I knew the procedure. But knowing it and doing it automatically were two separate things.

Lamar had preached the same sermon all during training: Firefighters had to know procedures so well, they could react without having to think. When a two-thousand-square-foot roof was collapsing on your head, there was no time to consult the manual.

“Lamar!” I ran over to Hoyt’s cruiser. “What’s my post?”

Lamar Rivenbark was my opposite. He stood barely five feet, eight inches tall, a solidly built man with cropped brown hair and hands as thick and coarse as cinder blocks. His hair was almost completely gray, like the stubble on his cheeks. A lifetime of farming had given him a deep tan and a slight gait, a gift from a runaway hay baler.

“Slow down now, no need to huff and puff,” Lamar said. “You don’t just rush into a fire.”

“Yes sir.” I took a deep breath. “Now, what’s my post?”

Lamar scratched his head. “Maybe you got a genius IQ, but you’re still thinking like a soldier, all nerves and guts. Like you could huff and puff and blow out the fire all by your lonesome.”

“Sailor, not soldier. I didn’t shot people in the Navy.” I surveyed the damage. Flames poured out of the windows, the doors, and through the roof near the chimney. The rafters had collapsed there, opening a gaping hole. “I can help. I’m ready.”

“Back up Julia on the pumper engine.” Lamar snapped his chinstrap. “You’ll be feeding out the lines.”

“I was hoping to work the attack.”

Lamar slapped me on the shoulder. The blow was hard enough to knock me back a step. “We’ve already rung four alarms on this job. The residence is empty. The other structures are all goners. Our job now is to wash down the fire, stomp out the sparks, and get back to the station with all our fingers and toes. Which is why, for now, you got the pumper. Get to work and don’t argue.”

I held my chin high, looked my stepfather straight in the eye, and said, “Yes, sir, Captain.”

A wise man once said that everybody has to pay his dues. I was no exception. My turn would come sooner or later.

Probably sooner.

4

An hour later, the fire was under control. Otto and Julia had soaked down the roof. They worked around the house to the kitchen. Lamar ordered me to back them up. I tied a clove hitch knot to secure a reel of unused hose I had been spooling, then went to help Julia with the blitz line.

The charged hose was as hard as concrete and just as heavy. I held it on my hip, supporting Julia as she opened the nozzle and a battering ram of water broke free. The line fought me as much as I fought it. It was like wrestling a Burmese python that had swallowed a water tank. My turnouts were immediately soaked with backwash, and the hose hammered my chest.

“Hold tight!” Julia ordered Otto, then turned her attention to the structure. “I’m taking the hooligan to it!”

With one deft swing, she knocked the back door off its frame.

“Swing battah!” Otto yelled. “That’s how you use a hooligan!”

Julia took a step inside.

Then she froze. “Down! Everybody, down!”

Fueled by fresh oxygen, the fire came alive, and flames erupted from the door frame. They seemed to be suspended in air. A ballet dancer in the midst of a grand jeté. Then—boom! A wave of heat swept over the porch with a roaring ovation of sound and furious heat.

Julia was thrown down on the porch. She threw an arm across her face to cover the face shield. Then she went limp.

“Jules!” Otto hit the fire with a jet from the hose. “Get her, rookie!”

I dived onto the porch. Rolled under the flames. Grabbed Julia under the arms for a carry. She was solid as an engine block, but the backdraft had tossed her like a rag doll.

“Julia!” I carried her to the grass. “Can you hear me?”

“Hell, Boone. I’m not deaf.” She popped her chin strap. “Just knocked the wind out of me. Lucky I landed on my ass.”

“Yeah,” Otto shouted. “It’s got more padding than a LazyBoy!”

“Look who’s talking! Give me a hand up.” Julia got to her feet, holding her back. She pulled her helmet off. Her face was encrusted with black ash.”Hold down the fort, boys. I’ve got to have a cigarette.”

She pulled a pack of Marlboros from her turnouts. A lot of firefighters smoked. Every time I had to define ironic, I thought of firefighters with charred faces lighting up a cancer stick.

But Julia’s smoking wasn’t ironic. It was stupid and tragic. Both of her parents had died of COPD. She had nursed them both in their final days, and it had not helped her kick the habit.

“Hey!” Otto yelled. “Did y’all year that?”

“Hear what?” Julia said.

Then I heard it, too.

A scream from inside the house.

“It’s a woman’s voice!” I shouted. “Somebody’s in there!”

Julia cupped a hand to her ear. “What?”

“Inside! There’s somebody inside the house! I just heard a screamI”

“The house is empty,” Julia dropped the cigarette and reached for her helmet. “Y’all are hearing things.”

“No, I heard it—yes! There it is again! From the back of the house!”

I jumped onto the porch. Peered into the smoke-filled corridor. The way was clear.

“Hold on!" Julia yelled. "Two in, two out!”

Before she could stop me, I bounded inside and dropped my face shield into place.

“Goddamn it, Boone!”

When I got out, Julia was going to kill me. But someone was in danger. No way could I stand around waiting.

The corridor was shrouded in thick smoke. It clung to the ceiling like a thunder head. I crunched over debris, stomping my heavy boots to make sure the footing was solid. I sloshed through standing water. The water could get so hot, it boiled around your boots and steamed your toes inside.

At the first doorway, I entered a small bedroom. The windows in the room were black with smoke. The glass was so dark, no light could reach inside. I clicked my head beam on and began turning in a tight circle. I scanned the area, noting the burned-out box mattress in the corner, an open closet, and a narrow door leading to another room.

The heat rose from the floor. It seeped through my boots. Time to move. The room was still hot, although there was no open fire. The scream had come from this direction, I was sure of it.

There!

I heard it again.

A sound like a baby crying.

Behind the narrow door.

I grabbed the brass knob without thinking. The metal was as hot as a charcoal briquette. The heat seared my insulated gloves.

“Shit all!” I yelled. “That was fucking hot!”

What a stupid move. It was Fire School 101 stuff: Don’t touch anything with your body. Use a tool.

My hooligan was on the truck because I'd run straight into a fire without it. I had violated a dozen policies and procedures by rushing in alone.

Nothing to do about that now.

Just get the victim and get out!

I gave the bathroom door a roundhouse kick. The wood exploded, and the lock fell to the floor. The door swung wide on melted hinges.

“You’re safe!” I yelled.

A blackened toilet sat to the left, and the tub was to the right. It was cast-iron with high sides.

I leaned over and peeked inside, dreading what I might find.

A baby. I expected to find a baby. What kind, I didn’t know, but I definitely didn’t expect to see a large, bristling mass.

“Hiss!”

Hiss?

The quivering black mass stuck out its legs.

Then its claws.

A cat!

A freaked out, pissed off, stand-still-so-I-can-rip-your-face-off cat.

In one twisted, screeching movement, it launched itself at my face. It latched on with its claws. Sinking them into the cowl that covered my neck.

“Get off me!”

Half blinded by the critter stretched across my shield, I stumbled backward and tripped. I landed ass-first on the floor. It was covered in steaming water that turned my pants into a sauna. My crotch heated up faster than a lit bottle rocket.