Page 18 of Nanny for the Firefighters
"We got you," I assure them, even as another ominous creak resonates through the structure. We're running out of time. Quickly, we guide them back toward what we hope is safety, each step a gamble against the building's integrity.
But as we near the exit, the worst happens—the building groans louder than before, a terrifying sound that freezes us in our tracks. The ceiling above us shudders, and I can see the fear in my team's eyes, reflecting my own.
"We need to move—now!" I yell, pushing them forward. But even as I do, my mind races. The structure could collapse at any moment, trapping us inside. The decision is a cruel one—risk our lives for the rescue, or retreat and potentially leave others to their fate.
The weight of past losses, the faces of those we couldn't save, flashes through my mind, each memory a sharp stab of grief and guilt. But those ghosts also steel my resolve. I can't let fear decide our fate. Not again.
"Team, double-time!" I command, my voice heavy with equal parts dread and determination. We hustle the civilians out, practically carrying those too weak or disoriented to move quickly on their own.
Just as we clear the threshold, the building gives a disastrous groan. The heat is monstrous, like the fiery breath of some ancient dragon enraged at our intrusion. Every nerve ending in my body is screaming, the crackling inferno around us a symphony of chaos as we search for anyone left inside the burning restaurant. My lungs burn with the effort to breathe through the mask, each breath a battle against the smoke that seeks to choke the life from us.
An unexpected sound cuts through the roar—a muffled scream, faint, almost lost beneath the hellish noise of the fire. My head snaps up, eyes straining through the haze. We've missed someone.
"Did you hear that?" I shout to Martinez, who's just a dark silhouette against the backdrop of flames.
He nods, grim-faced. "Came from the back!"
It could be a trick of the mind—fire plays cruel games with acoustics. But if there's even a slim chance it's real, I can't ignore it. Not and call myself a firefighter.
"We go in," I decide, the weight of command heavy on my shoulders. The possibility of a survivor galvanizes us, lending strength to our weary limbs.
The building moans and shudders around us, a clear warning of its imminent collapse. Every training session, every past experience screams at me to pull back, to save ourselves from becoming casualties. But the potential cost of inaction, the life that might be snuffed out if we retreat, anchors my resolve.
"We need to be fast," I instruct, voice harsh under the strain. "Keep your eyes sharp, and watch for my signal."
Martinez nods, and we move deeper into the bowels of the restaurant. Claustrophobia settles deep in my skin, curling spectral arms around my heart. The smoke thickens.
Still, the cry comes like a tomb wind in my ears. We cannot leave a person to die—not while we know they are still breathing.
Just when we are running out of options to search, I spot a shadow crumpled against a wall that's miraculously still standing amid the destruction. As we draw closer, the shadow resolves into the form of a man, unconscious, his clothes a tapestry of burns and soot.
"We've got one!" I radio the team outside. "Prepare for extraction!"
Martinez and I hoist the man between us, his weight substantial but not unmanageable. We retrace our steps, each movement deliberate, the risk of the building collapsing pressing down on us like a physical weight.
At the same time as the exit comes into view, a loud, terrifying crack reverberates through the structure. Time slows, my heart pounding in my ears. This is it—the moment of truth where everything can go wrong.
With a burst of adrenaline-fueled strength, I shout, "Run!"
We surge forward, the injured man an unwitting participant in a race against death. The building groans a death knell, timbers and bricks succumbing to the flames.
The fresh air hits my face like a slap as we burst from the inferno, the coolness of the early morning a stark contrast to the hellish heat behind us. We don't stop, don't dare to, until we're a safe distance away, the victim laid gently on the ground as paramedics swarm in.
Panting, heart still racing, I look back at the restaurant just as it collapses in a roar of defeat, a cloud of smoke and ash billowing up into the sky.
"We did it," Martinez gasps next to me, relief painting his features.
"Yeah," I manage, my voice rough. "We did."
We've managed to get everyone out alive—a fact that buoys my spirits as we load up the truck. The faces of the people we saved flash through my mind, their expressions of terror replaced by relief. It's this part of the job, the tangible results of our efforts, that makes all the risks worthwhile.
"Good work out there, team," I say, clapping Martinez on the back as he stows the last of the hoses. He nods, a tired smile breaking through the grime on his face.
Ethan, however, hangs back a little, his expression thoughtful, perhaps a bit troubled. As we start the engine, ready to head back, he turns to me, his voice carrying a hint of reprimand that cuts through the hum of the idling truck.
"Theo, you took a lot of risks today," he starts, his tone serious. "I get it, we got everyone out, but it was too close. You know Marcus isn't going to be thrilled about how you played it."
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, the residue of the night's tension creeping back. "We did what we had to do, Ethan. Everyone's safe. That's what matters," I respond, trying to keep my voice even.