Page 82 of Smoke Signals

The first section opens, and smoke erupts upward through the cut like a released pressure valve.

Then the roof shifts.

Just enough that I feel it through my boots.

Phoenix grabs my jacket. “Stellan!”

The structure groans beneath us.

And the roof drops another inch.

30

HARTLEY

The television’s on because Alaska likes the noise in the background while she plays, cartoons shifting across the screen in bright colors while she lines her stuffed animals along the couch cushions since they’re having a tea party. I sit at the kitchen table with a mug of tea in both hands that has already gone cold while I try to focus on something normal.

It works for about ten minutes.

Then the red banner flashes across the television screen.

BREAKING NEWS.

I look up without thinking.

The anchor’s voice shifts into that tight professional tone reporters use when something serious is happening somewhere nearby. A video feed cuts across the screen showing thick black smoke pouring into the sky above a row of houses. Fire trucks crowd the street below. Emergency lights flash against the brick walls of the surrounding buildings.

My thumb stops moving on the handle of the mug.

Chicago has fires every day. The city is big enough that smoke somewhere across town shouldn’t mean anything to me.

I try to look back down at the mug in my hands, but then the camera angle changes and the reporter’s voice continues while the footage zooms closer.

Three houses burn side by side. Flames push out of second-floor windows while ladders stretch toward the roofs. Firefighters move across the street, dragging hose lines through smoke thick enough to swallow the view of the houses behind them.

I lean forward slowly.

Then Engine 99 appears in the corner of the frame.

My brain takes a second to process it.

Then the name lands, and the mug slips from my hands and rattles against the table. Alaska looks up from the floor as I reach for the remote and turn the volume higher.

“…earlier today, multiple companies responded, including mutual aid units,” the reporter says while the camera pans across the scene again. “Fire officials have confirmed that firefighters from Ladder 99 were operating on the roof when part of the structure became unstable.”

Stellan.

The camera zooms closer to the ladder truck parked along the curb. Firefighters move across the roofline through thick smoke while a saw cuts through the surface.

I stare at the screen.

My hand moves toward my phone before I realize I’m reaching for it, and I open his contact and press call. The ringing starts.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.