A Sober Moment
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"Are you sure you guys don't mind?" she asked again. "I mean, it is Christmas Eve and all."
"No, SaraiEsq, we don't mind," Captain Hank Stanley responded, eyes bright with amusement. They'd shown up at the fanfic writer's home a few months back to encourage her to finish a story. The late night conversation had been fruitful and helped Mike Stoker find his groove in the kitchen again, for which they had all been thankful. When she'd metafictively shown up at the station a few hours ago, they had all been a little surprised but had welcomed her and her traditional German baked goods with open arms.
Since it was her first time at Station 51, she'd asked for and received the nickel tour, ooo-ing and ahh-ing at all the right places. Sitting in the high seat of the fire engine, she almost reverently ran her hands around Big Red's steering wheel the way she'd seen Mike do a hundred times, then hopped down and slid into Johnny's seat in the squad, pulling on his helmet and cinching it securely. A few whispered words in Chet's ear had prompted a smile and stealthy conference in the locker room; the sproing of a water bomb going off resulted in delighted laughter from Sarah – and a dripping but grinning Kelly. When Cap allowed her to do a radio check, he was surprised at how excited she was to merely say "KMG 365" into his mic at the stand.
By this time, Roy and Marco were grinning, waiting their turns and wondering what quintessential quirk the writer would like to explore with them. Everyone was surprised when Hank hit the button to open the rear door to the bay and pulled out a turnout coat from the closet, handing it to their visitor. "Our guest, gentlemen, would like to pull an inch-and-a-half with Lopez," he explained, deeply satisfied with the woman's choice. Marco was a good cook, came from an immigrant family, and liked to do tinsmithing on his days off. But first and foremost, he was a firefighter – and a dang good one – and Stanley liked the acknowledgement of his lineman's skills.
Stoker backed the engine out far enough to facilitate the exercise, while Gage and DeSoto set up a trash can fire to be extinguished. Kelly helped Sarah on with the coat, loaning her his helmet, while Lopez slid on his own jacket with a grin. When everything was ready, Cap called out, "Lopez, inch-and-a-half."
With the rookie training exercise speed of dead slow, Marco helped the writer pull two loops of hose off the back of the engine, hooked one section to the outlet valve, and advanced with her toward the flaming trash can, murmuring instructions. "I'll back you up, chica," he said. "When I tell you, just yank the hose on and point it at the fire."
"Yank it on, all at once?" she asked, breathless with excitement.
"Si, don't ease it on, it causes back pressure. Ready for the water?" She nodded and Marco signaled to Stoker. Marco could tell Mike had provided just enough pressure to plump the hose respectably, but figured it was enough for the uninitiated. He leaned into her back, staying substantially closer to her than he would to Kelly, and murmured for her to open up. She pulled on the hose and pointed, feeling Marco's gloved hands guiding hers. In a few minutes, the fire was out and the hose shut off. The guys clapped and she blushed.
"Roy, check Miss Sarah's vitals please," Cap said and nodded to the others to clean up. He felt a little bit like Santa Claus, fulfilling the last of her tour requests.
"Sit down here, miss," Roy said and directed her to the bumper of the squad. "Pulse is a little fast, but I think you'll be okay," he reported with a kindly smile a few minutes later to her and the men of Station 51 gathered around.
"You guys are awesome! This has been the best Christmas ever!" she exclaimed, jumping up and hugging each of them vigorously.
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"Hey, where's Marco?" Sarah asked. The station had been called out for what turned out to be a dumpster fire and she had contented herself with some quality time with Henry, fondling his floppy ears and rubbing his belly, until they had returned. Now, it was almost time for her to leave, to return to the Midwest and her usual existence. She'd be taking Amtrak's Southwest Chief back home and hoped for a relaxing trip.
"I think he got a text message," Kelly said. At her surprised look, he explained, "Metafiction, remember? We got smart phones for Christmas last year."
"Oh, right." She picked up another piece of the coffee cake she'd brought to the station. The sweet, nutty strip evoked pleasant memories of Christmases past at her grandparents' farm, but she kept glancing over at the door, expecting Marco to appear any moment and becoming more and more anxious when he didn't. Her writer's intuition said something was up, something was wrong.
Noticing her preoccupation, Johnny said, "Ees n da lahk wohm." Clearing the food from his mouth, he repeated, "He's in the locker room."
Sarah stood up abruptly. "I'll, uh, I'll be –," she began and exited the room. Something's not right.
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Outside the locker room door, she paused. "Marco?" she asked tentatively, pushing the door open slowly in case he was changing or otherwise indisposed.
He didn't look up as she came in and sat down beside him on the bench in front of his locker. He seemed engrossed in the smartphone he held in one hand. She was able to catch a glimpse of the video footage he was watching – somewhere on a lake there was an out of control residential fire. Mostly melted snow dotted the yards, revealing muddy green grass under gray overcast skies. The scene shifted to a newscaster then went dark.
"Mama sent me this link," he said softly when the video ended. "She was worried about us and wanted me to be – aware of what had happened."
"What happened?"
"There was a fire, in western New York, this morning. A guy set fire to his house and then – waited."
"Waited?"
"For the fire department to arrive." He looked up then, dark eyes wet. "It's apparently a nice little town with friendly, good-hearted people and a couple of volunteer fire departments. When the firemen began arriving to fight the fire, this guy had taken the high ground position across from the house and just began shooting some kind of rifle. Four firemen were shot. Two of them died right there." He paused. "There's audio of the incident. One of the guys was able to call into dispatch, to let them know what was going on, to try to get help."
"Oh, Marco," she breathed, putting a hand on his shoulder, feeling inadequate. What can I say?
"I remember hearing Johnny report his condition after he was bit by that rattlesnake, hearing his words start to slur and stumble, and knowing it wasn't a good sign. This guy, who was calling in, got that same tone in his voice. But he was a professional too. Called in that multiple firemen were shot and down, and reported it as a working fire." He smiled then. "Can you believe that? The guy's been shot twice, seen two of his brother firefighters shot dead, is hiding under a shot-up fire truck, and still has the presence of mind to report the fire as a working incident. Later, he reported extension to a second house."
"Did-did he make it?"
"So far," he replied soberly and hesitated for a long moment. "There's this point in the audio where the fireman asks his chief or someone – not sure who it was – if it would be possible for his next of kin to be notified in person, because he has an hysterical mother." She could see the thoughts of Mama Lopez being so notified in his dark eyes and gave his shoulder a squeeze.
"Is there anything I can do?" she asked, helplessness seeping into her bones, tears starting to slide down her cheeks.
"Hey, now," he said. Touched by her anguish, Marco pulled her into a hug and wiped her tears away with his thumb. "You can do what Mama does: say a prayer for us." He felt her nod and sniffle just a bit. "You can keep writing about us, letting folks know we are real people. And, we always appreciate being appreciated. The sweets you brought were delicious." He sensed her slight smile.
The tones sounded then, a long ominous string of alarms. Sarah tightened her arms around Lopez to prevent him from getting up and leaving. "I have to go," Marco said, gently but firmly pulling her arms from around him. "It's … 'what the business requires', chica, you know that," he reiterated, catching and holding her glance until he saw her understanding and acceptance.
"Stay safe," she said fiercely. He nodded once, turned, and hurried to join his brothers. "Stay safe."
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Firemen are going to get killed.
When they join the department they face that fact.
When a man becomes a fireman his greatest act of bravery has been accomplished.
What he does after that is all in the line of work.
They were not thinking of getting killed when they went where death lurked.
They went there to put the fire out, and got killed.
Firefighters do not regard themselves as heroes because they do what the business requires.
- Chief Edward F. Croker, FDNY (1899-1911) -
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Rest in peace: Tomasz Kaczówka and Michael Chiapperini
Get well soon: Theodore Scardino and Joseph Hofsetter
Audio from the West Webster, NY fire available at
www DOT firefighternation DOT com/videos/dispatch-audio-west-webster-fire