ER Yarscoff - Fire dream

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EPUB978-0-2286-1126-4

Kindle978-0-2286-1127-1

WEB978-0-2286-1128-8

Print ISBNs

Amazon Print978-0-2286-1129-5

Barnes & Noble978-0-2286-1130-1

LSI Print978-0-2286-1131-8

BWL Print978-0-2286-1132-5

2nd Ed.Copyright 2019 by E.R. Yatscoff

Cover art by MichelleLee

All rightsreserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reservedabove, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in orintroduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, orby any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, orotherwise) without the prior written permission of both thecopyright owner and the publisher of this book.

To the memoryof the late, great Captain Ralph Scoop Hansch of the EdmontonFire Rescue Service. A wonderful mentor and Olympic goldmedalist.

Special thanksto my writers group Edna Gerrie, Tim Padleki, Savanna Harvey,and Ray Suchow. Robert Bull; Sam Markham loves you.

You inheritthe sins; you inherit the flames.

Bruce Springsteen,Adam Raised A Cain.

Early morninglight leaked through the bathroom window as Gerry Ormond wipedshaving foam from his face and ear lobes. He glanced at yesterdaysnewspaper item that Joni, his seventeen-year-old daughter, tapedbeside the bathroom mirror.

LOCAL HERO KEYNOTESPEAKER AT FUNDRAISER GALA

Gerry stillwasnt sure how it felt to be called a hero. It was the firstquestion everyone asked. Firefighting was his job. Immediatelyfollowing the sensational rescue of a small child, before theadrenaline dump trickled out of him, hed felt like Superman. Thesedays his celebrity status was merely a means to an end, which wasraising money for the Burn Fund. Gerry toweled off his face and puton his dark blue uniform shirt with the double stripe of captainsbars on the epaulets. He thought it odd how, since all theinterviews and appearances, his fire district inexplicably becamenumber one on the hit parade in arson fires. No such thing as anaccidental fire in his district these days. Odds on, sometime todayhed probably be responding to a set fire.

He just hopedno one would die this time.

* * *

Smoke, thecolor of dirt, leaked from the eaves of the house and curled lowacross the Vancouver neighborhood, spoiling a perfect blue sky. Thekitchen window was already baked black and brown with blotchyyellow patches. Extremely hot inside.

Not a happy dayfor someone.

Neighborscrowded the sidewalk across the street, staring, speaking quietlyto each other. A few women occasionally moved their hands overtheir mouths. They likely knew the homeowners and were horrified tosee the devastation. Men tightly folded their arms across theirchests. A dozen kids rode their bikes in circles in the middle ofthe street, thrilled to see a fire truck on their block.

At the curb,the red fire truck marked its territory with blinking white strobesand red rotators. Its centrifugal pump whined at high revs as theoperator stood at the panel, a steady hand on the controls, keepinghis eyes on the fire attack crew, the pressure gauges, and earsattuned to the radio. A 44mm Combat Hose snaked up the drivewayfrom the fire truck to three firefighters beside the house.

Thefirefighters shifted from one foot to the other in an attempt tocontain the adrenaline rippling through them. Their bulky yellowduty gear shone in the reflected light of the nearby unit.

Captain GerryOrmond, in his red helmet, stood out from the other men wearingyellow helmets. Ormond was a veteran with years of hard-wonknowledge under his belt. His was the responsibility to strategizethe attack on the fire, but given the clever firebug loose in thedistrict, strategy might not be worth a pinch of salt.

The moment hisrig pulled up to the curb, Captain Ormond sized up the bungalow,analyzed the situation, and formed a basic attack plan. The frontand basement windows hadnt yet blackened, and smoke only emanatedfrom the rear half of the home where the kitchen was normallylocated. He suspected the occupant might have left something on thestove or in the oven. That would be a real change. Lately, hed hadno such luck.

Ormond cursedunder his breath; odds on, sensing this was the work of the firebugagain.

Rolling halfwayto the residence, dispatch reported no occupants home. When theydpulled up, the neighbor woman whod called 911 confirmed shed seenboth occupants leave an hour ago. Every firefighter took thatinformation with a grain of salt. Start believing second-handinformation and youd be sure to have more fire deaths. A searchwas always carried out.

The captaingestured to the door, where smoke leaked from around its frame. Theportable radio in his chest pocket chirped with chatter fromdispatch and incoming units. Sirens wailed urgently in the distanceas incoming support units neared. He gestured with his gloved hand,giving a quick-fire attack plan, speaking to his men through theopening in his clear facemask. The men performed a rapid visualcheck on their colleagues equipment and duty coats from top tobottom. One of the men reached across to another and tucked hisflash hood in further down his collar. Each man nodded to thecaptain; ready to roll.

Captain Ormondangled his head down to his shoulder and spoke into the portableradio mike attached to his shoulder strap. Dispatch, Pump 13Captain Ormond and two going on rapid fire attack. Next arrivingunit take command. We will need immediate ventilation. Hed heardon the radio as they were halfway to the scene that Capt. FredHurley would be commanding that support unit.

The crewsecured their helmets, twisted regulators onto the opening of theirfacemasks, clicked on the voice amps, and reached behind to crankopen the valve on their thirty-pound tanks. Air pushed into theirfacemasks, the regulators shrieking against the pressureregulators.

One of the menquickly went around the corner of the house and smashed a windowwith an axe. Smoke rolled out through the opening curling aroundthe corner, allowing some heat to escape. In a moment, hereturned.

The captainpointed to the door and made a fist. It was a signal forFirefighter Bruno Martella. The big man took three steps back fromthe door, then surged forward, lifting his leg waist-high at thelast second for a mighty kick. His steel-shanked boot landedsquarely beside the doorknob. The wood gave with a resoundingcrack, punching in the door, its top hinge ripped from the frame.The door leaned inside at a broken angle. It was Brunos patentedKarate King maneuver.

The men droppedto one knee and bent their heads as if genuflecting. Hot smoke,dirty from melting plastics and burning wood, shot from the openinglike a cannon, rolling over them.

Sammy, at thepump panel, cranked up the engine and gave more pressure to thehose. Firefighter Eric Mathers picked up the nozzle.

In the cornerof his eye, Captain Ormond spotted the boxy rescue unit as itstopped with a hiss of air brakes near their rig.

Squatting low,Captain Ormond positioned behind his men while they stomped thedoor flat and cautiously entered the burning home, staying low.They disappeared into the doorway, immediately swallowed by analien atmosphere of smoke and hot, toxic gases.

Breaths pushedthrough their facemasks, a sound Gerry thought of like a chorus ofair through gritted teeth. A dragons tongue of flame licked at theceiling above them, halting their progress for a moment on theshort set of stairs. As a group, they ducked involuntarily,fighting the primordial fight or flee instinct. For a rookie,this response was based on fear; for an experienced firefighter, itwas respect.