Too Near The Fire. Lindsay McKenna

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СКАЧАТЬ trotted to the squad and slid into the passenger side. Before getting in to drive, Gil started up the air compressor in the rear of the squad truck. Leah automatically reprimanded herself. She should have been doing that instead of him.

      The bay was filled with the sound of roaring engines, the flash of whirling red-and-white lights as they drove out into the hot, humid night. Gil pointed to the radio.

      “Say ‘Squad Fifty-One Signal Twelve,’” he ordered.

      She nodded, picked up the mike, and repeated the message. Blinking, Leah put it back on the clip, her lips set in a thin line as the siren wailed through the empty streets of the sleeping town.

      “How far away is this accident?” she asked, her voice strangely husky with adrenaline.

      “Five miles.”

      “Any idea of how bad a wreck it is?”

      “No. Dispatch said it was called in by the state police.”

      She nodded, automatically going over the various types of equipment that might be utilized in this kind of situation.

      “When we get to the scene I want you to stand by here at the squad. I hope like hell it’s a simple extrication, but you never know. Apache and Duke will pull off the inch and a half and approach the car first. If there’s fire they’ll knock it down, then be ready to cover us during the extrication. We don’t want any sparks to start a fire and blow us all away.”

      Leah felt her heart pumping strongly and she pulled her heavy fire-retardant gloves on a little tighter. Like the rest of her gear, they didn’t fit and she shook her head. All she needed was a pair of bumbling hands while she was trying to work at top speed.

      As they drew up on a lonely farm road, Leah spotted the white state trooper car, its light flashing forlornly in the night. Gil took the mike off the hook and ordered the engine to halt before it got to the wreck. He glanced at Leah.

      “Stay here,” he ordered, then climbed out and trotted up to the scene of the accident to assess the situation.

      Tightening her helmet strap against her chin until it was snug, she realized with a sinking sensation that it was a bad wreck. The entire front end of a red Buick had been smashed as it hit a utility pole. The car had come to rest in a wide, deep ditch and now looked like a folded accordion. She saw Gil raise the portable radio to his mouth and almost immediately was aware of Apache and Duke trotting forward with a charged inch and a half line. That meant fire and perhaps a gasoline spill. Her heartbeat increased. It meant twice the danger. Once positioned, Apache opened the nozzle, sending a semi-fog stream beneath the rear of the auto.

      Gil returned at a steady trot and slid back into the squad. Leah glanced tensely over at him.

      “What have we got?” She surprised herself. She had used the word we. Wasn’t that what fire fighting was all about…teamwork? If he noticed her use of the word, he said nothing.

      “Got a drunken teenager with his legs pinned beneath the steering wheel. He’s unconscious,” he muttered tightly. He threw the squad into gear and moved just close enough to string the compressor lines to the smoldering wreck. The truck was kept at a safe distance in case the car exploded. It was senseless to wreck expensive equipment.

      Leah got out, shading her eyes as the pumper’s quartz lights flashed on. The chatter of the portable generator in the side compartment of the engine added to the cacophony of sounds. A glare of surrealistic light enveloped the accident scene. The other two fire fighters were hosing down the rear of the mangled car, forcing the leaking gasoline away from the area and diluting it with the water. Gil handed her the chisel and a pry bar.

      “That door is jammed. We’ve got to get it open. I’ll bring the come-a-long and the other gear.”

      The trooper at the scene helped them, and within moments they were set up. Her heart rate was high, her knees shaky with adrenaline. The sharp odor of gas stung her nostrils. Gil came up.

      “Cut through the door handle,” he ordered. She was glad her visor was down as Apache and Saxon approached, spraying a fine mist of water over her. The droplets blanketed her head and shoulders as she got ready to cut. The water would reduce the chance of a stray spark starting a fire. Placing the power chisel against the metal, she started it and a reverberating sound rent the air. Leah leaned her weight into the chisel, cutting through the thinner metal of the door around the handle. She prayed that it would be possible to manipulate the inner door mechanism so that they wouldn’t have to literally tear the door off its hinges.

      “Leah?” Gil called.

      She finished the job and quickly set aside the chisel. After kneeling down and peeling back the metal, she took a flashlight from her pocket and studied the mechanism. She was vaguely aware of Gil leaning over. Shakily she reached into the door, jerking at one of the long bars. They both heard a distinct click and Gil straightened up, ordering her to stand back. He gave the door one good yank and it fell open.

      “Good work,” he praised. “Make a hole in the front windshield so we can get the come-along around the steering wheel.”

      She struggled with her ill-fitting boots as she moved gawkily around in the darkness to the other side of the car.

      “His pulse is weak,” the trooper shouted, leaning in through the passenger window to help cover the driver with a wool blanket.

      Leah staggered into the ditch, pitching forward, one boot having slipped halfway off her foot.

      “Come on, Stevenson!” Saxon yelled, making an angry gesture with his free arm. “Hurry it up!”

      Leah pushed back her helmet, which had tipped forward, and struggled to her feet, embarrassment flooding her. As she reached the other side she took the pointed end of the pry bar and made an oblong hole along the passenger side of the windshield. That done, Gil passed another wool blanket through his side of the glass to her. Leah grabbed it, getting ready to jerk it outward and away from the inert driver.

      “Keep him covered,” Gil told the trooper. The trooper nodded and pulled the protective blanket over the boy’s head.

      “Go ahead,” the officer yelled, and turned his head away to protect himself from flying glass.

      Gil glanced up. “Count of three, Leah.”

      The windshield came out cleanly with one good jerk. The glass popped outward, dancing across the hood and splintering on the ground. As swiftly as she could, Leah came around to the driver’s side and helped station the come-a-long across the mangled hood of the car. The trooper stood clear while she wrapped the heavy chain around the steering column three times and rehooked it outside the windshield. She could hear the wail of an ambulance approaching as she leaned into the driver’s side of the car, focusing her flashlight on the teenager. Leah heard him groan and put her gloved hand on his shoulder to steady him.

      “Go ahead,” she called to Gil, “start tightening it. I’ll let you know when his legs are free.” The boy moaned once again and Leah divided her attention between him and the steering column. The chains grew taut, creaking and straining, and the steering column slowly yielded to the five thousand pounds of pressure being applied by the come-a-long. She automatically shielded the boy with her body, wanting to protect him in case the chain or any part of the equipment snapped and flew loose. A broken chain could be deadly СКАЧАТЬ