Disclaimer: None of them belong to me, they belong to Mark VII and Universal. But, I'm sure grateful for the chance to write about and enjoy the guys once again.
Night Terrors
By Vanessa Sgroi
"Man, Roy, am I ever beat," mumbled Johnny as he rubbed his gritty, aching eyes. His arms felt as heavy as lead, and he dropped them limply into his lap. Good thing I'm not driving the squad.
"Yeah, partner, I hear ya," came the equally mumbled reply.
Through his half-closed eyes, Johnny quietly observed his partner's pale, drawn face. The white-knuckled grip he had on the steering wheel was a good indication that Roy was just as exhausted as Johnny, if not more so.
Finally, the two emergency vehicles arrived back at the station. Engine 51 slowly backed into the apparatus bay, closely followed by the squad. Once parked, the doors opened fully revealing the haggard and grimy set of men. Their exits from their respective vehicles held none of their usual grace and coordination.
It had been a tough fire to knock down. A warehouse full of a variety of furniture, most of it not flame retardant, had burned hot and long. The intense heat had forced back even the most intrepid firefighters. Fortunately, there were no people in the building, and there had been only minor injuries to the firemen. Bumps, bruises, and scrapes, but nothing more. Yet, it had taken its toll on the men of 51. This fire, called out just as they were getting ready to sit down to dinner, and on top of an already busy shift, had pushed them all to the brink of both exhaustion and starvation.
"Marco," suggested Captain Stanley, "once you're cleaned up, why don't you reheat your famous chili so we can all sit down and eat before hitting the sack."
"Sure thing, Cap," said Marco as he shuffled his way to the shower.
The others drifted slowly into the day room, groaning a bit as they tried to work out the kinks in their sore muscles.
Despite their weariness, the firemen showered in record time, as they looked forward to easing their grumbling stomachs. Mike was the last man to straggle out to the kitchen table and sit down. Marco was just bringing the pot of re-warmed chili to the table to ladle up into the waiting bowls.
"You guys are gonna love this chili," exclaimed Marco with a grin, "I made a new recipe using my grandmother's special seasonings and these different peppers—Ancho and Serrano, with just a touch of Habanero. I hope it's not too hot."
Greedily, the crew dug in, barely waiting for Marco to take his seat. They stopped after only a couple of bites. Johnny glanced first at Roy and then at the others at the table. Each man, in turn, had the same queer expression on his face. Almost simultaneously, they all reached for their glasses of milk and drank heartily.
After easing the strange burning in his mouth and throat, Johnny murmured, "Ahh, gee, Marco, it's a bit hotter than normal, and there's this weird taste . . ." Johnny let his comment trail off as he took in Marco's crestfallen expression.
"Um, never mind."
Everyone turned their attention back to their bowls and resumed eating, determined to quell their hunger despite the odd spiciness of the concoction. The bowls emptied and Marco graciously offered seconds.
"NO," came the unified response.
Ever diplomatic, Stanley spoke up quickly.
"Let's give B shift something to look forward to. I think it would be a good idea if we all just go to sleep while we can. In fact, let's just rinse the dishes for now and we'll finish them up in the morning."
The men rose, quickly accomplished their tasks, and headed for the dorm. Sighs of pleasure echoed throughout as each tired man settled in his bunk.
"G'night, Roy," muttered Johnny, as he flung his left arm over his eyes.
"'Night, Junior," replied Roy around a huge yawn.
The men were asleep as soon as their heads it their pillows. They were in for a long night.
E! E! E! E!