Fire Born (Firehouse 343) (15 page)

“Sorry we’re late
,” the platoon lieutenant said as he climbed down out of the engine’s passenger seat and removed his helmet. “We had to put the hose through the windows of a parked car that was blocking the hydrant. Got into it with the owner about how the
DoF
would
not
be paying for the damages, and how if he didn’t want a damn ticket for parking illegally, he’d best shut his trap and suck it up.”

Chris snorted. “And did he?”

“Of course not, the impudent little
prick
,” Lt. Eldon said, echoing his snort. “Not
only did the moron argue with me, he took a swing at me. So not only is he
gonna
be paying a fine for being parked in front of the hydrant, he’s spending the evening in jail for assaulting a public servant in the course of his duty. Cop that responded even said he might charge him with obstruction just for the fun of it.”

The men who were listening to the story laughed. Chris laughed too, and he liked the feeling. It felt good to be amused by the everyday stupidity of the average American idiot
, and for just a brief moment, he forgot how much it hurt that Calvin wasn’t there to laugh with him.

Shaking his head, he asked, “Any idea how the fire started?”

Eldon snorted. “An unattended candle got knocked over by a two year old.
Nobody got hurt, thank goodness, so hopefully that kid’s mother has learned a lesson.
”

Chris nodded, t
he unexpected ri
nging of his cell phone startling
him. Pulling it out of his pocket, he glanced at the ID screen and saw Logan’s cell number. He knew before he flipped the phone open and put it to his ear that something was wrong, so his greeting was a harsh, “What happened?”

“We have a little problem,” Logan replied slowly.

Chris could hear Martie in the background, though what she said was unintelligible. It sounded something like, “Little my ass.”

“What. Happened,” he demanded again.

“You know that
hole
Football poked in the stairs leading to the second-floor landing? Well, your cute little Italian girlfriend
kinda
fell into it.”

“What?!”
Chris yelled,
his voice reverberating in the open space of the garage
. “I fucking sent you with her to make sure that exact kind of thing didn’t happen, Airborne!”

“I know… Just a second,” Logan said,
then
he heard Martie again. “Yeah, he’s pissed…
No, not at you.
He’s pissed at me.”

“Damn right—wait, she thinks I’m mad at her?”

Logan sighed over the phone. “She’s not looking forward to the inevitable ‘I told you so’, that’s for sure.”

“Is Martie all right?” he asked, trying hard to keep both anger and worry in check.

“She’s wedged into the stair tread—both legs. Right leg’s straight through to mid-thigh, left went through on bended knee. I tried pulling her out but it only made it worse. Wait… What, Martie? Shit.”

It was all he could do not to crush the phone in his hand. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“She said her left leg is starting to go numb. We need Football and Terry to come out in the rescue u
nit. Looks like we’ll need the
Halligan
and some rope—let’s hope we don’t
have to cut her out.”

“Football and I will be there in five minutes.”

Every muscle in his body was taut, like a coiled wire about to snap. His concern for Martie both thrilled and worried him—Chris realized he was already falling deep if he was this scared over a woman he barely knew. But at the same time he kind of liked it,
because it was really nice to
give a damn about someone other than himself or the men on his crew. He just hoped like hell that she proved to be worth it, because he honestly wasn’t up to dealing with another bad break up. He’d already had more than his fair share of those.

They’d left Rick, Terry, and the volunteer at the station, Chris having grabbed his gear and running full tilt over to the rescue truck seconds before Football.
Lt. Eldon said he’d leave a couple of his guys on for backup until they returned. He’d barely acknowledged that
offer
before he climbe
d behind the wheel of Rescue 3
and pulled out of the station, Football still in the process of closing the passenger door.

Thankfully his friend didn’t try to placate him with platitudes. He didn’t want to hear “She’ll be all right.” He wanted to see it—to make sure of it—for himself.
Based on Logan’s description of her condition, Martie wasn’t in any immediate danger—the accident hadn’t caused any life-threatening injuries. But if her leg was going numb it could mean she was fast losing circulation in her leg, which if not restored in due time could lead to the loss of that leg. Chris berated himself for thinking like that. Martie would be fine. She had to be.

Though he didn’t actually use it, Chris had been tempted to flip on the siren. He wanted to let people know he was in a damn hurry to get somewhere, something people often didn’t acknowledge when they saw only the lights flashing. Today, however, it seemed the odds were in his favor, and the lights were all he needed to get drivers to move out of his way.

He screeched to a halt behind Martie’s
Sorento
and jumped out, saying to Football as his feet hit the ground, “Grab the
Halligan
, the K12, and some rope.”

“
Got it, Captain,” Football replied, already turning to open the equipment lockers as Chris raced into the apartment building.

He saw Logan sitting with Martie, his hands in the leg jammed into the hole by the knee. “What the hell are you doing?” he yelled as he came closer.

“Hello to you too,” Martie said sourly.

“I’m massaging her leg to help keep the blood flowing,” Logan said casually.

“I started getting t
hat pins and needles
feeling,” she added. “I’m already uncomfortable enough, so I asked him to just rub it a little. It’s helped.”

Chris moved up the steps to kneel in front of her, tilting her chin so he could see he
r face. “How are you,
sweetheart
?” he asked softly.

“Honestly?” she returned. “My left leg is numb, despite the genuine efforts of your former Army paratrooper. I can feel my right foot swelling due to its hanging down into nothing, my hands are stinging from getting scraped in this gunk on the stairs, and my back is already killing me from being in this position
though it’s only been about fifteen minutes.”

The corner of her mouth turned up then, and she looked at him with a wicked gleam in her eye. “Oh, and if anyone’s at fault for this fiasco, I’d say it’s you.”

He quirked an eyebrow.
“This is my fault…how, exactly?” he asked.

“Well, let’s review: You ordered your pal to accompany me despite my assurances I could manage without him. Had you not done so, he’d not have been here to show an apparent interest in the finer points of arson investigation. In turn, I’d not have been
focused more on satisfying his curiosity than on watching where I was going.”

Chris fought back a laugh,
casting a quick scowl at Logan
who’d snorted in a poor attempt to hide his own mirth. Looking back at Martie, he said, “Do you mean to tell me you can’t walk and talk at the same time?”

She tried vainly to maneuver her face into a scowl and failed, then gave in and laughed. “Look, blaming you for being overprotective is easier on my wounded ego than admitting I should have paid better attention to where I was putting my feet.”

Martie sobered then and added, “I really have been to places like this on my own before. Hell, I’ve been to worse on my own.
I can’t believe I did this. I’m so freaking embarrassed right now.”

Sighing, Chris replied, “Don’t be. It was an accident that could have happened to any one of us. And if it makes you feel any better, go ahead and blame me. Or blame Football—it was his fat foot that created the hole in the first place.”

Martie looked around him and he turned, looking over his shoulder. Football was standing below them with a coil of rope over his shoulder, the K12 saw in one hand, and a
Halligan
bar in the other. His countenance suggested that he thought Chris was full of it.

“Anytime you want to get started, give me a heads-up. I don’t think your girl wants to spend the night there, but hey, what do I know?” he said lightly.

“Uh, no.
This is definitely
not
where I’d rather be spending the night, thanks,” Martie replied.

Chris turned to her with a questioning look, to which she responded with a raised eyebrow
and the barest hint of a smile
. He had an idea what might have been going through her mind right then, but he wasn’t about to ask her about it with witnesses present.

Nodding, he stood at last and turned again to Footba
ll. “Hand me the rope. I’d like
to get it around her so she doesn’t fall further when we open the stair up.”

“Got it, Captain,” the other man replied, pulling the rope from his shoulder and passing up to him.

“Captain?”
Logan queried.

“He doesn’t mean Captain Caveman,” Martie quipped, and the two of them laughed.

“
If you really want me to, I’ll show you how caveman I can be,” Chris retorted as he drew out a length of the rope and then wrapped the end around it to create a slipknot. “But first, I’ve got to get you out of the stairs.”

“So? Care to enlighten an enquiring mind?” Logan pressed.

“Take this,” Chris said, handing him the open end of the rope. “
Ed
Brostack
told Bob Dresden this morning that he had to replace Calvin as captain of the 343. Because Cal had already named me his second-in-command, Bob offered the captaincy to me.”

Logan snorted again. “I got two things to say about that: One,
Brostack
is a prick. Cal’s not even cold in the ground yet, and he’s itching to replace him. That’s some bullshit, man. Two, now that you’re the captain you can push for my transfer to the 343. I want to go with.”

“I’m a couple steps ahead of you, Airborne,” Chris replied,
then
looked down at
Martie. “Lift your hands for me, one at a time, so I can slip this over you.”

Martie nodded and lifted her right hand. He slipped the loop over her arm and around her head as she put her hand back down,
then
drew it over her left arm when she lifted the hand on that side. Leaning over her, he checked his knot again and
pulled the slack through so that the loop was tight against her body
.

“Logan, back up on the landing but leave just a little slack,” he instructed.

“Got it,” Logan replied, wrapping his end of the rope around his waist and backing up. “So what couple of steps ahead are you?”

Martie chuckled. “Persiste
nt, isn’t he?” she asked.

Both Chris and Football laughed, the latter replying, “You have no idea.”

Chris turned and held his hand out again. Football passed him the
Halligan
. “Airborne, you and Football are going to be two of my lieutenants. I want men I know and trust in charge of my shifts,” he said as he turned back.

Logan grinned hugely. “Hey Martie—guess he’s not so pissed at me anymore. Here I let his girlfriend fall through a hole and I still got a promotion. Damn I’m good.”

Martie shook her head and laughed as Chris scowled
. “Keep talking like that and I might just change my mind.”

“Shutting up now,” Logan said cheekily.

Chris looked down then to see precisely how Martie was wedged into the stair tread. The hole wasn’t really that big and neither was she, but unfortunately she was bigger
than the hole
. He didn’t see anywhere that he could fit the fork
ed
end of the
Halligan
into the hole to pry the tread up.

But maybe he could split it along its length. “Football, you didn’t happen to bring the baby sledge,
did
you?” he asked, turning to look at the man below him.

Football grinned and pulled the heavy one-handed sledge hammer from a hook on his belt. “Come on, man. You know I think of everything.”

“Thanks,” Chris replied, taking the tool from him and turning back to face Martie. “I’m going to try splitting the tread. Holler if anything I do
causes
you pain.”

“Believe me, I will,” she said.

Nodding, he placed the claw
of the
Halligan
bar a couple of inches from Martie’s left thigh, where the wood would be weakest.
“Airborne, get ready,” he called out, and m
aki
ng sure he had a firm grip on the bar
, he hefted the sledge and swung down
on the pick and blade. The step split along its length just as he’d hoped, from the edge of the hole all the way over to the wall. Setting the hammer on the landing, he shifted the
Halligan
toward the wall and started pushing it back and forth to separate the pieces.