Page 4 of Flash Freeze

“We’ve got victims,” Jackson reported into her radio ear.

“Backside venting in progress,” said another voice.

“Get a team on that!”

“It’s spreading.”

“I don’t like it.”

Everyone seemed to be talking at once. Flash opened her stream on the hot door, and steam erupted. Flames licked down the wall through the shattered ceiling like a lizard’s tongue darting for a fly. She popped her hose up, attacking them, water against fire, in a battle of wills.

A second stream blasted the wall. Woods was back, and he and Flores were in action with her.

“I’ll try it now,” Waylon said, slowly releasing the hose so it didn’t whip out of Flash’s hands. He reached for the handle. Turned it. The charred, half-melted door fell off its hinges when he pushed. Flores and Woods were there, dousing the interior, steam erupting where the water hit. But the fire, unwilling to relinquish its claim, roared back and struck out. If not for his protective gear, Waylon would have been burned.

Flash kept her stream on the wall and ceiling that separated the office from the wide hallway while her teammates took it head-on. In minutes, the fire retreated down the corridor ahead of them—straight toward the chemical tanks. Adrenaline pulsed through her body as Flash stepped into the demolished office space. She sensed this was where the fire started. A closer inspection was needed. It was just a feeling, but Flash trusted hers.

Among the ashes, puddles, charred furniture, and twisted metal, Flash spotted a body on the floor. “Hang on,” she called, and rushed forward. Probably dead. Burned, but not consumed. A man, she thought. Big feet. This one wasn’t a rescue, but a recovery. Still, she didn’t have time to make sure. What if he were alive, even barely?

Flash faced a command decision: send a member of her team back with the body or mark it, leave it until the fire was out. Common sense and protocol pointed to the latter. But something tugged at her gut. Pausing for an instant, she flipped him over. His face was red and charred, eyes closed, unresponsive. Still.

She called into her radio, “Male victim, severe burns, unresponsive. I’m sending Woods to bring him out. Have a stretcher ready.”

“Copy,” O’Riley responded amid the chatter.

Woods hoisted the victim over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

“Same deal,” Flash said, catching his gaze through their masks. “Follow the hose and hurry back.”

“Sure thing, Lieutenant.”

“Waylon, you can handle that hose on your own,” she said upon exiting the office. “I’ll grab on with Flores.”

He nodded. She could imagine his satisfied smirk behind the mask.

An odd sense of not-rightness gnawed at Flash as they pushed ahead. The corridor glowed like the inside of a furnace, waves of smoke and heat swirling around them. Every few seconds, a metallic pop echoed somewhere ahead. The building answered with a groan. It sounded wrong.

She opened the valve on her hose, and Waylon followed her lead as they rounded a corner. Sure enough, a barrage of flames met them. They seemed exceedingly angry, whipping and spitting, as they swallowed the ceiling. Through their dancing forms, Flash could see a vast space ahead filled with enormous steel drums. Though the fire hadn’t reached the barrels yet, heat shimmered above the concrete floor. Escaping steam hissed ahead, maybe from a relief valve. Paint on the nearest barrels had begun to blister. We’re running out of time.

“There!” she pointed.

Waylon’s eyes widened. He aimed his stream at the root of the inferno.

Flash called into her radio, “I see some metal tanks in a big room with a high roof and concrete floor. The fire’s between us and it, maybe twenty yards shy of the drums. We’re working it. Where’s the other crew?”

“One is on their way.” This time, it was Velasquez who answered. “Eighteen has a crew checking out the roof. They’ll get it vented. Keep the pressure on and contain that fire, Lieutenant Cash.”

“Yes, ma’am. You heard her, team.” Woods was back and began knocking holes in hallway walls with his Halligan. The fire screamed and lashed out, as if it never wanted to be alive yet couldn’t bear the prospect of dying. Flash felt it and empathized with the elemental entity.

I’ll put you down, she thought in a consciousness she almost believed the blaze could understand. I’ll relieve your misery.

“We’ve got more survivors,” Jackson said into the walkie chatter. “Getting them out the side exit.”

“Roger that.”

Their hoses on full didn’t quench the flames as they inched closer to the chemical drums. Flash began to worry. Should she pull her team? She couldn’t risk their lives if the tanks exploded. But Jake said something about not letting the chemicals into the air, that it might poison the whole neighborhood. She squeezed her hose tighter while eternal seconds ticked by.

There were too many things that could go wrong. If they did, it was on her. Why did I let Athena talk me into this? I was fine taking orders. At least taking orders from Smokey, but not Lieutenant Edwards, the jerk. No, this was up to her. They had to stop the fire from reaching the drums. There was no other option.