“New construction,” Durvan said when he’d exited his truck and stood surveying the house. “No brick to hold in the heat, but no protection against the updraft a fire inside would create. Harley thinks there’s an explosive device inside. I’m calling in the bomb squad.”
Noah wasn’t responding. He had turned to the task of donning the rest of his equipment, making certain every piece fit and lay flat, the many layers of protection against flames essential for safety. He didn’t fight fires anymore, but he did go into active burn sites that were deemed suspicious in order to collect evidence before it was destroyed. The drill had been with him so long it was muscle memory, eliminating every other thought.
“Here.” Durvan tossed him a helmet shield and breathing apparatus from the back of his own truck. “You might need extra gear. But I wish you’d wait until we can get a truck over here and get a hose line started.”
Noah shook his head. “There’s no fire. They won’t spare a truck when they are fighting to save occupied houses. I’m going in now.”
“Then take this.” Durvan handed him a backpack full of flame retardant with a short hose and wand attached. “Don’t be a fool. If it’s not doing the job, come out.”
No one said what they all knew. They hadn’t brought bomb squad gear with them. Noah was taking what the other men thought was an unnecessary risk, without knowing for certain a person was inside. But there was no way to know that without first entering.
“I’ll take the door.” Mark had suited up and was holding an ax, the kind used to break through doors and rooftops.
Noah eyed him closely. “You’re sure you want to do this?”
“Bomb squad on the way.” Durvan was shouting from the open door of his truck. “ETA fifteen minutes.”
“Too long.”
Mark nodded. “Let’s go get her.”
With Harley tucked safely away in Mark’s truck, they approached.
Mark hit the doorframe with the ax, splintering wood and shattering what was probably a very expensive door.
The explosion, buffered by the half-open door, still managed to force both men back a step. But Noah kept going, right into the heart of the new conflagration. Carly was in there. He was going to get her out.
The house was filling quickly with smoke. Whatever explosive device J.W. had used was only to ignite the accelerant that saturated the main floor. He could smell the gasoline even through his breathing apparatus. New houses were made of materials that ignited easily and burned quickly. Even without drapes and furnishings, the house would be up in flames within a few moments. As he made his way across the floor, the swoosh of flames appeared all at once, in every room. The smoke gathered quickly as wallboard and laminated wood flooring burned. Where to begin looking?
He braced himself for the worst, and went back to school in his head.
The thing about primary searches is this. You’ll be going in for live victims, often before the first hose is full. It’s not like in the movies. Flames don’t dance around behind and in front of you, backlighting your fellow firefighters like goblins in a Halloween cartoon. The flames don’t show you stairs or furnishings, or holes in the flooring. There’s only smoke. You can’t see shit. But you can feel things. Like heat. Lots of it pressing in everywhere.
So far, that wasn’t his problem in an empty shell of a house. There was only a light smoke condition.
It should have made him feel better but it didn’t. Poisons from flames were often invisible and could kill before heat ever became a problem.
Noah heard movement behind him, probably Mark coming through the door, but he didn’t waste time to check. He headed methodically from the entry with its eight-foot ceiling through to the living room, his classroom still functioning.
A primary search begins as close to the fire as possible.
He turned a corner with a curved wall and came to a stop. A mattress lay in the middle of the family room floor. It was in full flame, yellow licks rising three full feet in the air. He couldn’t see a body but he didn’t waste time evaluating.
Swearing savagely, he hit the blaze with flame retardant.
“Jesus!” Mark’s voice came through his radio though he was at Noah’s side. He added his efforts to Noah’s.
But Noah was moving again. Carly was not lying in the bed that he knew Cody had meant to be her funeral pyre. Heart pounding so loudly he could hardly think, he headed for the bedroom. Go to school, he told himself.
If someone is still alive in here, where would they most likely be?
He came upon a closed door.
You can’t see shit. But you’ll hear things.
He heard something. At least, he thought he did.
He couldn’t say why, but he thought the sound came from there.
He pushed through, aware that the fire was climbing walls behind him.
Nothing in the bedroom.
And then he heard it again. A voice. A woman’s scream.