Chapter 9

(Back to the present—The aftermath of the building collapse they were called to at the end of chapter 7.)

As he dragged himself into the cab, he glanced one last time at the mound of rubble—twisted steel and ash—a mere void sucking in the red and blue flashing lights that illuminated the scene. Only a faint glow reached above the horizon, leaving the shadows the rule the land.

Nestled within the ash heap, if he squinted hard enough, he could fathom remnants of furniture, a chair and what looked like a table top, though he couldn't tell if it was real or just bits of metal support beams, all that remained of the mostly wooden structure. He chose to believe that what he was forcing himself to see was real.

Maybe it belonged to that mother and her little girl. Maybe they ate breakfast there this morning, not knowing what the day would bring.

His attention shifted toward a police car parked on the other side of where the building once stood. She was still standing there, only her silhouette visible in the darkness. A tear slipped down his cheek. This was the one part about his job that he hated. He could put out fires all day long, but when night came, somebody wouldn't have a home to go to.

At least nobody was seriously hurt. But someone easily could have been.

"Ma'am? Ma'am? We need you to come with us."

Despite the distance, the officer's words met his ears, escorted across the air by a soft breeze. Her feet as stone, she stood like a statue, never taking her eyes off the rubble. As Station 8 started their engines, headlights shone across the scene like a spotlight; Hank could see her face. The stone-hard expression carved into her cheekbones was different, almost soft. Unlike earlier in the afternoon, there was no longer a sternness on her face. Like a mountain on the verge of collapsing into a heap of stones, her lips quivered. The austerity of her façade morphed into something all too familiar to Hank. As the station pulled away, their strobe lights turned off and their headlights disappeared around a corner.

"Ma'am? Can you hear me?"

Yes, she can hear you. I see it in her eyes. She wants to say something, she wants to scream. She wants to throw something.

"Ma'am! Please!" He shouted at her this time, but not with anger, loud enough to snap her trance; she looked up, staring across the now burn-out lot, directly at Hank.

From his vantage point in the cab, he could see the lights above his head reflected back at him by her eyes: angry red and dispassionate blue flip-flopped to the tick of his watch. Like a ball on a tennis court, her countenance changed to the flash of the strobe, wrath smoldering beneath her skin suddenly extinguished into sadness, only to flash into angry fire, just to be smothered again. And again. And again.

I wonder if she can see me.

"Now remember, as captains, you are expected not to get emotionally involved. You have to keep your heads clear at all times. If you lose your focus, you risk not only your own safety, but that of your men and any civilians at the scene."

"Yes, Chief."

"Keeping your composure? I can't tell you how to do that. You've gotta figure that out for yourself. But learn how and learn fast. None of us know when 'that call' is going to come, the one that tests and tries you beyond anything you've ever experienced before."

As Hank walked out of the briefing, a newly minted captain, he thought about the speech. As both a lineman and an engineer, he'd witnessed his fair share of carnage. There'd been times he'd almost lost it, but he'd always been able to pull himself together. Now, he wondered what the chief meant by 'that call'.

"Hank! Wanna grab a beer to celebrate?"

"Sure, Will." He smiled. "When's your first shift? Mine's Wednesday."

"Thursday, bright and early. Station 8 B-shift. By the way, congratulations on your placement at 51s! From what I've heard, your crew is one of the best."

On most calls, Hank would never get his questions answered. Tonight was no exception. The strong arms of a policeman guiding her, her face twisted into pure agony.

"Why? Why?" She screamed, the words sliced the stillness, rebounding back to her without an answer.

"Mommy!" A small voice wailed.

Falling to her knees, she pulled her daughter into an even tighter embrace, sobbing into the torn sweater covering the child's shoulders.

It's so unfair how quickly everything can turn to nothing.

"L.A. Station 51, available. Returning to quarters."

"Station 51."

"Why?" Her anguished cry reeled into the night, in search of an answer.

He knew she wouldn't hear him. He still didn't know if she'd seen him. Yet, he felt obligated to respond, to give her some sort of closure, though there was none to be found.

"I don't know."

"What was that Cap?" Mike asked.

Unaware that he'd spoken aloud, he slowly turned to his engineer. He didn't try to hide his tears or feign strength. He looked his good friend in the eye, offered a grim smile, and gave the command.

"Let's go home."

Finally pulling the door shut, the four men found themselves in a silence that laid heavily on their minds. No one spoke. No one had to. Mike started the engine and pulled away, the squad following closely behind them. Hank briefly looked back, more tears sliding down his cheeks. The few streetlights scattered down the block left the scene in an eerie darkness. As Mike pulled away from the curb, Hank got one final look at the young woman. The anger had transformed into something much more powerful, something that Hank desperately feared.

Pain.

It wasn't until the engine was parked in the bay of Station 51 that Hank realized how silent his men had been on the ride back. He wondered if the ride in the squad had been the same way. Leaning into his seat, he realized that none of the six men had made any attempt to exit their respective vehicles. Turning towards Mike, he noted the man staring out the bay door toward the refinery across the street, his posture slouched forward against the wheel. Hank sighed.

We can't stay like this all night.

Forcing himself from the cab, he walked around the front of the engine, the peculiar feeling of being watched raising hairs on his neck. Clicking the switch to close the bay doors, he turned to make for the kitchen. A quick glance to the left confirmed his suspicion: five pairs of eyes watched him closely, six if he counted the lazy basset hound's, who Hank knew would be expectantly staring him down as soon as he walked into the kitchen.

Coffee.

A short-lasting fix for any problem. That's what Chet had dubbed it during the "Great Crash Diet of Station 51," back when he'd become a health hound. They still teased him about it, but Chet had been correct. Coffee was their go-to answer for everything.

Filling the pot with water and setting it on the burner, he clicked the dial on. A small blue flame sputtered out, a plume of warmth grabbing his hand.

"Battalion 14, this is Squad 51. We found the source of the gas leak. It looks like there was some kind of small explosion that loosened the pipe. There's no way to shut it off from in here." John's voice came through the HT.

"All units, evacuate NOW!" Chief McConnicke's voice boomed through the radios.

"Squad 51."

"Squad 8."

"Squad 10."

Every man was silent as a sense of doom overwhelmed them. No fireman wants to hear an evacuation order. It means that danger is imminent and where there is danger, someone could get hurt.

"Mike, Chet, Marco, let's get some lines ready. Two two-and-a-halves. I want us ready in case this thing goes."

He held the HT tight, thankful that his white knuckles were safely hidden by his turn-out gloves. To his left, Engine 8 stood, awaiting orders. Truck 8 was positioned along the back side of the building. From the corner of his eye, he could see the nervous captain also clutching his HT, waiting for the same thing that Hank was waiting for.

'Come on boys. Just get out of there. I know that if anyone was left inside, you would have found them.'

The front door opened, Hank's heart stopped in anticipation.

"Squad 10, clear of building."

"Squad 10."

It took a few seconds for his heart to start beating again.

'Come on boys.'

Though relieved that his brethren at 10s was safe, his concern remained with the Squad 8, and his heart ached to see Squad 51.

"Battalion 14, Squad 8. Affirmative on the report from Squad 51 about a possible explosion. We have blast damage outside a utility closet near the back entrance. We are exiting now."

"Squad 8."

He couldn't stand still any longer, but dread felt like quicksand. He tried shifting side to side, only finding that his feet were cement blocks and his legs were fractured spindles, barely supporting his body as his mind spun faster and faster.

"Boys!" He gathered his crew. Chief McConnicke took notice and wandered over.

"The partial collapse was likely caused by that explosion. From the sounds of it, the exterior wall on the back side was compromised, leading to the collapse of the far-left corner." He pointed toward the building. "Regardless of cause, the explosion or subsequent collapse must have damaged a gas main, which by some miracle did not explode when it was ruptured. We can't turn the source off, we have to wait for the gas company to shut off the main pipeline. Lopez and Kelly, I want you both on those lines, ready, in case it lights. Stoker, let's get those lines charged so that we're ready.

The four men nodded. As Hank lifted his head to address the Chief, determination crossed his forehead.

"Hank?"

"Chief, there's a chance that this building is gonna go and I'm going to be ready for it."

McConnicke nodded, lifting his HT to his mouth.

"All units, prepare lines. If this thing goes, Engine 51 will take the southeast corner, Engine 8 the southwest corner. Truck 8 set up the ladder."

"Batallion 14, Squad 51. We are approaching the first-floor landing. Be advised, there is still electricity in this building."

"Squad 51, where are you?" Hank yelled into the HT.

"Cap, we are coming up from the basement now. We will exit on the back side near Truck 8."

"10-4." Hank jumped into the cab, reaching for the radio.

"L.A. Engine 51 requesting second-alarm assignment to this location."

"Engine 51." There was a pause, then the tones sounded. "Engine 10, Truck 127, Engine 45. Building collapse…".

"Hey!" Hank yelled to a utility working assigned to the scene. "I thought you said the power was cut?" Wrath rose in his voice.

"It was! The main utility line is off. There must be some secondary source. There's no exterior attachment so there has to be a generator in there."

"Damn."

His thoughts returned to his missing men.

'What's taking so long. You were in the basement.'

"…be advised," the soothing voice of Sam Lanier continued, "switch to frequency 3. Time out, 16:25."

"Battalion 14, Squad 51, we have cleared the building. Be advised, we think that there is some sort of generator on the first floor. We could hear it when we exited the building."

"Squad 51."

Hank let out a huge sigh as his men appeared from behind the building, running to the safety of the engine. The relief, however, was short lived, as the danger made itself known in his mind.

'As soon as enough gas builds up in that basement, there's a good chance it'll reach that generator and ignite.' He shook his head.

As the sirens of the second alarm approached, the shrill symphony was masked by a deafening explosion. Debris rained down as flames jumped into the air. Hank didn't have to give his men orders. His linemen were already attacking the inferno, courageously battling flame and heat. Stoker was already pulling another line, preparing it for Gage and DeSoto. Hank had been facing away from the Chief when the explosion ripped through the air. He felt a hand grabbing his leg.

"Chief! Are you okay?" Kneeling down, he tended to the wounded Chief.

"I'm okay Hank, just got hit by something."

"Chief?" The paramedics from Station 10 knelt beside them.

"I'm okay, really."

"You might think you're fine but these men are going to take a look at you."

"Hank…"

"Chief!"

Anger flashed in his eyes before resignation took its place.

"Cap?" Roy called as he and John rushed over.

"It's okay. 10s got it. I need you to pull a line and back-up Kelly and Lopez."

"I got a line ready for you."

Hank, distracted by his down Chief, hadn't noticed Mike prepping another line.

"Thank you, Mike."

He nodded.

Turning back to the blaze, Hank noted Truck 8 setting an aerial line and Engine 8 mounting a similar attack to that of his own men.

"Truck 127, approach from the north on Williams Street to back-up Truck 8. Engine 10, protect the exposures on the west side of the building. Engine 45, protect the exposures on the east side."

As the other units arrived, the fireball fought back at the men who tried to subdue her. After an hour, the flames began to lose their strength, having consumed everything they could find.

"L.A. Engine 51. This fire is under control. Stand by for updates."

"Engine 51."

With the surrounding buildings safe, Hank made the call to release the second alarm units while the first alarm units overhauled the structure.

"L.A. Engine 51. The fire is out. Engine 45, Engine 10, and Truck 127 out 20 minutes."

"Engine 51."

As the second alarm packed up their equipment, Hank allowed himself a moment to breath. Surveying the scene, a swarm of firemen were sifting through rubble, checking for hotspots. The gas main had been shut off about ten minutes after the explosion.

'Ten minutes too late.' Hank thought grimly.

"Squad 10, Report to Engine 51."

"10-4."

The two men jogged to the acting-chief.

"I think the rest of us can finish with the overhaul if you want to get yourselves cleaned up and back in service. By the way, how is the Chief?"

"He's okay. We think the explosion knocked him over and he scratched his face on the curb. The wounds weren't serious. He is showing no signs of a concussion, but we did check on him again a few minutes ago just to be sure."

"Thank you." He offered a smile. "Finish up with what you're doing and get back to your station."

"Yes, Sir!"

The pair jogged back to the make-shift triage station and began to pack up their equipment. Beyond the pile of ash, Truck 127 pulled away, revealing an image that would come to haunt him for the rest of the night. A young woman stood motionless, a small child in her arms. Her face was void of emotion, empty.

"Well, I'm gonna clean up first. I'll be there by the time dinner's ready." Chet said.

The voices in the bay startled him. Awareness returning to his senses, he pulled his hand away from the burner.

"Me too." He heard John utter.

The pair of footsteps were muted by the closing of a squeaky door. All was quiet for a moment before Marco spoke aloud.

"I could really use some coffee."

"Me too. I'll be there in a few minutes Marco. I've just gotta do the engine checklist."

"Okay, amigo. Roy?"

"It will be a minute for me too. I just need to count the drug box."

"Okay. I think I'll get started on dinner then. Any requests?"

"Honestly Marco, anything. Just make it quick and simple."

"You got it Roy."

Marco's footsteps got louder.

"Oh, Cap! You already made coffee?"

It wasn't really a question, but Hank answered anyway.

"Yeah, I know I needed it and I figured you all might need some too. I thought I'd just get it started while everyone was cleaning up."

"Thanks for putting it on. I'm going to start dinner now. I'll clean up after. The water heater's gonna need a little while to warm up once John and Chet are done. Anyway, I'm thinking pasta and sauce since it's quick and easy. Is that okay with you?"

He joined Hank at the stove.

That's strange…Marco never asks about whether the meal is okay unless he wants to test out a new recipe.

"Of course pal! I'll eat anything tonight."

"Even Chet's Soy Bean Delight?"

The contorted frown on Hank's face was enough to answer the question.

"Cap?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you." He smiled and turned toward the stove, stirring the brewing coffee and putting another put to boil.

Hank stood only a few feet away watching. He could tell that Marco was watching him from the corner of his eye, but why? Unsure whether to ask what Marco meant, he decided to give his friend some time to himself.

I'd better do the log for this fire now. I'll write the actual report after I eat.

Approaching the doorway, he stopped, looking over his shoulder.

Thank you for what?

He checked his watch: 22:07.