Page 136 of Hearts Storm

“Of course he did.” I shake my head, but I’m fighting a smile. “That sneaky little⁠—”

The radio crackles to life, cutting me off.

“Ambulance One, this is Engine Three. We’ve got a firefighter down. Second-degree burns on his right arm. Possible smoke inhalation. Staging area is half-a-mile east of your current position. Over.”

Dave’s expression sobers instantly, all playfulness draining from his face as he reaches for the mic. “Copy, Engine Three. We’re two minutes out. Over.”

My stomach tightens. Firefighter down. Those words instantly suck the air from my lungs and I have to remind myself that it could be anyone. “You don’t think⁠—?”

“I’m sure Logan is fine,” Dave assures me when he sees my face transform. “He’s over on the west flank.”

With a nod, I duck, getting out of my seat to climb in back. Grabbing the burn kit from the cabinet, I double-check to make sure everything’s stocked and ready. Gauze, saline, burn gel, pain meds. Working on autopilot, muscle memory takes over while my brain tries not to spiral into worst-case scenarios.

“We’re here.”

I glance up just as the staging area comes into view, ambulance rocking from side to side on the rocky terrain as we pull to a rough stop.

“Let’s go!” Pulling on my safety mask, I sling the burn kit over my shoulder as I grab the oxygen tank from its mount. “You got the trauma bag and the portable monitor?”

“On it!” Already on the move, Dave snatches up the heavy black bag and hoists it onto his shoulder.

Shoving the back doors wide open, we hit the ground running. The air—thick with smoke and heat—smacks me in the face, the acrid bite burning the back of my throat even through the confines of my mask.

The staging area is in chaos. Fire engine hoses snake across the ground like giant pythons. Crews are dotted all over the ridge, shouting over the distant crackle of flames eating through timber as they hack at the ground, digging a containment line.

The med tent is set up about fifty yards away. Through the white canopy flapping in the wind, I can see a couple of yellow turnout coats huddled next to someone sitting on a cot.

“Coming through!” I call, ducking under the flap, Dave nipping at my heels.

A firefighter I don’t recognize, soot streaking his face, waves us over frantically. “Over here! He seems to be getting worse!”

We rush over, each dropping to our knees on either side of the cot.

Right arm cradled against his chest, the firefighters sleeve has been cut away, and the skin underneath is an angry, blistering red from wrist to elbow. But what really has my pulse spiking is his shallow, rapid breathing. It has a wet, rattling quality to it. Which means his lungs are full of smoke.

“Hey, my name is Reyna. What’s your name?” I ask, gentle but firm, as I snap on a pair of latex gloves.

“Cody,” he wheezes, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Cody Reeves. Station Five.”

“Cody, I’m going to need you to focus on me, okay?” I set the oxygen tank down and crack it open, grabbing a non-rebreather mask from the kit as Dave starts preparing to check his vitals.

Dave scoots over, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around his left arm before pressing his fingers to Cody’s wrist, searching for his radial pulse.

Carefully fitting the mask over Cody’s nose and mouth, I adjust the strap. “Breathe slow and deep for me. That’s it, buddy. Good job.”

His chest hitches with each inhalation as I press the stethoscope to his chest and listen. A deep rattle hits my ears on the inhale, wheezing on the exhale confirming smoke inhalation.

Damn it.

“BP’s one-forty over ninety,” Dave says, reading the monitor. “Heart rate one-twenty. SpO2 is eighty-six.”

Shit. That’s too low. The oxygen isn’t saturating his blood like it should. His body is struggling to fight the toxins he’s inhaled, and it’s quickly losing the battle.

“Okay, bud. I’m going to need to start an IV,” I warn, tearing into the kit. “We need to get some fluids and medication in you, which should help speed up the process. I know you’re tired. But we need to keep you sitting upright so your lungs can work better, okay?”

Cody nods, and we get to work.

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