A fire alarm interrupted his speech in the middle, and, as the state-of-the-art, best-in-class sprinkler system rained down, the teachers hustled them all out in a frantic rush to re-board the HowBuses that had ferried them here from the Chokely Bradford campus in South Crookbridge. It turned out to be a burned grilled cheese in the museum cafeteria, nothing so glamorous as a dragon, the forgettable end to a forgettable field trip for the other boys. But something about Trank stuck with Ripple. Humphrey called Trank “a doer, not a leader,” but even he had a twinge of admiration in his voice. It bummed Ripple out when he heard about the fire that did Trank in: about six months ago, his men abandoned him in a dragon blaze at the Gemini towers to lead the mutiny that finally shut down the fire department for good.
Now, in the lobby of the Fire Museum, Ripple points at Trank’s enormous portrait on the wall, at the landing of the staircase. It’s done in oil, maybe even by the same painter who did Humphrey’s for the Hall of Ancestors: the same style anyway, lots of woodwork in the background and a fancy gold frame. In it, Trank holds his parade helmet under one arm, his rough-hewn features—hawkish nose, piercing quicksilver eyes, cleft chin—glowing like he’s on the receiving end of a coronation.
“I met that guy once,” Ripple tells Leather Lungs. “He talked to my underschool class.”
Leather Lungs gazes up at the portrait. For a moment, he’s so still he could be another statue, man-made, a posture of grief and reverence suspended out of time.
Then, with a final, deflating exhalation, Leather Lungs unfilters his face.
Hawkish nose, quicksilver eyes, cleft chin: the data say it’s Paxton Trank, a dead ringer for his portrait across the lobby. And yet—and yet. Something is missing: not the stubble, which glitters gray; not the bushy tufts of eyebrow; not the wrinkles, a rugged terrain of emotion around his eyes, across his brow. None of these are missing, and yet something is missing from all of them.
He is not human.
Abby squeezes Ripple’s arm with sudden death-grip intensity. Her voice glitches, nonsense syllables, all consonants stammering: “Dddd…nnnn…cccckkk…”
Ripple blinks. Leather Lungs can take the form of anyone—your best friend, your dad, your childhood hero. But he is a messenger from one place only.
“No offense, but—since when are you alive?”
Trank pulls off his gloves, one at a time. His hands underneath are broad, callused and sinewy, nothing uncanny there. “My own men left me to die. But I didn’t.”
“No way. I saw your funeral. I watched it on the Toob at underschool. Closed coffin, but still. We were supposed to wear black armbands, but I couldn’t find mine so I tied on a black sock instead, except it had rockets on it, which is supposedly disrespect for the dead. I spent all of recess in detention.”
“Recess? That’s for children. This was six months ago.”
“Study hall, whatever. I think you owe me an apology. Unless…” Ripple leaves the word hanging. But Trank doesn’t fess up to his ghosthood—and besides, there’s nothing disembodied about him. If something is missing from that face, it’s the soul.
“If they wanted to kill me, they shouldn’t have counted on a fire.”
Ripple can’t put his finger on it. Maybe Trank had reconstructive surgery? His body moves like a human’s as he unsnaps the slicker, bundles it and the Tarnhelm into the hot-dog cart, but when he turns to smile at Ripple and Abby, his expression is just a little off. It’s like he still has on a mask.
“I’d give you the full tour, but it sounds like you already know the place,” he tells Ripple. “Maybe you’d rather kick back and watch a show.”
* * *
FADE IN:
EXT. CITY STREET—DAY
CLOSE on a firefighter’s helmet.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
President Roswell once said that bravery isn’t the absence of fear. Bravery is acting despite your fear.
CLOSE on a firefighter’s boot, stamping out the last glowing ember on a rubble-strewn sidewalk.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Firefighters live Roswell’s vision…and take it to a whole new level.
ZOOM OUT to reveal a trio of handsome, square-jawed FIREFIGHTERS, streaked with soot, gazing resolutely at the camera.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
We fight fire. We fight fear.
CUT TO:
INT. BURNING BUILDING—DAY
One of the FIREFIGHTERS runs in slow motion down a burning hallway.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
But bravery is more.
The FIREFIGHTER kicks in a door. A MILF and CHILD cower in one corner of the smoke-filled room. He dramatically gestures for them to follow.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Bravery is fighting doubt, anger, frustration. Sometimes even common sense.
The FIREFIGHTER, MILF, and CHILD run a flight of stairs to safety, but once outside, the CHILD hesitates, her eyes filling with tears. The FIREFIGHTER looks at her and understands. He runs back inside the burning building. The MILF gasps and swoons.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Bravery is doing the thing you don’t want to do, for the simple reason that you don’t want to do it.
EXT. CITY STREET—NIGHT
The FIREFIGHTER reemerges from the inferno, holding an adorable kitten. The CHILD grins. The MILF, half-revived, parts her lips in an expression of melting admiration.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
It’s heroism for its own sake.
CLOSE UP on the kitten, happily meowing.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Bravery is obedience.
EXT. URBAN PARK—DAY
A phalanx of FIREFIGHTERS marches by, holding hatchets, as a FIRE CHIEF barks orders.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Obedience lets you focus on being brave, instead of on being right.
INT. FIERY MATERNITY WARD—DAY
A FIREMAN runs down a fiery hallway full of stunned pregnant women, hugging a BABY to his chest.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
When a burning hospital is collapsing all around you, you can’t afford to hesitate.
CLOSE on the sickly, bright-pink face of the premature BABY.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Hesitation sends babies to Limbo. That’s why your squad captain is trained to do the thinking for you. His orders free you to do your best. To be. A hero.
The FIREMAN runs toward an open window. He leans his head and shoulders out, pauses, then drops the premature BABY.
CUT TO:
EXT. CITY STREET—DAY
An older SQUAD CAPTAIN easily catches the baby and gazes down at it lovingly. He gives the FIREMAN a thumbs-up.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Because a hero doesn’t stop to think. A hero does.
CLOSE ON the premature BABY’s amphibious, fetal hand, also giving a tiny thumbs-up.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
Bravery is character.
CUT TO:
EXT. BURNING SKYSCRAPER—DAY
A FIREMAN zips on a heavy-duty fireproof suit and gas mask, grabs two huge canisters marked Fire Suppressant Powder and lies down in a catapult.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
The character to take the heat.
The catapult launches the FIREMAN at the building, into the heart of the flames.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
And to go the distance.
Other FIREMEN and BYSTANDERS cheer as the fire extinguishes itself in a cloud of billowing white.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
You’re following in the footsteps of the firemen who came before you…
EXT. SEPIA-TONED, LONG AGO CITY STREET—DAY
A group of FIREMEN tumble over one another, their movements made comically jittery by the undercranked frame rate as they struggle to drag a gigantic hose out from their antiquated, steam-powered fire engine.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
…and inspiring generations of firemen to come.
MONTAGE, as music swells, of happy, victorious FIREMEN: atop fire escapes and ladders; drenched in sweat, hacking at walls with axes; riding solemn-faced in a tickertape parade; offering water to people trapped under charred, fallen pillars.
NARRATOR (V.O.)
The brotherhood.