Hard to Resist - By Kara Lennox Page 0,1

streaked through the chain of command.

Three hose units went in through the building’s front door—“stretching heavy.” As he waited in the staging area to get his orders, Ethan watched the hose units. He didn’t see Priscilla among them, and he tried not to worry about her.

“McCrae,” Captain Campeon ordered, “you and the rookie run a ladder up to the second floor, to that window.” He pointed to a dark window at the end of the building, two doors down from the burning unit. “Let the nozzle guys go in first, then follow and initiate a preliminary search-and-rescue.”

Ethan was going in.

As Ethan and McCrae pulled a wall ladder off the truck, McCrae was quiet, calm, focused on his task. His movements were swift but controlled. Ethan ordered himself to adopt the same attitude. No panic, no rushing. Mistakes were made when you rushed.

The hose went up first. Otis Granger, a large African-American man Priscilla was assigned to stick close to, climbed the ladder first, dragging another smaller ladder with him. Priscilla followed with the hose. Her pristine beige coat stood out from the others’, as did Ethan’s. He watched her disappear through the window and said a silent prayer she would be okay.

With his air mask in place, Ethan climbed his first ladder into his first real—post-training—burning building. His knees felt shaky, and every survival instinct he was born with screamed, No. Go back. Run! But the instant he climbed through the window, all those months of training took control. He slowed his breathing so he wouldn’t suck down thirty minutes of air in ten.

All he had to do was follow Murph McCrae. Murph was a cranky old guy, but everyone said he knew his stuff.

Ethan and McCrae did a preliminary search of the first apartment, following the walls counterclockwise as Otis and Priscilla hatcheted their way through the ceiling. Though smoke had already seeped in, Ethan’s flashlight penetrated and visibility was still pretty good. They found no one.

The next apartment was a different story. They chopped a hole through a wall—easier than breaching the locked solid-core door—and stepped in. Smoke met them, pouring through the opening in an opaque cloud. In moments, they were walking into black soup.

“Get down,” McCrae ordered, but Ethan was already dropping to his hands and knees, trying not to think about whether the apartment below was involved; whether the floor beneath him was burning. He proceeded around the room, again counterclockwise, feeling along the walls, keeping the reflective stripes of McCrae’s pants in view at all times.

“I’ve got a victim,” McCrae reported, his voice sounding way too calm in the radio earpiece, and Ethan’s heart pounded inside his chest. His first major fire, and someone’s life might depend on the actions he took in the next few seconds.

“Two victims,” McCrae corrected himself. “Woman and child. And…a cat.” McCrae had made it clear he didn’t like cats.

Ethan quickly crawled forward, finding the victims by feel. “I’ve got the kid,” he said. The tiny girl had a wiggling kitten in her arms, and she wasn’t about to let go. Ethan grasped her by the elbows and started dragging, backing out the way he’d come. The child squirmed and cried, and Ethan recognized the pronounced wheezing of an asthmatic. She fought him every step of the way, but he couldn’t risk swinging her up into his arms. Even a few feet higher, the temperature could be hot enough to singe skin.

“It’s okay, I’m here to help you,” he said over and over.

From a few feet away, he could hear the woman coughing and then gasping out, “My baby… Save my baby…first.”

“I’ve got her,” Ethan yelled, hoping she could hear him through his oxygen mask and over the chaotic noise of rushing water and crackling fire. Hoping there wasn’t a second child somewhere.

“McCrae to Incident Command.” Ethan heard the call go out through his earpiece. “We’ve got two victims, taking them out the window. Requesting assistance.”

“Ten-four.”

Because the girl was so small, Ethan made quick progress with her, half crawling, half duck-walking as he dragged her along the carpet. She stopped struggling and grew frighteningly quiet.

Hold on. Oh, please, little girl, hold on.

Smoke now filled the apartment, though the open window provided some ventilation. Ethan heard shouting and banging above him—Priscilla and Otis battling the blaze, and others on the roof, opening ventilation holes.

When Ethan reached the window with the child, another firefighter was waiting at the top of the ladder. Ethan quickly stood and passed the frail child—who, amazingly,