A/N: This chapter was difficult to write in light of the recent tragedies in Arizona and around the country. I considered changing my plan for the story but decided to go ahead with it anyway. In no way is this chapter and the one that will follow intended to be insensitive but is meant to honor the brave men and women who protect life and property on a daily basis.

Warning: language

A House Divided – Chet's Cataclysm

Chapter 7

Chet both heard and felt the explosion that rocked the building. He shoved the bail of the nozzle forward shutting off the line then felt his partner pulling him backwards toward the exit. He leaned his head back checking out damage along the ceiling as Marco tugged on him again.

"Ceiling's gonna go, Chet…c'mon!"

The two experienced firefighters, momentarily disoriented by the backdraft, began to back their way out of the exit when suddenly the lead man stopped, his mask covered face staring down at the hose snaking towards the stairwell.

Shit, shit, shit. "In the stairwell," he shouted to his older partner.

Marco's face swiveled in the direction Chet was pointing and he too saw the proof of their brothers' peril. NO! Not this…not now! His soul began to shout what his vocal chords could not. He cast a weary glance upwards, feeling the sweat pour down the sides of his neck and back, pooling along the waistband of his drenched boxers, his saturated t-shirt unable to absorb another drop. The flaming teeth overhead confirmed that they had precious few seconds to try to retrieve their fallen comrades. He watched as Chet dropped the line his hands had been securely holding and ignored the orders of their incident commander to evacuate the building. His heart slammed around inside his chest as the feeling of entering the bowels of hell enveloped him like a boiling tsunami rolling overhead. His first instinct was to turn and run but the reality of two men, indeed brothers from 36's, who lay trapped and most likely dying inside the stairwell spurred him into action. He quickly jogged behind Chet to the stairwell doorway.

E!

"Sonofabitch!" Being angry at a fire was nothing new to Hank Stanley, but the absolute bitter rage he was feeling at this moment went well beyond his normal emotions. His usual calm exterior was shattered and his uncharacteristic outburst was the proof. He knew immediately what had most likely happened and he also knew that the men under his command, which at the moment included every man from three stations with the exception of his own paramedics, were trusting him to keep them as safe as possible during this call. No way was he going to risk the life of a firefighter to save what was left of the building. It was apparent that it was going to be a total loss at this point so protecting the nearby structures became his priority. Then came the explosion and the priority became saving the lives of those inside.

"Incident command…evacuate immediately. Repeat…this is incident command…evacuate immediately." Hank's eyes followed the two lines that snaked across the parking lot and into the eastern exposure of the building; one belonged to 36's and the other belonged to 51's. He saw no movement that indicated the men were egressing. He then scanned the northern side and watched as two other men from 36's exited the building as quickly as their tired gear-laden legs could move. Thank God!

Hank keyed up his mic, "Station 10, report."

"We're out," the Captain responded.

"Copy," Hank replied. "Station 36, report," Hank asked, surveying the area where his own men had entered the burning inferno.

"Two out, two unaccounted for," came the anxious reply. "My men are ready to go in on search and rescue."

The weight of the decision pressed the air out of Hank's lungs and began sucking his soul through the bottom of his feet into the asphalt of the parking lot as if it were quicksand. He also had two men unaccounted for and knew that all four of them were in close proximity to the explosion. He gulped for air willing the unseen fingers of the beast to release their grip from around his throat as he clutched the handy talkie. But, before he could respond to 36's request, he saw movement near the entrance and what he saw caused his breathing to hitch in the back of his throat.

E!

Chet never felt the pain in his foot as he charged across the floor toward the blue metal door leaning haphazardly in the opening to the stairwell; its upper hinges had been dislodged in the explosion leaving it slightly askew. Using his shoulder, he shoved it back against the wall inside the stairwell and cringed at the sight before him.

Beneath a pile of metal shards, wooden splinters and a few jagged pieces of glass lay the motionless firefighters from 36's. One man was face down, his face mask broken and his face bloody. His right leg was twisted at an odd angle, obviously broken midway down the shin by the debris now piled on top of him. The second man was trapped beneath the first, his legs and one arm the only evidence of his location.

Chet and Marco began to systematically remove debris from their downed brothers. Neither man checked for a pulse; it didn't matter if they were alive or not because no brother would be left behind. Marco continued to occasionally cast a glance at the direction of the second floor, his own fierce stubbornness willing it to remain intact long enough to allow their escape. Finally, the last piece of wood was removed and Chet assisted his partner in hoisting the victim onto Marco's shoulders in a fireman's carry. It was the only option for a one man rescue. With rapid breaths, Marco tightened his grip on the injured man then gave one last longing look at his younger partner.

"Make it quick, Chet," he shouted, his voice muffled by the mask as well as his own welling emotions.

Chet scanned the unconscious man who was now exposed. His left arm was clearly fractured, having been slammed against the stairs beneath the weight of the other man and the falling debris. His helmet had been dislodged exposing the right side of his head to the trauma of the metal beam which had also broken his partner's leg. Chet felt his chest tighten and his stomach lurch at the sight of the trauma the metal, glass and heat had inflicted on a human body. And even though a tiny part of him knew that his efforts at rescue may be futile, he summoned up all the strength his adrenaline saturated body could muster and using the height of the stairs to help him, he shouldered the injured firefighter across his upper back and began his methodical exit.

Marco felt his pulse throbbing in his throat as the intense heat began to burn through his turnouts. The rapid swooshing sounds of his SCBA reminded him of just how quick his respirations were as he struggled beneath his burden to find his way out of the smoky maze. Using his boots to follow the hose he and Chet had dropped, he finally navigated his way to the opening and into the night air. He never saw the two firefighters from 10's who relieved him of his victim but he felt the lightness as the man was removed. The next sensation he felt was a strong hand around his wrist pulling his right arm across a broad set of shoulders while its companion hugged him tightly around the waist, assisting him the remainder of the way across the parking lot and to the squad from Station 10 where their engineer was laying out yellow sheets for the victims. His legs felt weak and his vision began to blur as they got closer but then a familiar voice called out to him with a rejuvenating effect.

"Lopez, whatcha got?"

Marco widened his eyes as he was assisted to the ground, his SCBA being pulled off his shoulders while he removed his mask. "Cap," he began with a huff. "Che…Chet's right behind me…with…with the other guy."

"Injured?" Hank asked in a voice that reminded those nearby that he was both in charge of this incident and extremely concerned for the welfare of the men.

Marco nodded his affirmation willing his heartbeat to slow down. "Ye…yesss," he drawled out. "Unconscious…Chet's ok," he spoke in answer to his captain's unclarified question.

"Mike," Hank looked up, his face a mixture of authority and compassion. "Get another squad coming…tell dispatch we're gonna need a second alarm too."

Hank had already learned that the two men injured in the backdraft were the paramedics from 36's, leaving only two paramedics still on scene and both of them were busy with the victim Marco had just rescued. Hank turned back around watching the area where Marco had just emerged. He saw two more men from 10's pulling a line towards Chet's only route of egress from the burning structure. Just as the two men got close enough to begin cooling down the area for the two men still inside, Chet emerged, obviously struggling with the weight of the larger man he was carrying. The two linemen from 10's dropped their line and eased the severely injured man off Chet's shoulders, using a two man carry to get him to the area set up by their paramedics. Rapidly blinking his eyes in an effort to clear the stinging sweat from his field of vision, he reached up to pull off his mask when a strong arm reached around his waist while another pulled his arm across a taller set of shoulders and a voice he knew well seemed to materialize in his left ear.

"No, leave it on, Kelly and lean on me."

Chet looked up and saw the face of his engineer staring down at him. "Thanks, Mi…," he slurred unable to complete the name of the man who was carrying him more than simply assisting him away from the burning structure.

"I got ya."

The Irishman watched as the two linemen deposited the victim on one of the yellow sheets then ran past him heading back to man a line against the beast that still raged. Chet stumbled but felt the strong arm of the man beside him holding him up preventing his fall and somewhere deep inside his broken soul, the act of leaning on someone else knowing that this man would not let him down, felt like it filled a tiny vacant corner of his shattered and empty heart.

E!

Roy tried to swallow but the dryness in his mouth made the normally mundane task nearly impossible to accomplish. Amid the chaos at the scene, he spotted what appeared to be a triage area set up beside squad 10. He wheeled the squad over near the area, quickly exiting and pulling out the equipment he thought he and Johnny would need.

Johnny's eyes surveyed the carnage seeing two injured firefighters he didn't recognize and another walking away from the triage area slowly. He read the name stenciled across the back of the turnout coat heading back towards the fire and noted the name 'LOPEZ' in black letters. Seeing the lineman alone sent a chill up his spine. Where is he?

Johnny jumped out of the door pulling open the compartments on his side and removing the usual gear. He continued to scan the area looking for his missing shiftmate, his nimble hands able to locate the equipment without him even looking in that direction. Then he spotted Mike helping a shorter man over toward the triage area and quickly made his way to them.

Chet glanced down at the severely injured man on the yellow blanket and realized that the paramedic kneeling beside him was Roy. "Oh good," he mumbled as Mike helped him sit down.

"I got him," Mike offered, his eyes meeting those of Johnny in a brief unspoken message of understanding.

"Get Rampart on the horn…this one's going sour on us quick," Roy called to his partner. The man lying before him had a severe head trauma; an injury he knew would have life altering, if not life ending, consequences.

Johnny jerked open the orange box and screwed in the antennae. "Rampart, this is squad 51, how do you read?"

Chet watched in silence as the two sets of paramedics hovered over their patients shouting out instructions to each other, speaking a language only bits and pieces of which he understood. His hands began to shake with an uncontrollable desire to do something to help out. The victim he'd removed, the one described by Roy as 'going sour,' looked more like a corpse than a living man. He knew by the looks on Roy's and Johnny's faces that his condition was grave. He sat down, drinking the water Mike had handed him and watched as the two paramedics cut off the firefighter's turnout coat. That led Chet to begin pulling off the man's boots. He knew they would need to check him for injuries in his lower extremities. He'd even seen them start IV's around the ankles of victims and began pulling off the man's socks, one extremely bloody; the action more of a way to feel useful than an actual act of assistance. He stared first at the bloody sock then at the man's foot from which it had been removed; the injury allowing the pain in his own aching foot to surface.

"You both gonna go in right?"

"Mmm hmm," Johnny responded using his teeth to tear open another bag of lactated ringers per Dr. Early's orders.

"I'll bring the squad in after overhaul," he choked out.

"Ambulance is here."

Chet blinked rapidly, looking around for the man to whom the voice belonged. "Hey, Marco…gimme a hand?" He reached up, taking the proffered hand from the man whom he still considered to be his best friend in spite of their recent stressed relationship.

"Help us get him on the stretcher," Roy requested.

The two paramedics and two linemen from Station 51 carefully loaded the injured man, covering him with a beige blanket and buckling him in. Johnny held the two bags of ringer's above his head as they loaded him inside the awaiting ambulance.

Hank stepped over to the back of the ambulance, casting worried blood shot eyes at his two paramedics then lowering them to the unconscious man who just minutes before had gone inside the burning structure under his command. He gulped down the lump in his throat, shut the doors and gave them the customary two slaps.

"Cap?" Chet called out breaking the trance Hank had been locked inside. "I'll take the squad in when we get done here."

Hank nodded his agreement, "Thanks, Pal."

Chet looked back at what was left of the burning structure that had nearly consumed him. Station 10's crew along with the second alarm assignments had knocked it down to the point where only a few glowing spots remained. "Let's grab another line," Chet said, turning to his partner.

"You sure you're ok?" Marco's concern for his friend was evident on his somber face.

"Yea," he began, feeling an odd sense of relief flood him as a plan began to hatch deep inside his being. Finally, he'd be able to get some much needed rest to gather his thoughts. Snippets of the conversation he'd had with his father after his miserable results on the Engineers exam tried to surface as he watched his victim carried into the night by the Mayfair ambulance. Charles Kelly had tossed him a live grenade that day and he'd since been juggling it about in his mind like the proverbial hot potato. Finally, he was going to find a way to deal with it but the feeling of relief was short lived; his anger boiling when he thought of the damage the flaming hell-beast had inflicted on his two brothers from 36's. He looked over at Marco whose compassionate eyes were trying to read his thoughts but Chet was determined not to allow even his best friend inside his private nightmare. No now; maybe not ever. He pulled his helmet back on his mussed up curly hair, tightening his chinstrap, he spoke with a conquering voice. "Let's finish off this bitch."