On the third floor, flames ripple across the ceiling and spit out the windows. We take aim at the base of the fire and knock it down, only to have it flare somewhere else.
Chatter comes over the headset in my ear. Talk of an elderly woman, a child, and a couple of dogs somewhere in the house. Firefighters disperse on lower levels, managing the fire or looking for survivors. Carter and I douse the left side of the top floor, check all potential hiding places, but find no grandmother, no kid, no dogs.
The floor is flooded with smoke. We drop to our knees and crawl across the hall. I hear they’ve found the elderly woman, who tells them the kid was on the second floor somewhere.
“Let’s make this quick,” I yell to Carter. “The roof’s gonna go.”
More chatter over the radio says they’ve located the two dogs, but still no kid. When our floor is doused, the captain tells us to head out. I hustle Carter down the stairs and out the front door. I pull off my breathing apparatus and turn to face the house. Fire still glows in a few windows on the second floor, but the majority of the work is done.
Carter takes the hose, and I round the back of the engine to check on Evan. Only, Evan’s not manning the hydrant. Logan is giving one of the regular volunteers a lesson on the pumps.
“Where’s Evan?” I ask.
“Cap sent him in with Puckett to relieve Tucker and Sanders.” Puckett and Sanders are volunteers, way too inexperienced to be working with a man hopped up on painkillers. “They’re still looking for the kid.”
Anger ignites in my chest. I make my way toward the captain, muttering, “Now who’s the motherfucking sonofabitch?”
Standing beside the captain, I watch the front door, willing Evan to come out so I can throttle him. “They find the kid?”
“Not yet.”
My teeth clench and pulse. I can’t do anything about Evan unless I want to explain myself to the captain, which would probably get Evan suspended—or worse. And after learning about all the pressure he’s already not handling well, the last thing he needs is more. Truth be told, I’m doing this more for Natalie than Evan.
“I’ll go in and give Puckett a break,” I tell Cap. “He’s not the fittest guy we’ve got.”
“Give him a few more minutes. If the fire kicks his ass, maybe he’ll have incentive to ramp his fitness up a notch.”
I cross my arms and shift on my feet, my loyalties at war. My mind flips between the pros and cons of outing Evan to the captain. To Natalie.
“Puckett to Captain.”
The stress in the volunteer’s voice opens a cold stream of dread in my chest.
“Go ahead, Puckett.”
“I can’t find Ryan. I left him at the end of the hose line to go get a halligan, but when I got back, he was gone.”
I take my helmet off so I can pull on my breathing apparatus. “I’ll go.”
“Not yet.” Sorenson holds on to my arm. Into the radio, he says, “Did you search the immediate area?”
“Yes, sir, twice. He’s not in this room. I didn’t want to go looking for him until I told you.”
“Follow the hose out,” Sorenson says.
“Let me go, Cap,” I beg.
The roof buckles and collapses into the area where I was just working with Carter.
“Everybody out,” the captain orders into the radio. “She’s falling apart. Everybody out. Ryan, respond.” Three long seconds tick by with nothing from Evan. “Evan Ryan, what’s your status?”
Another three seconds pass with firefighters spilling out onto the sidewalk. Someone has found the kid and brings him to the rescue vehicle, but still no Evan.
“Evan Ryan,” the captain says again, anger clear in his voice. “Check the fuck in.”
Nothing.
My stomach knots.
“I need a RIT team. Tucker, Bobby, you’re it.”
Calling in the rapid intervention team is a last resort. The scene seems to quiet, the severity of the command permeating the air.
“Let me go, Cap.”
Tucker and Bobby respond affirmative and approach the house.
“He was last seen at the end of the second-floor hose,” Sorenson tells them.
“Got it,” Tucker says before he heads in.
Fuck this. I’m not standing out here. I hurry toward the team, with the captain yelling at my back. “Jackson, get your ass back here.”
I ignore him. I’ll pay for it later. Cap will hold it over my head for months. But I don’t give a shit.
I pull my breathing apparatus back into place and tap Tucker’s shoulder. “I’m with you.”
He glances back at me. “You’re going to get ripped.”
A dock to my pay for a few months for insubordination is the least of my worries right now. I nod, acknowledging the risk. “Go.”
We head up the stairs and drop to a crawl on the second floor. Our headlamps illuminate nothing but swirling smoke. We have to feel our way into the first bedroom on the left.
Inside the room, Bobby heads left, Tucker heads right, and I move up the middle. We meet at the back wall and scan the second bedroom in the same pattern.
Still no Evan.
I’m physically sick as we enter the last bedroom on this floor, bile burning my throat. If he’s had a heart attack, we’re too late. If he’s swallowed smoke, we’re too late. The only way this turns out right is if Evan’s hurt and his mask is still in place.
We repeat the search pattern. Near the back wall, my gloved hand bumps up against a boot. Adrenaline and fear mix into a sickening burn. “Got him,” I yell. “I’ve got him.”
As Tucker and Bobby come toward me, I feel my way up Evan’s body, searching for major injuries. Only when I reach his head do I realize his face mask is pulled down.
In that instant, I know exactly what happened. He wandered away from the hose, got disoriented, used up his air, and pulled off his mask, trying to breathe—and pumped smoke straight into his lungs.
Tucker, Bobby, and I hustle his limp body down the stairs and lay him out on the front lawn.
I jerk off one glove and slap his face. “Evan.”
I press my fingers against his carotid. No pulse. My stomach drops like a rock. Emotions eddy through my chest. Tucker rips open Evan’s turnout jacket, and I start compressions. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ die on us.”
Tucker yanks Evan’s T-shirt up between compressions, and Bobby slaps EKG pads on Evan’s chest. Logan kneels beside me, defibrillator paddles ready.
This isn’t happening. This is a nightmare. I’ll wake up any second.
Logan counts down. “Three, two, one.”
I sit back on my heels, and Logan blasts electricity through Evan’s chest.
When the monitor continues to show a flat line, I’m back on compressions while Logan readies the paddles again.
“You fucking bastard,” I tell Evan, the words fighting their way out of a tight throat and through clenched teeth. “I’ll never forgive you for this.”
Tucker takes over the paddles, and Logan shoots meds directly into Evan’s veins and hangs an IV bag with more. Tucker gives Evan another shock, we get another flat line, I continue compressions.
Carter pulls the gurney to our side. Tucker, Bobby, and Carter roll Evan onto a backboard and hoist him to the gurney. I jump on, straddling him to continue compressions. At the open ambulance door, Cap puts a hand on my arm. “He’s gone, Cole.”