8. Theo

8

THEO

T he morning at the station rolls in as usual, with the scent of coffee mingling with the sweet, doughy aroma of donuts—a brief reprieve before the day ramps up into the usual whirlwind. My hands wrap around a steaming mug, fingers absorbing the warmth as my eyes catch the twinkle of the rising sun through the bay windows.

"I swear, these donuts are the glue holding this team together," I quip, tossing a sugary pastry toward Ethan, who catches it with less grace than a cat in a bath.

He grins, sugar dusting his lips. "Sure, Sparks, and your jokes are the sandpaper."

Laughter bubbles around us, but beneath the banter, my mind wanders to Ella. She seems really nice, Lily clearly loves her, and the boys are evidently smitten. She's pretty too , I think with a dry chuckle.

Not that I intend to do anything. I'm a committed guy, girlfriend and all, but it's nice to see new friendly faces around, especially ones that don't want to kick my butt in weekly poker games.

Ethan, catching my momentarily distant look, elbows me gently. "Penny for your thoughts on the new nanny?"

"She seems cool, man. Good with Lily, too. And before you start, yes, I'm still happily taken," I remind him, knowing his mind is running down its usual tracks.

"Dude, just checking. You know with Derek sniffing around?—"

I cut him off, not needing another reminder of my girlfriend's new 'friend'. "Let's leave my home drama out of the firehouse, alright? What about you? Still thinking of asking her out?"

Ethan's face scrunches up, a blend of mischief and defense. "Hey, I'm just happy we might get someone competent for Lily. But yeah, she's… interesting."

Before I can rib him further, the alarm cuts through the station like a siren call. We drop our casual postures, instantly shifting into professional mode. The dispatcher's voice is calm, urgent. "Structure fire reported downtown, possible entrapment. All units, respond."

Adrenaline spikes, and my heart shifts gears. This is it. The switch flips, and I'm all in. Grabbing my helmet, I meet Marcus's gaze as he points directly at me. "Theo, you're on point for this. Take lead."

"Got it, Captain," I respond, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders like a familiar cloak.

We hustle to the engines, the clatter of gear and the rumble of the trucks filling the air with chaotic harmony. As we pull out of the station, the morning tranquility of our small town is shattered by the urgency of our sirens. The streets blur past, a smear of colors behind the urgent wail of our approach.

Ethan, geared up beside me, throws a last quip my way, tension lining his words. "Make it count, Sparks. People are counting on us."

They always are , I think, my mind laser-focused on the task ahead. The details from dispatch replay in my head—location, possible hazards, the number of people reported inside. Every second, every detail counts.

As we turn onto Main Street, the column of smoke rises like a dark beacon guiding us to the heart of the emergency. The acrid scent of burning reaches us, a stark reminder of what's at stake. We're moments away, the truck slowing as we approach the scene.

"There," Bran, the safety officer, points to a building pouring smoke, flames licking at the windows. "Get ready, team."

The truck halts, and I'm the first out, my boots hitting the pavement with the full force of my resolve. Ahead, the burning restaurant looms, a beast we're about to tame.

Heat wraps around us like a suffocating blanket as we push through the smoke-choked entrance of the restaurant. I lead, hose in hand, my team close behind, each of us hyper-aware of the crackling, roaring beast that dances through the building with wild abandon.

"Keep your heads down and stay on me," I shout over the cacophony, my voice barely cutting through the roar of the flames. The visibility is nearly zero, the smoke a thick curtain that obscures the once familiar layout of the local diner. It's like navigating the belly of some great beast, every step forward met with resistance from the fire that hungrily eats through the structure.

The heat is oppressive, a physical weight on our shoulders, and the air is a toxic mix of smoke and the acrid smells of burning plastic and wood. I lead with practiced caution, my mind cataloging every obstacle, every potential danger. The floor beneath our feet groans ominously, a stark reminder of the building's fragility under the inferno's embrace.

"Watch it," I call out as a beam, glowing red with heat, crashes down a few feet ahead of us, sending sparks showering into the smoky air. We skirt around it, pressing closer to the ground where the air is marginally clearer.

As we advance, the muffled cries for help guide us deeper into the restaurant. The sound is both a beacon and a harrowing reminder of what's at stake. My heart pounds against my ribcage, not just from the exertion but also the adrenaline that spikes with every shout, every crackle and pop of the fire consuming the building around us.

"Over here!" Our emergency medical technician, Martinez's, voice cuts through the chaos, guiding us to a corner of the kitchen where three people huddle, coughing violently as they clutch each other. They're kitchen staff, their white uniforms stained with soot and fear.

"We got you," I assure them, even as another ominous creak resonates through the structure. We're running out of time. Quickly, we guide them back toward what we hope is safety, each step a gamble against the building's integrity.

But as we near the exit, the worst happens—the building groans louder than before, a terrifying sound that freezes us in our tracks. The ceiling above us shudders, and I can see the fear in my team's eyes, reflecting my own.

"We need to move—now!" I yell, pushing them forward. But even as I do, my mind races. The structure could collapse at any moment, trapping us inside. The decision is a cruel one—risk our lives for the rescue, or retreat and potentially leave others to their fate.

The weight of past losses, the faces of those we couldn't save, flashes through my mind, each memory a sharp stab of grief and guilt. But those ghosts also steel my resolve. I can't let fear decide our fate. Not again.

"Team, double-time!" I command, my voice heavy with equal parts dread and determination. We hustle the civilians out, practically carrying those too weak or disoriented to move quickly on their own.

Just as we clear the threshold, the building gives a disastrous groan. The heat is monstrous, like the fiery breath of some ancient dragon enraged at our intrusion. Every nerve ending in my body is screaming, the crackling inferno around us a symphony of chaos as we search for anyone left inside the burning restaurant. My lungs burn with the effort to breathe through the mask, each breath a battle against the smoke that seeks to choke the life from us.

An unexpected sound cuts through the roar—a muffled scream, faint, almost lost beneath the hellish noise of the fire. My head snaps up, eyes straining through the haze. We've missed someone.

"Did you hear that?" I shout to Martinez, who's just a dark silhouette against the backdrop of flames.

He nods, grim-faced. "Came from the back!"

It could be a trick of the mind—fire plays cruel games with acoustics. But if there's even a slim chance it's real, I can't ignore it. Not and call myself a firefighter.

"We go in," I decide, the weight of command heavy on my shoulders. The possibility of a survivor galvanizes us, lending strength to our weary limbs.

The building moans and shudders around us, a clear warning of its imminent collapse. Every training session, every past experience screams at me to pull back, to save ourselves from becoming casualties. But the potential cost of inaction, the life that might be snuffed out if we retreat, anchors my resolve.

"We need to be fast," I instruct, voice harsh under the strain. "Keep your eyes sharp, and watch for my signal."

Martinez nods, and we move deeper into the bowels of the restaurant. Claustrophobia settles deep in my skin, curling spectral arms around my heart. The smoke thickens.

Still, the cry comes like a tomb wind in my ears. We cannot leave a person to die—not while we know they are still breathing.

Just when we are running out of options to search, I spot a shadow crumpled against a wall that's miraculously still standing amid the destruction. As we draw closer, the shadow resolves into the form of a man, unconscious, his clothes a tapestry of burns and soot.

"We've got one!" I radio the team outside. "Prepare for extraction!"

Martinez and I hoist the man between us, his weight substantial but not unmanageable. We retrace our steps, each movement deliberate, the risk of the building collapsing pressing down on us like a physical weight.

At the same time as the exit comes into view, a loud, terrifying crack reverberates through the structure. Time slows, my heart pounding in my ears. This is it—the moment of truth where everything can go wrong.

With a burst of adrenaline-fueled strength, I shout, "Run!"

We surge forward, the injured man an unwitting participant in a race against death. The building groans a death knell, timbers and bricks succumbing to the flames.

The fresh air hits my face like a slap as we burst from the inferno, the coolness of the early morning a stark contrast to the hellish heat behind us. We don't stop, don't dare to, until we're a safe distance away, the victim laid gently on the ground as paramedics swarm in.

Panting, heart still racing, I look back at the restaurant just as it collapses in a roar of defeat, a cloud of smoke and ash billowing up into the sky.

"We did it," Martinez gasps next to me, relief painting his features.

"Yeah," I manage, my voice rough. "We did."

We've managed to get everyone out alive—a fact that buoys my spirits as we load up the truck. The faces of the people we saved flash through my mind, their expressions of terror replaced by relief. It's this part of the job, the tangible results of our efforts, that makes all the risks worthwhile.

"Good work out there, team," I say, clapping Martinez on the back as he stows the last of the hoses. He nods, a tired smile breaking through the grime on his face.

Ethan, however, hangs back a little, his expression thoughtful, perhaps a bit troubled. As we start the engine, ready to head back, he turns to me, his voice carrying a hint of reprimand that cuts through the hum of the idling truck.

"Theo, you took a lot of risks today," he starts, his tone serious. "I get it, we got everyone out, but it was too close. You know Marcus isn't going to be thrilled about how you played it."

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, the residue of the night's tension creeping back. "We did what we had to do, Ethan. Everyone's safe. That's what matters," I respond, trying to keep my voice even.

"Yeah, we're safe this time," Ethan counters, his eyes locking with mine in the rearview mirror. "But one of these days, our luck might run out. And I'm not sure the captain will see it your way, not if we keep being this risky."