Pulling himself into the back step, Kellan sucked in a few rounds of inhale/exhale to meter his pulse as he slung his headset into place and began to gear up. Gamble swiveled a lightning-fast three-sixty through the engine’s interior, his eyes landing on Kellan, then their rookie Slater beside him before giving Shae the signal to haul balls out of the engine bay.
“Okay, boys and girls. Let’s see what we’ve got,” Gamble clipped through the mic, hitting the words with enough volume to be heard over the wail of the sirens and the rattle and whoosh of the interior vehicle noise. He turned his attention to the display screen on the dashboard, scrolling through the updates from dispatch. “House fire, and from the sound of things, not a small one. Dispatch has a report of flames showing on the entire first floor and some kind of explosion. Huh,” he added, his voice hitching in surprise. “That’s weird. Only one nine-one-one call.”
“Really?” Slater asked, pausing with one arm halfway through his coat. “On a Saturday morning? With an explosion?”
The rookie was right. That wasn’t just weird. It was fucking crazy.
Shae’s honey-colored ponytail swung from the back of one shoulder to the other as she checked the intersection in front of them and hung a sharp right. “Oakmont Boulevard marks the eastern edge of North Point. That neighborhood is as bad as it gets. People tend to mind their own business and not much else around there.”
Kellan pictured the layout of their call area in his mind’s eye, and damn, looked like weird was just their jumping-off point today. “Why the hell did we get called all the way out there? Isn’t that Station Twelve’s territory?”
“Dunno,” Gamble said. “Might be the hazmat though. Squad always gets dibs on those calls, and if the fire’s big enough, the guys from Twelve will be there, too. Speaking of which, this is a hazmat situation. Dispatch has the nine-one-one caller IDing the house as having a meth lab inside, so we’re gonna have to be on our toes. Gear up and get your shit together.”
“Copy that,” Kellan said into the mic, Shae and Slater’s identical response layering in with his over the headset. He put his senses on full alert as he shouldered into the heavy material of his coat and fastened the thing without looking. Following with the rest of his gear, he looked over at Slater to make sure the guy was all systems go with both his equipment and the nerves that had to be filling the kid to the goddamn brim right now.
Not that Kellan didn’t get it. On this job, you were either scared or you lacked a pulse. The trick was learning how to throw your fear back like a double shot of Crown Royal and not let the afterburn kick your ass for the effort.
Inhale on a three-count. Exhale to five. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Focus.
Kellan reached out to slide open the small window at his side. Breathing in, he took in every detail of the surroundings flying by him, from the bright blue sky to the crisp morning air that said autumn had truly arrived. The tightly knit buildings on both sides of the city streets made getting a clear visual on the fire’s smoke-line tough, but the sharp, charred-ash scent beginning to filter in through the window made the back of Kellan’s neck prickle.
Here we go.
17
“Looks like we’re first on-scene,” Gamble said, pointing through the engine’s windshield at the empty street in front of them, and Kellan didn’t waste any time taking in the details. Small, squat houses lined either side of the narrow strip of pavement, each one in various states of dinginess or disrepair. A thick haze of gray smoke blanketed the block, chugging steadily from a two-story cottage midway up the street, and whoa, fighting this fire was going to be a goddamn chore. Not that he and everyone else from Seventeen wouldn’t rise to the challenge of kicking this thing’s ass, but they were going to sweat for every penny of today’s paycheck.
Kellan shouldered into the harness of his SCBA tank, his heavy-soled boots thudding to the asphalt the second Shae pulled the engine to a stop in front of the house. Bright orange flames illuminated each of the four main-level windows in angry, persistent streaks, their color a direct contrast to the dark smoke funneling up toward the roofline. The second floor looked pretty intact, but with how fast this fire seemed to be moving, he was shit-sure that wouldn’t last.
The radio on his shoulder crackled to life. “Alright, people,” came Captain Bridges’ voice over the line from the spot where he stood twenty paces away in full gear. “Dispatch has a report of a methamphetamine lab on the premises, so mask up and proceed with care. Hawk, Gates, get a vent on that roof. Dempsey, you and Faurier take Walker and McCullough for search and rescue. Gamble, you’re on the nozzle with Slater once the house is clear. Go to work.”