Chapter Three: Fire and Grief

Flames roared high, eating hungrily into the two vehicles in the middle of a normally quiet neighborhood. One of the residents called 911, shrieking, "Two cars, they just had an accident and now they're on fire!"

The phone was slammed down before the dispatcher could get a location, but the 911 center was not so easily deterred. In less than a minute, the address was confirmed and fire trucks dispatched as other calls from the same area came in.

In the lead fire truck, a veteran firefighter shook his head, wondering, as always, what would be waiting for himself and his men once they arrived on scene. From the other, far more detailed calls, it was nothing good. The best he could hope for was that no one died because of the accident or the fire.

Sirens wailed as the fire trucks and firefighters arrived; shouts preceded the first jets of water onto the fire, which hissed in indignation and outrage to be so assaulted. Behind the first fire trucks, an ambulance wailed its way in close by, the two paramedics inside hoping against hope that both drivers and any passengers had been pulled from the engulfed cars before they'd arrived. Normally, they advised against moving victims, but sometimes, you had to break the rules to save lives.

Close to the fire, the residents of the block grouped around a middle-aged woman, groaning and hardly conscious, but alive. The two paramedics swept over, bringing their kits, but not a stretcher…not yet anyway. As one examined the fallen woman, noting signs of trauma and making mental notes…particularly of the strong scent of alcohol wafting off the woman's clothing, a neighbor eagerly informed her partner, "She was driving the SUV…I saw her get out and run away. I was about to send my Frank to keep her from running away when she just collapsed." The woman vibrated in glee to be in the midst of the action. "Well, I called 911 of course, then came out here to see to the poor dear. Such a shame this had to happen to her." Around the speaker, the other neighbors nodded in agreement, some of them sheltering their young children from the sight of the fire only a few meters away. One child tried to speak up, but her mother shushed her absently.

"What about the other driver?" the male paramedic inquired, glancing around.

Silence fell around them, the residents trading anxious looks, but not offering up any information. The two paramedics looked at the foremost resident in horror, the weight of their stares making the woman nervous as she looked away from them. As the moment hung, the answer become ever more obvious…and horrifying. The child by her mother tried to speak up again, but was shushed once more; her frustration shone in her face and she stamped one little foot, her eyes and expression turning indignant.

The female paramedic's eyes hardened and, getting her partner's attention, she jerked her thumb at the firefighters nearby. The male paramedic bolted away from the small crowd, heading directly for a firefighter he knew and had worked with before.

"The other driver's still in the car!" he yelled, his panic and the roar of the fire making his shout necessary to be heard.

The lead firefighter glanced over at the paramedic, then back at the blazing, formerly slate-blue sedan. "Then they're dead!" he yelled back at the paramedic. "No way someone could survive in that!"

On the sidewalk, the little girl tried yet again to speak up, but her mother, tired of her daughter's nonsense and not wanting the girl to watch the fire any longer, took her inside, ignoring the girl's plaintive cry. The other neighbors dispersed, or, at least, so it seemed. In reality, they gathered in another nearby yard to avidly discuss the day's events and cluck over the clearly drunk driver who'd caused the tragedy.

Slowly, sullenly, the flames died down, drowned by the expertly applied water and the persistent firefighters. Miraculously, the two license plates had survived the fire without becoming too warped to read. One firefighter read off the Durango's license plate, nodding to himself at the information he got back. He jerked his thumb at the few neighbors still surrounding the fallen middle-aged driver. "Definitely her car," he announced grimly. "And she's got a record of DUI arrests…her license is suspended right now."

Angry mutters rose; the other driver had paid the price for the woman's latest bout of drunken driving. The lead firefighter shook his head to himself, mourning the unknown driver's loss…and to such a preventable cause. He drew in a breath, then read off the Impala's license plate. "Okay, our second plate is K3BN 182. You got that?"

The dispatcher nodded to himself. "Yeah, I got it," he reassured the captain. "Just give me a minute."

A sardonic smirk spread across the fire captain's face. "We got time," he murmured, eyeing the smoking wreck of two cars.

On the other end, the dispatcher froze as the information popped up on his screen. He drew in a sharp breath, his eyes widened in horrified shock, and he just barely managed to ask, "Read that license plate off again, please?"

Captain Simon Griggs scowled to himself. What happened to 'yeah, I got it'? In his irritation, he just about barked out, "Kilo, Three, Bravo, November, One, Eight, Two. (2)" He paused. "You get it this time?"

There was a moment of silence, then a sigh. "Yeah, I got it, but you aren't gonna like it…car belongs to a member of the Strategic Response Unit." Both men were silent a moment. "I've got a phone number, if you want it," the dispatcher offered.

Silence hung for a very long moment between the two. Captain Griggs closed his eyes…a cop, and not just a cop, but a member of what was often called the cavalry. What a mess. "You'd better give it to me," he finally whispered. "We have to check."

The Captain eyed the smoldering wreck as the phone in his hand rang and rang. He shook his head. No way it would be…

"Sergeant Parker speaking."

For an instant, Captain Griggs froze in astonishment. "Sergeant Parker, my name is Simon Griggs; I'm with the Fire Department." He eyed the car again. "Do you know who's driving your car, Sergeant?" Maybe it had been stolen, maybe, maybe, maybe…

Confusion, mixed with wary alarm. "My nephew, why?"

Captain Griggs let his head drop, new horror and shame filling him, even though he couldn't have possibly arrived quickly enough to save the young man. "You'd better get down here as soon as you can, sir. There's been an accident."

"My nephew, is he okay?" Sergeant Parker demanded sharply.

The firefighter continued to stare at the remains of the car. "Please get here as soon as you can, sir." He gave the Sergeant the address, then hung up, resisting the urge to scream and hurl his phone at the ground.

Several feet away, the two cars both let out loud screeches as their roofs, weakened by the fire, gave way with a loud crash.


It could get worse, Captain Griggs decided sourly as the black mid-sized SUV came to a halt and the occupants almost tumbled out. A young redheaded girl tried to race for the still smoking cars; when the mostly bald SRU Sergeant caught her, holding her back, she screamed, fighting to get loose, her movements and her eyes desperate.

As Griggs approached, he heard the Sergeant whisper, "Easy, 'Lanna, easy. We're gonna find out what's going on and then I'm going to ground your brother until he's thirty for scaring us like this."

But the face that looked up, the eyes that met Griggs' told him the Sergeant already knew what was about to happen. Dread and grief filled the other man's brown eyes and the SUV's driver, tall, bald, and with piercing blue eyes, looked as if he was bracing himself.

Captain Griggs swallowed hard and forced the words out. "I'm sorry, Sergeant Parker, but your nephew…he didn't make it."

The girl's howl of grief was almost inhuman, a screeching sound that ripped and tore at both hearing and the sky above. She collapsed into the Sergeant's grip, a rending keening sound coming from her as she clung to her…uncle?

The Sergeant's expression went blank, but Griggs could recognize a professional mask when he saw one. It took a moment for words to come and when they came, they were half-strangled with newborn grief. "How?" Stoic eyes crumpled, the mask clung to like a life preserver, "He just got his license, he was just out enjoying the moment…how?"

The witnesses had already given Captain Griggs a fairly good idea of what had happened. It was a breach of protocol to tell the grieving pair what had happened, but the captain hardly cared. With a nod towards the ambulance, Griggs replied, "Looks like the other driver was coming home after a few too many and she went the wrong way down a one-way street. Your nephew didn't do anything wrong; from what we've heard, he tried his best to prevent the accident. Laid on his horn, stopped his car, but the road here is so narrow, he didn't have anywhere to go."

He didn't think the Sergeant took much of what he said in, shock and inevitable denial were setting in and the Sergeant's focus was on the wailing, keening girl in his arms. The other man looked just as shocked and horrified, but anger was crossing his face as he listened…he understood very well what Griggs was implying.

But all of that vanished as behind him, another screech came from both cars as the cooled metal was pulled apart. Captain Griggs turned, watching as his men began the laborious task of extracting what was left of the young driver from his metal coffin.

What a waste…a young man cut down in the prime of his life by a woman who just had to drink and drive. Even as he watched the Jaws of Life cut into the burned out Impala, Captain Griggs felt another ghost join the ones he already carried and wondered, absently, just how many more he could carry.


[2] For the second plate reading, Captain Griggs used what is known as the phonetic alphabet, where each letter of the alphabet is assigned a word. For example, instead of A, B, C; it is Alpha, Bravo, Charlie.