happening to our dear Henry.”

Gabe turned and Rachel saw his cheek was
puckered. He was biting the inside of his jaw. “Come on
Wellington,” he said and took her elbow to hurry her out. They
reached the back of the truck before the laughter bubbled out. The
others were already hysterical. “Holy hell,” Gabe got out. “They
sound like they’re at a garden party.”

“And they’re no spring chickens.” Felicia
said.

“Yeah, Cap, they gotta be your age. Didn’t
know the elder set went in for kink.”

“I already forgot more than you’ll ever know,
O’Malley.”

Swells of laughter. When it subsided, he
said, “Okay, back on the truck.”

When he turned to the rig, Gabe’s eyes rested
on Rachel. They twinkled. Then, without his conscious consent, she
guessed, they dropped to her breasts.

And she remembered how true his response to
Brody was. He knew a lot about how to please a woman.

oOo

Gabe’s Blog

Hours of Boredom and Seconds of Terror.

You’ve probably heard the saying before, maybe
applied to soldiers in war, but it’s true about the daily life of a
firefighter, too. Every time we come to work, we wait around for a
fire call (sometimes an hour, sometimes five minutes) only to be
faced with flames that can burn at 451 degrees Fahrenheit, walls
collapsing, searching for victims in smoke so thick and black it
blinds you. We suffer all kinds of maladies from headaches to
cancer from inhaling noxious chemicals that we’re exposed to every
day. We come back to the firehouse, ill and exhausted. At that
point, we need to crash.

Recently, on a blog which shall not be named, we
were criticized for attending a birthday party for one of our sons
on our day off. Not unlike teachers, whom I have the utmost respect
for, people don’t understand the necessity of downtime, and the
reasons for it. Every day the fire department is asked to take on
more responsibility. Recently, it’s been as first responders to
terrorist attacks. (Do I need to go into details about what
America’s Bravest did on 9/11?) Every local fire department has
learned more about dirty bombs, anthrax, skyscraper rescue than we
thought we’d ever need to know. EMS used to be part of the
ambulance crew’s responsibility, but now all firefighters are
trained EMTs and paramedics. We conduct classes in school on fire
safety, interface with the community and participate in parades and
benefits for the city. The list goes on. We also have to eat
together in case we get a call, which happens during a meal
frequently. Hence you see us shopping for food to cook at the
firehouse, or occasionally we take a lunch at a restaurant. We’ve
been known to pay our bill, only to have to leave it in the middle
for a call. I will NOT apologize when you see us out in the
community breaking bread together.

Finally, I’d like to say a word about our Fire
Belles. In my opinion, they are the bravest, strongest and most
accomplished women in the city. They do what was always known as a
man’s job, and they do it well. The fact that you see them out
dancing in pretty dresses speaks even more highly of the ability of
women to be feminine and do a dirty job like ours. You’ve seen them
profiled on this site, heard their stories. Listen carefully to
what they say. They are our beloved sisters and we treat them as
such. You should, too.

Sincerely,

Captain Gabe Malvaso, Rescue 7.

After reading the blog Gabe handed out later
that day, Rachel took the paper, went into the bathroom and
cried.

On the last day of their tour, a voice came
over the PA system. “Rescue 7, Quint and Midi 9 go into service.
Backup needed at the scene of an accident on 490. Multiple vehicles
involved. Three alarm.” Which meant three fire houses were ordered
in. The call was a big deal.

The six firefighters of Rescue 7 rushed to
the bay, empty of all but their truck. Jumping into turnout pants
and boots that were set up and waiting, they climbed into the rig
and were out of the station house in three minutes. Ramirez drove
with the siren blaring, while Gabe read the printout he’d ripped
from the computer on his way from the station house. Rachel
nervously ran her fingers over the soft material of her Nomex hood,
and she noted how most of her group were fidgeting.

“Tanker overturned, so there’s a gas spill,”
he told them. “Engine 4’s on site with foam. Three cars skidded off
and hit guardrails. Multiple passengers.”

They made it to the site in under five
minutes. Thankfully, cops had arrived and shut down the highway to
prevent harm to rescue personnel. Ryan O’Malley was in charge.
Rachel was glad because despite his playboy image, he was good at
his job and they needed people to respect the rescue ground.

“Get out the tools while I head to Incident
Command,” Gabe said. “Looks like Chief Callahan is in charge.”

Sure enough, the top firefighter was
directing the action. Tall and robust in the morning sunlight, he
was commanding action to the assembled rescue personnel.

“Must be bad,” Brody commented.

In minutes, Gabe returned. “We got the white
SUV. Let’s go.”

Brody grabbed his Advanced Life Support
medical bag and the others took a variety of tools to the vehicle.
A firefighter from Quint 5 brought over a stepladder as they
reached the Cherokee, which was tipped on its side.

Loud crying shrilled from the interior. Shit!
Kids were trapped. Rachel couldn’t see into the backseat because of
the car’s angle; it was taller than all of them.

“Kids are screaming, so they’re alive,” Gabe
called out.

Felicia circled to the front of the vehicle.
“Female driver’s slumped over the wheel.”

“Do nothing until we stabilize the SUV.”
Gabe’s voice was strong and sure. Like always, his calm tone made
everybody feel confident while the others waited. Holding off was
excruciating in situations where work had to be done before they
could pull out victims and most firefighters had difficulty staying
back.

While the captain and Lieutenant assessed the
situation, the rest of them ran back to the rig and yanked off big
blocks of wood, called chocking. When they returned, they had the
car secure in seconds.

“White and Sands, cut out the front window,”
Gabe ordered. He glanced at the others. “We need somebody light on
top. Wellington, climb up and tape the glass. Ramirez and O’Malley,
stand by for victims.”

With the sound of screams in her head, Rachel
removed her turnout coat and hurried up the ladder that Gabe
heeled; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ryan O’Malley
bringing over a backboard. Brody handed her up tape so she could
stripe the window, which would keep the glass from shattering on
the kids. With a razor-sharp knife they also provided, she cut the
pane around its edges then moved aside as it fell backward. She
went feet first through the opening and found two kids strapped in
car seats. She maneuvered in front of the closest. The boy was
about three and wailed into her ears while she un-clicked the seat
belt. Brody was on the car now and handed her a neck brace. The
child fought it, but Rachel won. As carefully as she could, she
drew him out of the seat and he got a stranglehold on her neck.
“Easy, buddy,” she said kissing his head. “I’m here. You’re going
to be all right.” She managed to hoist him up to O’Malley, who
lifted the kid to safety.

Then she froze. The other child had stopped
crying.

Vaguely aware of the Felicia and Syd removing
the woman from the front, Rachel slid over to the second car seat.
The child of only a few months lay with his head lolling to the
side. She took his pulse. He wasn’t breathing. Tilting his chin
back, she executed a jaw thrust maneuver she’d done before but not
on anyone this small. From above, she heard Gabe call out, “What’s
going on Wellington?”

Glancing up, she saw him through the window,
on top of the car. “Kid’s not breathing,” she said, massaging his
tiny chest, then began giving him mouth-to-mouth. Once, twice,
three times.

“That’s right, Rachel,” Gabe said calmly.
“Give him air to revive him before you try to get him out.”

Suddenly, what sounded like firecracker came
from the front of the truck, and Gabe slipped and fell to his
knees. The car rocked. She heard shouts from people outside.

“Get away.”

“Abandon the vehicle.”

“It’s going to blow.”

Gabe yelled, “There’s fire near the engine.
Out now, Wellington.”

“I can’t.” She gave the kid more air. These
seconds were crucial for the boy to survive.

“Now!” the cap said.

“Please, Gabe.”

“Three more seconds.”

“One…”

“Two…”

“Thr…”

The baby started coughing. Rachel yanked him
from the seat—thank God he wasn’t stuck—and handed him to Gabe.
There was no time for a collar or backboard.

Gabe gave the baby to somebody, told whoever
to run and grabbed Rachel under the arms. He got her up and out
enough so she could scramble down on her own. Everybody else was a
safe distance away.

Grabbing Rachel by the hand, saying, “Run!”
he kept hold of her as they dashed away. They were clear when the
car burst into flames.

All six of them froze, Gabe and Rachel on
their knees now.

“Jesus!” Felicia said, “That was close.”

“Dios Mio.”

“The woman?” Gabe asked.

O’Malley answered. “Broken collarbone but she
and the other kid have no life-threatening injuries.”

“The baby?” Rachel’s voice was squeaky.

“In the ambulance, but he was breathing,”
Sands said. “Woo-hoo, Wellington, you got a save.”

“We all got a save.”

They let the emotion bubble out. Adrenaline
ran high. Hugs all around. More firefighters and some cops
surrounded them, slapping them on the backs, offering genuine
praise for their actions.

When he got free, Gabe picked Rachel up in a
big bear hug. “Way to go, Princess.”

She held on tight. Breathed in the firm,
solid, and once again,
alive
feeling of him. “Thanks,
Gabe.”

His arms stayed round her. “I thought I was
gonna lose you.”

Before she could answer, the group crowded
them again. But she knew what her answer would be. She thought he’d
die, too. And that wasn’t something neither could ignore.

oOo

They met up at Badges after their shift
ended. The roomy bar was crowded and the rumble of conversation,
some of it loud, filled the air. People were generous tonight with
high fives and toasts as several firefighters gathered at tables
analyzing what had happened at the accident scene. The tanker
driver made it and the victims survived.

Opinion bubbled out of the rescuers who
included the cops.

“Man, I knew that tank was gonna blow.…”

“The foam around the tanker needed two coats
to smother the flame.…

“The SUV was toast. I was sure some of us
were gonna buy it.…”

Miraculously, no firefighters had been hurt.
Everything was good. Grateful, Rachel only half listened to the
cheerful comments. Instead she watched Gabe in the corner of the
room, talking on the phone. He’d showered off the grime and, like
all of them, was dressed in civilian clothes—soft denim jeans, like
her, and a tight, black, long-sleeved shirt.

He’d taken a flurry of calls during the hour
or so they’d been at the bar and reported how psyched the brass
was, how a local news station had been on scene and pictures of the
rescue had gone viral on the ’net, which should shut up Parker
Allen for a while. As she remembered how Gage had trusted her
judgment, how he’d held her close after they were safe, she was
stunned by a sharp pang of the hopelessness over their situation.
So she snuck away to the Ladies’ Room.

It’s only hopeless if you let it be,
an inner voice commented.

There’s nothing I can do.