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Someone was alive.
She turned to run back to her crew. They had to know. She had to tell them—but then her radio crackled.
SOS observed. Pending clearance from bomb squad and collapse units. Hold all rescue.
They were right. She knew they were right. Attempting a rescue when a bomb could be sitting in there was nuts. Even without a bomb, nothing about the remaining structure looked secure. Those propane tanks could be leaking. There could be an active gas line leading to the stove. One spark could send the rest of the building sky high. One shifting board could send it all crashing down. She’d gone through the schooling and knew it as well as anyone.
But learning something in a classroom was different from handling it in practice.
Clinkclinkclink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clinkclinkclink.
So faint, yet so clear.
“Hannah.”
Her father. She’d lost track of herself, and she was now standing between units, staring at the wreckage, a bar clutched in one hand.
She looked at her father. His features blurred, just a little, then steadied. She blinked and tears rolled down her cheeks.
She was crying. She hadn’t even noticed.
“Hannah?” he said again. His voice was quiet. Not harsh, but not gentle either.
Emotion clogged her throat and made it impossible for irritation to color her words. For an instant she wanted to be six years old again, for her father to be a hero again, for him to put on a helmet and rush into danger and walk out with a survivor in his arms.
But he wasn’t. And now she was the firefighter. He was the fire marshal. The most heroic thing he did these days was harass people.
“Michael was here,” she said.
“Was?”
She shook her head quickly. “Is. His truck . . .” She pointed. “Do you hear that?”
Clinkclinkclink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clinkclinkclink.
The rhythm had changed. It was slower. Fainter.
Clinkclinkclink.
Clink.
Clink.
Clink.
And then it stopped.
“We all hear it,” he said.
“It stopped,” she whispered.
His own radio, tuned to the police channel, fired off a lot of codes she didn’t know. He paused to listen, then said, “Bomb squad is en route.”
His voice was so practical. Had he always been like this? She wanted to smack him. “Can’t we send a crew in? Can’t we—”
“That’s up to your chief. Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?”
“Dad! Don’t you want to help? Don’t you think we should be rescuing them?”
