Page 29 of Time Bomb
“Finish up, then we’re going to run a gear drill. My shift can get into their gear and on the truck in under twenty-five seconds from the time of the first bell. I want to see you guys matching it by the end of shift.” They’re good. I know they’ve done it in thirty seconds, but there’s always room for improvement.
I have them start in the common room, where they will most likely be when a call comes in. Once everyone is finished with their equipment check, they gather in there, where Mark is waiting for them with an air horn. I stay in the bay with a stopwatch.
As soon as the horn blows, I hit the button and the time rolls. They hustle out in good time. Their gear is ready next to their positions on the truck. Some more organized than others.
Boots and bunker pants get slipped into first. Up the legs, straps over the shoulders. Nomex is slid over their heads. Jacket goes on, helmets finally, then they’re jumping in the truck. Doors slam all around, and I hit stop.
“Twenty-eight seconds,” I call out. “Let’s do it again!” And they do, over and over, until they’re at twenty-six seconds before the fire bell rings, and we’re called to a warehouse fire.
The ride there is tense as they prepare for what we’re heading into. We already know three ambulances will be on scene as well as another station house, with the possibility of more on the way.
Adrenaline courses through my veins when I see tempestuous flames bursting through the roof of the building and licking at the windows.
Mark calls out orders as we jump out of the truck. “Decker, take Matthews with you to the east side. No reports of civilians, but do a quick sweep, then get the fuck out.”
Removing my helmet, I double-check my air, watch Matthews do the same, and slide the mask on and heft the pack on my back. Securing my helmet, I slip on my gloves and lead the way into the burning warehouse.
Fire eats away at the room, so I know we have minimal time to do the sweep, but I make the most of it. “Lieu!” I hear Matthews, but I don’t see him when I turn.
“Where are you?” There’s a loud crash down a hall to my right, and that instinct that has kept me alive all these years screams at me now. The kid went that way. I’m going to kick his ass for not staying on my six and bolting before I could ask his reason for calling for me.
Smoke makes visibility difficult, so I don’t realize what I’m looking for until I’m on it. Matthews is out cold. “Firefighter down. First hallway on the right,” I relay before tugging the heavy cabinet off his back. Flames filter through the floor, and I assess that I have seconds to get the kid out of here.
“Come on, Matthews. Wake up!” I shout at him, knowing he’s unable to. I hear a crackling sound just as voices burst through my radio, warning me to get out.
But there’s no time.
The roof collapses over us as I get the fucking shelf off the kid. In time to cover him with my body, but not fast enough to move us both out of the way as something pierces my side, knocking the wind out of me and dropping my body flat to the ground.
“Mayday, mayday. I’m down. Fuck,” I hiss as the burn of metal slices through me like fire through ice.
My vision blurs, and I register yelling, but my sight goes in and out. When I feel hands on me, pulling, I let out a scream loud enough to be heard across the state. Whatever is wedged inside of me is large and not budging.
There’s more shouting, more pressure, but eventually, the injury takes me out of commission. I can only hope it’s not for good as I feel my heart rate slow and my consciousness fade away.
Ophelia
I finally made it out of the house today. Had to borrow Laken’s shower so I would be presentable, but I still feel and look like death. Sleep has remained elusive since those pictures, even more so after Torque left. I’ve felt bereft. Dead inside. Like I’m unable to breathe.
I regret how miserable I was to him. I wouldn’t listen as he spoke. Only after he’d gone and my house quieted, except for my angry sobs as I lay on the kitchen floor, did I allow myself to hear what he said. And I hated myself. Because it made sense. He would never have recorded us without my permission. Deep down, I knew this to be true. I realized the idea of someone violating our moments like that had to have been an anomaly because who does that?
The same asshole who violated our privacy.
But then, I kept going back to those pictures of us in public, and I knew it wasn’t Torque who had done something foolish.
It was me.
It’s my fault, and I have no idea how to make it better because, if I’m honest, I have my suspicions of who’s behind this.
It can only be one person.
Baxter.
He’s the sole individual in my life who would be so cruel. That I’ve had any negative interaction with in months, maybe years. But I’m at a loss at how to have him investigated and apologize to Torque.
Which I must do.
Something inside me screams to call Torque. He just worked a double shift, so he should have a couple of days off. That’s if he even wants to talk to me after the horrific things I said to him.