Chapter 5

Three hours later the oxygen sucking fire was taking its last breaths. Roy dropped in exhaustion onto the back bumper of their truck, wiping at his sweating face with a bare hand as his other still gloved hand felt blindly for the canteen Johnny had dropped somewhere between them. He was forced to open his burning, watering eyes when the quest proved fruitless. He was startled to see it hovering inches away from his face; he grabbed it eagerly, unscrewed the cap, and tilted it towards his waiting mouth.

As he gulped the refreshing beverage, he skewed his eyes sideways and observed Gage's arm still suspended in air. He pushed it down gently and was rewarded with a slight head bob from his equally exhausted friend. Johnny was sitting on the other end of the bumper, back flattened against the red paint, head covering up the 51 in its little yellow circle, and eyes closed. His hair was dripping suspiciously, and Roy gave the canteen a questioning shake. His doubts confirmed, Roy scooted sideways on the bumper and pushed the vessel back into his partner's lax hand.

"Drink it this time, instead of dumping it on your head…" he cautioned as John peeled an eye open and gave him an aggravated stare. The other eye opened, ending the hazy illusion of a cyclops that Roy was seeing through his streaming eyes.

"I DID drink it," he rasped out in indignation, tightening his hand on the canteen and giving it his own shake. He screwed the lid back on and dropped it between them once again. "I dunked my head, ah, never mind…"

He closed his eyes once more and slapped his head back against the squad. Roy sighed and did the same, wondering if it was worth the effort to get up and rummage in the squad for the saline to wash his eyes out. He opened his eyes once more and negated the thought as it seemed that his own tears had done the job. He glanced over at his associate and worried his bottom lip between his teeth, contemplating the wisdom of bringing up his earlier behavior.

"Johnny…"

"Still here." The short reply came slow and lazy, almost as if Gage was falling asleep where he sat.

"Jo and I kinda made up. We're going to get together after shift and work this out the rest of the way."

"That's nice." This time the slightly slurred words came out of the side of John's mouth, as if it was too much work to form them. His head turned towards Roy but then he thumped it back against the metal.

"The way I've been acting all day," Roy continued, but he cut off his apology at John's limp but clearly dismissive hand wave.

"S'okay, Roy. Let's just enjoy our break. I for one am not looking forward to cleanup on this one… those old buildings," he lamented hoarsely, raising the hand slightly off the bumper again and flicking it at Roy in a rude "shut up" gesture that the other man clearly understood.

Roy pushed himself off the bumper and stumbled his way around the pile of yellow, used air tanks the two paramedics had left in an untidy heap off to the side of the squad. He pulled off his turnout coat and draped it over the side mirror before opening the door and dropping down onto the seat, legs hanging out. He yawned and lay back on the bench, closing his eyes. A few minutes of rest, and he would be good to go….

He was startled awake by a slapping noise and sat up with a confused jerk. His captain, whacking his hand on the hood of their squad as he fronted it, appeared at the door to the squad and poked his head through the open window. He leaned a turnout coated arm on the frame as he gazed at his disoriented paramedic.

"You ok Roy? Ready to go back in?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. Guess I was a little more tired than I realized…" Roy replied, wiping a hand across his face; he realized a second later that the involuntary gesture had been a mistake when his hand came away soot covered. He grimaced, thinking about what his face must now look like. He struggled to his feet, accepting with a nod of thanks his own turnout coat.

Stanley watched him fumble on the heavy garment, his thick brows raised slightly at the other's clumsy movements. "It's been a rough day for you, hasn't it? You sure you can handle this?"

Looking down as he hooked the clasps, Roy raised his head and smiled at his concerned captain. "Yeah, Cap, I would say right now, aside from being just tired, I'm doing better than I have all day."

He stepped away from the door and once Hank had moved back, closed it. He picked up his discarded scba, checked that he had replaced the tank, and pulled it back on as he followed his captain towards the organized chaos still erupting in front of them. He had to raise his voice to be heard as they followed a line of hoses that snaked towards, the as of yet untouched by fire, four buildings off to the side of the two destroyed ones. "Johnny in there?"

"Yep. He's in the back right corner building, D, checking for hot spots with Kelly. Go ahead and join Lopez in C, he's waiting for you at the north entrance. Be careful in there, Pal. Use your air, the other teams report that the smoke is negligible but that the dust is thick."

He gave Roy a soft slap on the shoulder and Roy nodded, sliding the mask over his face and patting his pocket for the HT and his flashlight as he did so. He trotted down the dirt passageway between the A and B buildings, barely noticing the fine mist of water hitting him from the overhead assault directed at the roofs to keep any sparks from igniting. He saw Marcos standing at the entrance to the C building, confidently wielding an inch and a half.

He moved up behind him and laid an alerting hand on the lineman's shoulder. Marco immediately shut the line down and turned to face Roy, pulling up his mask.

"Hey, Roy! Just spraying down some of the dust in there; it's thick enough to choke a horse. And amigo, this building is big; it's two, or maybe three times the size of the two in front of us."

DeSoto nodded in understanding. He flicked on his torch and waved the beam in an arc in front of them. It might be cavernous all right, but the up side to it was that the structure looked to be completely empty. Apparently it had been used to bring in and temporarily house the shipments that were brought in on the rail line that ran along the east side of the building. He flicked the light in that direction and saw that his suspicions were correct; there were at least five oversized doors running along that wall.

Because they would be able to see each other or at least the beams from their lights, Roy and Marco split up and began a careful check of the building. Even as he focused on his task, Roy found some of his thoughts straying to his fight with his wife, and the hoped for reconciliation tomorrow. If she really did believe that he didn't listen to her, he needed to find out why. Even words pitched carelessly in the heat of battle could have some truth to them, and if that was the case…..well, he certainly was going to meet the problem head on and work on solving the problems. He recalled Lopez's comment about the dust and a horse, and smiled within his mask as the poem immediately came to mind.

He watched as a spiral of dust filtered down through the roof, the fading light of the day peeking through the holes illuminating the fine shower as it spiraled and danced downward. He neatly sidestepped a gaping hole in the floor; he stopped to shine his light into the abyss. He was dismayed to see that there was a basement illuminated in the probing beam; he carefully crouched down, dropped his hand into the hole, and cut his light across the area. Cement block foundation about eight feet high, rough concrete floors, and the whole space completely empty from what he could see. The whole setup reminded him of his grandparents' ancient barn with its huge timbers and river rock foundation, seemingly impervious to winter storms and the unstoppable march of time. Probably should, no, DEFINITELY should examine the foundation of his marriage, check to see that it was built of stone and stood solid, before he began adding layers to it.

His light played on the puddles of water shimmering on the dark, pocked surface of the basement, bringing up bittersweet memories of his several attempts at ice skating at a rink in their home town with his then girlfriend, JoAnne. Even now, he could recall the chilling touch of the ice beneath his bare hands as he tried to push himself to a vertical position, but even better was the recollection of the warm, comforting feel of Jo's hand in his as she tried to help him. The sight of her small feet clad in white skates gliding effortlessly across the sparkling surface as his feet clumsily tried to slide in opposite directions had effectively erased his own embarrassment and frozen that moment in time.

He stood back up and carefully moved away from the hole, turning to his right to see if he could catch a glimpse of Marco's light. He finally located it; he could barely make out the form of his colleague moving forward at least fifty feet ahead of him. It was reasonable to assume that that the roof was in better shape towards the back of the wooden edifice, as the light from the outside was no longer sneaking its way in. He swore he could feel the blackness creeping up on him and almost enveloping him in its invisibility. He shivered, even though sweat was trickling down his neck and back, and felt his earlier paranoia clutch at and try to enshroud him once again.

Pushing the dark thoughts away, Roy grabbed his HT from the depths of his pocket and waited several seconds for a break in the radio chatter, before pulling aside his mask. "Captain 51, this is DeSoto, team C." He watched as Lopez's light stopped and bobbed as the older man paused in his search to listen to the transmission. The radio crackled and buzzed with static before Stanley responded to the hail; Roy shook his head in annoyance and turned down the volume slightly. He rubbed the hand holding the flashlight across the back of his head, scratching awkwardly with his knuckles; he was thankful that his headache had at least disappeared, even if that sneaky hysteria was trying to force its way back, setting off little twinges of alarm in his subconscious.

"We have a full basement under this building, and the floor we are on is breached in several places. Information only, there appears to be no fire damage as yet to building C."

"Acknowledged, team C. Teams A, B, and D respond to this information."

DeSoto turned the volume back up and shoved the radio back into his pocket, listening as the other three teams checked in. He didn't pull his mask back on until he heard Kelly's voice reply to their captain and then voice a query of his own.

"My tank's low, Cap, can you have someone mule a fresh one to the north side door?"

"No door closer so that you don't have to backtrack?"

"Negative on that, if there are any they're inaccessible."

"10-4, proceed back to the north door. What is Gage's location?"

Roy had to smile as he heard Chet yelling even from the muffling depths of his pocket; apparently the other man still had the transmit button depressed as he lobbed his questions across building D at John. Roy was sure Captain Stanley was holding the HT away from his ear and silently mouthing some nasty comments.

"He says it will take about six minutes to finish his side, and then he'll head back down the opposite side and meet me…..."

The radio sputtered and hissed on Chet's end, fading in and out on his words. Roy decided that either there was some kind of interference in the building that Kelly was in, or the unit's battery wasn't fully charged

Roy moved forward using even more care now that he was relying solely on the illumination from his light. He swept the beam back and forth, eyes scanning from floor to ceiling. Treading closer to the back, he realized that the sounds from the outside were dissipating, leaving him alone with the hissing of his scba, the rapid talk from his radio, and the strange, almost human sounds emitting from the structure. As he walked, he listened intently to the reverberations echoing through and wondered how old the warehouse really was. The craftsmanship was evident from beginning to end and the abundance of natural materials, such as the wood floors, definitely indicated an edifice constructed years ago. So long ago, and yet these buildings would probably have stood tall and proud for many more years, if they hadn't been abandoned and left to slowly weaken and die. He scrubbed his now free hand across the back of his neck, trying to rid himself of his own weaknesses and clear his thoughts. He had plunged into this building full of confidence and resolve, both in his job and his personal life, and now it felt like with every step forward he took the two were once again sliding away. It almost seemed that the noises of the decaying structure were mocking him, whispering softly to him that "you don't listen, you don't li

Resolutely plunging forward, Roy smashed down the teasing hum of taunting sounds, pushing them to oblivion somewhere in the dark corners of his mind. He blanked out every thought but the job at hand, forcing himself to concentrate. It took almost ten more minutes to finish his side and join Marco at the back, but it took them only seconds to locate a door to the outside on the south side. They burst out into the fading sunlight, yanking off masks and helmets to inhale the cleaner, outside air. Bending over and placing his hands on his knees, Roy took in a huge gulp of air and gasped for a few seconds, cleansing not only his physical self but also halting the psychological erosion that seemed to be taking place. Marginally better, Roy mused, trying not to cough as a breeze wafted smoke past his nostrils. He raised his face and instantly regretted it as the gentle wind shifted and gusted a rain of ash down on his bare head

Roy straightened up; both men shook themselves, trying to rid themselves of the fire's ashy residue and the thin coat of dust that seemed to have settled in every crease and fold of their clothing. Marco peered at the paramedic, a worried frown creasing his brow.

"You okay Roy?"

Not yet trusting his voice to function, DeSoto nodded. He blew out several times, then finally allowed the cough to escape and cleared his throat.

"Yeah, just a lot of gunk burning its way out of my lungs." He looked over at the D building they were now standing at the corner of; he noted the blacked out and iron barred windows. Not a door in sight along the east side, Chet had been right about the lack of exits. He backed up so that he could check out the south side and observed the door located about the middle of the wall.

"I wonder what was in that building?" He asked Lopez, who had followed him and was studying the roof and walls with just as much interest.

"Manufacturing and some offices, I overhead Cap talking to the chief before they sent us in. I guess we lucked out with ours….." Marco shifted his attention to Roy, who was now delving in the pocket of his coat for his HT. Pulling it out, Roy pulled the antennae out and pointed it towards the two buildings in front of them.

"I heard both front teams check in that they were done. Did you hear anything from our guys?" At the shake of the lineman's head, Roy frowned and updated their captain on their status, before asking about Kelly and Gage. An uneasy feeling tickled his mind, the dark and troubled thoughts that had been tormenting him about his marriage jumping out of the bottomless cavern he had banished them to and hopscotching right into worry about his crewmates. Johnny might be impetuous at times, but he was always safety minded and followed procedures, well, maybe stretched them a bit if the situation warranted it; Chet was the same way. Surely they were done with their building, or should at least be nearing the end of their search.

The feeling of something wrong intensified when Stanley, his voice flat but strained, told them that they had not been able to raise Kelly on the radio. Men from 36s were heading into the building via the north side – was there access through the south side? Roy glanced at Marco as they both trotted to the lone door that seemed to be beckoning to them.

"Affirmative, we're there now," the paramedic replied, dropping the radio back into his pocket. He tugged on the door and was not surprised when it refused to yield under his hand. Marco appeared to his left, braced a booted foot against the wall, and added his assistance. This time, the door surrendered slightly, inching towards them a mere inch. Roy set his heel in the debris banked up at the bottom of the wooden portal and scraped hard, trying to dislodge the dirt, leaves, and other unrecognizable refuse that had piled up over the years. Minutes later the door grudgingly scraped forward; the men stared in surprise at the back of a bookcase that, except for about a foot of space at the top, filled and blocked the exit.

"Oh boy, that doesn't look promising," Marco sighed, testing the stability of the solid cabinet with his hand.

"Promises," Roy muttered impatiently. The poem that had brought so many wonderful memories flooding back to him at the end of the phone call with JoAnne and during the beginning of his search through the dying building was now tormenting him. That line about the promises…he could vividly recall that night, even though it been three or four months ago. The two paramedics and the two linemen, along with their spouses and dates, had met at a restaurant to ambush Mike Stoker with a surprise birthday party. Several hours into the festivities, the conversation between Johnny and Roy had slid unwittingly into a rather cheerless discussion of on the job dangers. Not the best subject to be tossing around in front of wives and possible girlfriends, but with the numerous empty beer cans littering the table in front of the paramedics, JoAnne, and Johnny's date, that was where their conversation had effortlessly glided.

"But you know, Jo, that I can't ever make that kind of promise," Roy had stammered out in response to her comment about the wives always waiting at home. There was no way that he would ever make a promise to return home safely; no firefighter who was honest could make that vow.

"I do know that, Roy, that's not what I'm getting at. All I want is your reassurances that you'll try your best to stay safe." His wife had leaned across the table then and stared at Johnny, who had assumed a "deer in the headlights" look as his partner's wife stabbed him with her piercing gaze. He had glanced over at said partner, who had simply shrugged and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms and smirking. Better Gage then he having to bear the weight of his slightly tipsy wife's scrutiny.

"John Gage," JoAnne had intoned softly, locking eyes with her target. Johnny had shifted uneasily in his uncomfortable chair, but had manned up and faced the music. He settled stiffly in the chair and smiled at her.

"Yes, JoAnne?"

"You're Roy's partner….." At John's puzzled nod, she continued. "So it stands to reason that you look out for each other?"

Johnny nodded again, patting the hand of his date, Trudy, who was clutching at his arm and listening intently.

"I would like your promise that you will look out for each other," JoAnne finished solemnly, laying a hand over each one of Johnny's hands that were now clutching his beer can.

"Oh, well sure, yeah, we do that anyways," he answered, the relief in his voice evident.

"Promise me, Johnny." Her hands closed tighter and Gage winced as fingernails bit into his skin. He gently disengaged his right hand and raised it.

"I promise I'll keep an eye on Roy, JoAnne," he vowed, ignoring the giggling coming from Trudy. He shot an uneasy glance at his partner, who had dropped his chair back on four legs and was sitting upright, listening intently.

JoAnne released her hold on Johnny and stood up, tears glistening in her eyes. She leaned precariously over the table and cupped John's face with her hands. He half rose, trying to keep her from tipping over into the debris of dishes and cans below her.

"Thank you," she whispered, kissing him on the cheek and pulling back. Johnny stared after her, openmouthed, as she navigated between tables and headed for the ladies' room. He snapped his mouth closed and directed his attention back across the table. Roy had slowly wound himself to his feet and was letting his hands, splayed flat on the white tablecloth, hold his weight.

"I promise, too, partner," he declared, letting all his weight transfer to his left hand while he held his right hand out across the table. Johnny shook the proffered hand, dropping it quickly and absently taking hold of Trudy's hand, which was still wrapped possessively around his left arm.

"Okaaaaayy…do you and Jo always get so, ah, sentimental when you have a few drinks?"

The thud as Marco's air tank hit the ground broke Roy's five second flashback. He helped him unclasp and pull off his turnout coat, dropping it on top of the tank. He cupped his hands, and Marco placed a foot in them; the Hispanic man sprang upwards and arched his body into the gap between the doorway and the imposing obstacle. Roy steadied him by his feet and legs as Marco inched forward to peer over the edge of the bookcase to the ground in front of it.

He slid backwards and dropped back to the ground in a cloud of dust. "It's clear, nothing in front of it." He grabbed his turnout coat and pulled it back on.

"Let's do it then," Roy answered grimly. Together the two men turned sideways and rushed the obstruction, barreling into it with their shoulders and immediately jumping backwards as it tilted forward and smashed to the ground. Roy scrambled up over the fallen bookcase and paused to scan the area he had barreled into. Lopez came up behind him, hands busy fastening the straps to his scba. They stared at the landscape in front of them and shared a look.

"This might take a while," Marco said, before pulling his mask over his face and settling his helmet firmly on his head. Roy repeated the motions with his own equipment and without hesitation they plunged forward into the dark labyrinth of the whispering, sighing building.

A/N So there has been some discussion on whether or not the poem I referred to in this story is in the public domain or not. After research I concluded that it was, as I could only find one article that said it was not, and in that article there were questions about whether the copyright had been renewed in time. But since I really want to move on and not have to address any more issues about the legality of it, I removed the poem.