23. Dane

Part of the roof on the third floor collapsed.

Everyone jumped back, more instinct than real need to add distance. We were well out of range of falling debris, but the massive cracking and thunderous avalanche that followed startled even the hardiest of men on the scene. Residents who were huddled dozens of yards away near the complex's perimeter fence screamed.

"Four, keep that line on the second floor," the captain's voice boomed.

A second ladder truck fired its water cannon at the upper floor flames.

"Alex! Alex! Answer me, dammit!" Burton practically screamed into his radio.

The man was gentler than a kitten, and he detested cursing. The sound of his terror chilled my heart.

The radio remained silent.

"Let me go in!" I shouted behind me. "Alex needs backup."

"No!" the captain barked. I hadn't seen him approach our position. He should've remained at command. "Stay on your line. Two trucks from Twenty-Six are on the way, but until they get here, we need you on your line on that secondary."

"Yes, sir," I shouted, focusing on aiming my water while watching the opening where Alex would exit … should exit.

Someone yelled, "Up there!"

All eyes flew to the third floor.

Then motion at a window on the second, the only one not belching flames, drew my gaze. Black smoke poured out, but in the darkness, a shape emerged. It was only a silhouette at first, hard to make out, but quickly resolved into the form of one firefighter straining under the weight of another draped across his shoulder.

"Ladder!" I shouted, despite having a mic. I waved madly, pointing up. "Get a ladder on floor two. Our men are at the window."

My heart pounded as I watched Alex approach the window, then vanish behind another wall of smoke.

He was alive. He was in reach. This was going to work.

The captain bolted from beside us back to command, and two trucks began extending their ladders. This would normally be a well-oiled exercise, but a mayday had been called—one of our own was in danger. Every man and woman in uniform would throw themselves in harm's way to save them.

There was an odd moment of pure silence. Water still flowed. Flames still popped and raged. Yet, an eerie hush fell over Monroe Place.

The residents near the fence had stilled. The EMTs treating the wounded quietened. Even the captain's voice fell away, as I was sure the world itself had drawn in a breath.

Then something deep within the apartments belched, and the entire building shook. The row of windows across the entire first floor blasted outward, sending jagged glass and shards of metal flying in all directions as gouts of flame erupted from within.

"Oh shit!" I shouted.

Residents behind us screamed.

"Faster!" the captain shouted. "Get those fucking buckets up there now!"

The sun's blinding reflection flared off the shiny silver arms that swung from the trucks' roofs, one already extending high into the air.

Alex leaned out of the window and raised one arm. The injured man came briefly into view as smoke cleared then plumed again.

"He's still got his mask," Burton said, verbalizing what I was thinking on seeing the man's lifeless body dangling with his face still covered. If there was any justice in this world, his oxygen would still be flowing and his suit would've protected him from the worst of the fire's wrath.

"Dane! Get water on two. Stay focused!"

My aim had drifted as I watched Alex. Water from my hose was slamming uselessly into the outer wall just below one of the second-floor windows.

I pulled my gaze from my friend and aimed the hose at the worst of the flames spilling out of the nearest window. The water poured as the flames roared, a beast defending her pack.

The wailing of sirens drawing closer heralded the arrival of more backup. I prayed they weren't too late.

"Steady," the captain's voice called.

I dared another glance up to find Alex straining to dump the limp man into the box on the end of the ladder. The window was blown, but he had to bend at an odd angle to get the man's body out without banging his head.

"Eighteen, up a little. Give me six inches. A little to the right," the captain said, guiding the ladder operator. "There, stop! Right there."

The bucket shook as the man's body fell from Alex's grip.

"Come on, Alex. Get in," I muttered, trying to split my focus from the water to the rescue.

Alex threw a leg over the windowsill and braced himself with one hand on each side of the opening. He glanced down … and hesitated.

"Come on, Alex. What are you doing? Jump," I begged.

A sound like the rending of a great ship against an iceberg filled the air. The roof collapsed; flames burst free from its confines and stretched high into the sky.

I looked from the roof back to the window …

My heart stopped.

Alex wasn't there.

The window wasn't there.

The third floor had collapsed into the second.

"Pull back!" the captain ordered. "Get that bucket back."

The ladder swung away from the building.

Just as we were losing our battle with the fire, three trucks fired their cannons in a full assault. I wanted to watch the bucket, to see if Alex would appear over the rim, but the fight required all my focus.

A moment later, the radio crackled, "We've got him. Twenty-Nine is alive."

A few shouts punctuated the gloom, men and women celebrating their friend's rescue. I wanted to turn, to raise a fist, to scream into the smoky air in solidarity with my brothers and sisters, but I couldn't speak. I couldn't think. All I could do was aim my line and wait.

There was no news of a second man. The bucket had carried only the one.