"A Heavenly Cause"
Chapter Six
The experienced rescue men immediately began searching for an escape route that wasn't visible.
There must be an apartment somewhere around there.
There had to be, because they desperately needed to get the hell out of that hallway.
Gage ran the hazy beam of his light along the rubble pile. Through the thick curtain of smoke and flames, he suddenly spotted—what he hoped was—the burning outline of a doorway. He handed Roy his light and then picked up the discarded SCBA. "Follow me!" he ordered.
Roy did, and soon found himself on top of the rubble pile he'd just been buried under.
His buddy banged the blazing hall wall with the air-pac's empty air bottle until he heard a change in its 'thud's. John then used the heavy metal canister as a battering ram.
The second 'wha-ack' produced a muffled 'cra-ack' and the apartment's unseen, and already-weakened-by-fire, portal flew open.
Johnny tossed his battering ram aside.
The two about-to-be-burned-alive firemen crossed their canvas-coated forearms up in front of their face-shields and then blindly jumped—clear through that thick curtain of smoke and flames—and, hopefully, onto the apartment's carpeted floor.
"Out of the frying pan…"
"And into the fire."
The pair breathlessly repeated, upon seeing that the apartment they'd just jumped into was also completely ablaze.
The door was slammed shut and a small wooden table was shoved up in front of it, to keep it that way.
The apartment's street-facing windows were currently inaccessible.
John spotted an undamaged door to their left and jerked it open—a clothes closet.
They rushed into the tiny space, pulling the undamaged door closed behind them.
It was a tad bit cooler in that little closet, and visibility was pretty decent, too.
John yanked several brightly-colored shirts from their wire hangers and then cracked the closet's portal open just enough to allow him to drape the colorful articles of clothing over the top of the door.
The thick material would serve as a seal and the flashy colors would help pinpoint their location.
The portal was pulled shut and then the rest of the closet's contents were used to seal the gap between the door and the floor.
Roy released his damaged ribcage so he could have his right hand free. Then he pulled their HT from his coat pocket and thumbed its send button. "Engine 51 from HT 51…"
Nothing.
"Engine 51 from HT 51!" Roy repeated, between coughs.
Again, nothing.
Even messing with the squelch button couldn't get it to produce a squeal.
Crashing onto the K-12 had taken out more than just his rib. It had also taken out their radio.
The no longer functioning communication device was returned to the coughing fireman's coat pocket.
John finished securing his flashlight to the ceiling fixture's pull cord. He lowered his leaden arms, rested his air bottle up against the back of the closet and then slowly began sliding down the wall and onto his 'busted' butt. It had taken everything he had to make it this far and, now, there was nothing left in the tank. Something suddenly dawned on him. "This mus' be 'the unreachable star'," he lightly declared, as the 'heavenly cause' came sliding down the same wall to sit beside him.
Despite the pain he knew it was sure to cause, Roy couldn't help but laugh.
Though, his partner's witty realization was actually more truthful than amusing. The two of them had just 'strove' with their 'last ounce of' everything to make it this far.
There followed a long, comf—er, uncomfortable sile—er, the blond paramedic's constant cough kept the closet from being completely devoid of sound.
Speaking of the blond paramedic…
John Gage was worried about his partner. Prior to his arrival, his buddy had to have inhaled a ton a' tar and superheated air. 'Edema could cause Roy's airway to become compromised. That busted rib could puncture a lu—'. John quickly derailed his morbid train of thought. "I don't think I have ever felt this hot before."
"Me, either," Roy confessed. "Maybe we should start*cough cough*thinking of Michigan."
John was forced to laugh, this time.
"I can't recall," Roy continued, between more bouts of painful coughing, "ever being this thirsty."
"That reminds me…" John shook one of his fire gloves off and began fishing around for something in his coat pocket, "I brought you some Gatorade gum—er, syrup," he corrected, noting that the gum's previously solid bright-orange package now felt all squooshy. "It's supposed to help quench your thirst. See? It says so right there on the wrapper…"
DeSoto reluctantly shook one of his gloves off and, even more unenthusiastically, accepted his buddy's, supposedly shitty, offering.
Their facemasks were lifted just enough to allow them to lick the melted substance from its soggy individual wrappers.
Roy took a cautious chew or two and his face scrunched up. His friend's assessment had been accurate, and being in a liquid form did nothing to improve the gum's taste. "Thanks. This really hits the spot."
Johnny found his friend's insincere statement most amusing. In fact, he laughed so hard he nearly swallowed his gum.
Gage gradually regained his composure and the two of them just continued to sit there, on the floor of that tiny clo—er, 'unreachable star', chew—er, licking Gatorade gum…and thinking of Michigan.
"I feel cooler already," Roy suddenly, and even more insincerely, announced between bouts of painful coughing. "And I've never even been to Michigan." The hurting fireman grinned, seeing that, once again, his masterful use of sarcasm had caused his companion to crack up.
Johnny's light laughter was suddenly drowned out by the sound of his SCBA's low air alarm.
Roy bumped shoulders with his suddenly sober looking friend. "Could be wors—"
"—Ahh nah. Nah, nah, nah," Johnny quickly cut in. "Not this time. Ro-oy, the two of us are trapped in this stinkin' closet…in about five more minutes, we're both gonna be outta air…in even less time than that, the fire's gonna be comin' through that door…you're sittin' there, about to prove that a person really can 'cough up a lung'…and nobody even knows where the hell we are! How could things possibly be any 'worse'?"
"I could still be out there in that hallway," DeSoto solemnly replied, "…alone."
Gage didn't—couldn't—say anything. His own airway suddenly seemed to be obstructed. Something, other than sweat, was causing his eyes to sting.
Roy was right again.
It really could be worse.
A whole helluva lot worse.
Johnny blinked his blurred vision a bit clearer and then bumped his buddy's shoulder right back.
TBC