8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Andy

When Caleb and I were at the Farmers Market, I made the mistake of telling him I was looking for a new hobby, which was why, when I showed up for my shift, I had one bag of books on potential hobbies and another bag that was filled with yarn and all the stuff that went with it waiting for me. His friend Ezra had decided to learn to knit at some point, bought all the supplies, and then never bothered to even take the hooks out of the package, and apparently, now they were mine. At least, that was what Keith said when he handed me the bags on his way into the chief's office where he was working until his light duty was up.

I'd never even considered knitting as a hobby, but I couldn't tell Caleb that. He had the biggest heart, and all he wanted was to be helpful. Besides, the sneaky guy didn't give me a chance since he just sent everything to me with his Daddy.

I started to take the bags out to the car because I was sure one of the other firefighters would have something to say about me knitting, but I stopped myself because screw them. Knitting might be a great hobby for me, and if I liked it, I could bring it with me to help pass the downtime on shift.

"What you got there?" Kevin pointed at the bags.

"Some stuff Keith brought in for me. Caleb thought I might want to try knitting. And don't you say a word"—I reached into the bag, pulled out the package of knitting hooks, and pointed them at Ford on the other side of the room because I figured he would be the one to give me shit—"or I will poke you with my hooks."

"First of all, those are needles, not hooks. Hooks are for crochet. Needles are for knitting," Ford said.

"Really?" I turned the package around to look at it, and sure enough, right there, plain as day, it read Premium Bamboo Knitting Needles . "What'd ya know." I shrugged. "There goes my idea of telling people I'd just become a hooker."

"That's a crying shame." He chuckled. "I'm assuming since you don't know what they're called, you don't know how to use them."

"Nope. But Caleb sent books."

Robert snickered at the mention of his son and books. "Of course he did. If there's one thing Caleb believes, it's that you can learn anything from a book."

"Yeah." Ford shook his head. "But knitting is one of those things that might be easier to learn by watching or taking a class. Or I could show you if you want."

"You know how to knit?" Kevin asked, sounding just as surprised as I was.

"Yeah, I mean, it's been years, but my grandmother taught me when I was a kid. It was never really my thing, so I didn't keep it up after she passed, but I bet I remember enough to show you the basics."

"I don't know if it'll be the thing for me or not, either. I'd really never even considered it. This"—I held up the bags—"is all Caleb. But thanks, at least with someone to show me the ropes, I can give it a decent shot."

"My mom does this thing where she doesn't use the needles. She does this with her hands"—Kevin made some kind of motion with his hands like tying a bow or something—"and Voilà, it's a blanket or a scarf or whatever."

"Really?" I was doubtful it was that simple, but what did I know?

"Yeah, she watched some video on how to do it. I can ask her about it if you want."

"Sure."

"Okay, guys, enough chitchat. Time to get to work." Robert looked at his watch. "Morning meeting in five." We all grumbled like always, but we made our way out to the truck bay where we held our meetings.

We'd barely finished our meeting before we got our first call, which didn't bode well for me learning to knit. It was a general fire alarm from one of the apartment buildings in town. Those usually turned out to be false alarms, but they took time to clear because we never wanted to assume it was nothing. Unfortunately, that first call set the tone for the rest of the shift, and it was just one call after another.

Someone collapsed at the local big box store but refused transport, then someone who thought they smelled gas, but it turned out to be the drain on their sink.

None of those were true emergencies, but we would always rather people call than not. Not to say we don't bitch and whine about those calls afterwards, we do, but truth was, every firefighter I knew would tell you it's better to be safe than sorry.

After the stinky drain, we all went back to the station for lunch because Keith was in the house, and none of us were interested in getting fast food if we could eat something he made instead.

Sure enough, the station smelled fabulous when we walked in.

"Is that lasagna?" Ford asked.

"It is. Or the sauce for it anyway," Keith answered. "But that's for dinner. Lunch is subs. I have cold cuts, veggies, and cheese."

"Sounds good to me, let's eat." Subs weren't homemade lasagna, but the smell of Keith's sauce made me hungry.

He started pulling out all the sandwich fixings. As always, when our food was fix-your-own, we all got in there trying to make sure we got our pick of the meat and toppings.

I reached for a slice of pepper jack cheese at the same time as Ford did, and he hip-checked me and grabbed the last two slices.

"Hey, you give me one of those."

"Take one." Ford gave me one of his smart-ass grins and held the cheese up over his head. Which was totally a jerk move because the man was a tall SOB, and I was easily the shortest guy here.

"I don't want it now. Your nasty hands have been all over it. There's no telling where they've been."

"Trust me, you've had nastier things in your—"

"That's enough," Keith said in his best Daddy voice. "There's plenty of everything to go around." He opened up a container that was off to the side and took out another stack of pepper jack cheese.

We'd all managed to scrounge together enough toppings to make our sandwiches and sit down to eat when the tones went off again.

We all turned and looked at the digital dashboard on the wall to see what we had.

Structure Fire, 1105 Pine. Cross streets Pine and 11th Street. Engine 113, Ambulance 73.

"Dammit," I grumbled, shoving half my sandwich in my mouth as I stood up and headed for the truck bay.

"That's what you assholes get for fucking around instead of eating while you could," Keith called after us, laughing his ass off.

When we got to the bay, we pulled on our turn-out gear and piled into the truck with Ford behind the wheel. We roared down the street, sirens blaring and lights flashing.

Kevin was typing something on his phone. "Crap," he said. "I thought that intersection was familiar. That's the old comic book store. That place has been sitting empty for years. The windows are all boarded up, and I swear the roof is falling in."

Ronda shook her head. "Another abandoned building."

Abandoned buildings were dangerous enough, but we were all especially leery now because the last time the arsonist stuck, he rigged the place and caused Keith's injury. It was at that point we realized he wasn't doing this for money or for fun. He had an agenda. I just hoped the arson investigators caught him soon.

"Do you think this is our guy?" I asked.

"I don't know, but if it is, maybe he'll make a mistake this time, and they'll catch the SOB," Kevin said.

As we arrived, flames licked the sky, and thick smoke billowed from the few broken windows that weren't boarded up. We quickly donned our gear.

"Remember, stay close and watch each other's backs," Chief Sheridan commanded. "The good news is this place is only one floor, and it isn't all that big. The bad news is… this place isn't all that big, so it's gonna go fast. Let's clear the building and get out of there. Just a quick run-through to make sure no one is in there."

That was one of the biggest issues with these abandoned buildings. Both the homeless and teenagers looking for a place to party often took advantage of them to hide out, so we needed to check them out.

"Robert, you, Kevin, and Andy sweep the place. Jeremiah, Ford, and Ronda, let's get that fire under control."

"Yes, Chief," we all said in unison.

Robert led the way as we entered the building. The heat was intense, and visibility was near zero. Our flashlights cut through the smoke, revealing charred walls and debris. We were about halfway around the structure doing perimeter check to make sure there was no one here when I pushed open a door. And holy shit . I froze and then pulled the door closed, taking a huge step back. Not that closing the door would've made this potential disaster any better. It was more instinct than anything else.

"What the fuck?" I called out. "Guys, come look at this!" Robert and Kevin hurried over, the urgency in my voice putting them on alert.

"What is it?" Robert asked.

"Look for yourself." I pushed the door back open and shined my light inside, and Kevin gasped as my flashlight beam landed on several propane cylinders strapped together with heavy-duty belts.

"Fuck," Robert mumbled before reaching for the mic pinned to his jacket. "Chief, we've got propane tanks strapped together."

"How many?" Chief Sheridan asked.

"Three large ones, Chief," Robert replied.

"Roger that. I don't need to tell you how bad it could be if that building blows. You need to get those cylinders out of there," the chief replied.

"You heard the chief," Robert said.

The three of us got to work, cutting the straps that were lashing the cylinders together. The damn things were awkward as hell, and the only way for us to get them out was to either drag them or roll them, and I wasn't about to try to roll a cylinder full of gas through a fire.

Robert called the chief for some help, but the fire was spreading fast, and the building wasn't going to last long. We were in a race against the flames to get the tanks out in time, so we started dragging them towards the entrance.

We were about halfway to the door when Ford and Ronda rushed to us, and together, we were able to use the handles to lift the tanks up and carry them the rest of the way.

"Move, move!" the chief yelled as we hurried out of the collapsing structure. We emerged into the cool night air, covered in soot and carrying the tanks.

"Put those tanks over there." The chief pointed to a tarp that someone had laid down far away from everything.

The five of us carried the tanks across the parking lot and barely managed to set them down when the building groaned, and a portion of the roof collapsed in a shower of sparks. We stopped for a second to catch our breath, the reality of just how bad this could've been sinking in.

"Well." Ford glanced at the propane tanks and back to the fire. "That was no accident."

Ford was right. The building was empty and abandoned. There was only one reason for tanks to be stored there, especially strapped together to form one incendiary device. The arsonist was back.

"Good work, team!" Chief Sheridan called out. "Now get over here, and let's get this thing under control."

The chief was right. Now wasn't the time to worry about the ramifications of the arsonist creating more and more dangerous situations for us to defuse. We had a fire to put out.