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“Peter!” I shouted again, hoping for at least some reply that would make my search quicker.
The closet door to my left was kicked open, and I turned towards the crashing sound. Peter sat in the corner, hidden behind hanging clothes that were just begging to be fuel for the fire around us. He was shaking, his eyes wide in horror, but he didn’t hesitate to drop down onto his stomach and crawl towards me.
I met him halfway, pulling him into my arms. He coughed uncontrollably.
“You’re okay, buddy,” I yelled over the sound of the flames. “Are you okay to run out of here?”
Peter shook his head, threw his arms around my neck and almost suffocated me.
“Alright, alright, window it is, come on.”
I dragged him beside me, making sure he kept his head as low as possible.
“Andy Stetson to Command. One conscious victim found on the second floor, front bedroom. Victim is frantic. I need a ladder and hands.”
I didn’t wait for a reply, quickly throwing the window open and pushing the small, makeshift desk to a side. I sat Peter down while I worked to remove the glass, the window sash and the Power Rangers curtains. From below, I watched Bobby leading a three-man team with a ladder towards us.
“We’re getting out of here, buddy,” I smiled down at Peter. He only nodded.
“We’re coming up, Andy!”
The ladder struck the bottom sill, and I watched Bobby quickly make his way up, the other two fighters bucking the ladder below.
“Okay, Peter, listen to me,” I said, kneeling down in front of him. “Here’s what you’re going to do. One leg out, sit on the sill, and put your foot on the rung. Then you grab the ladder, head and body out first, then your other leg.”
Peter looked at me, shaking like a leaf.
“I need to know that you understand me, buddy,” I said, holding him by the shoulders. For an eleven-year-old, he was awfully scrawny. “Peter, tell me you got this.”
Peter nodded.
“I need to hear it.”
“I got this, Uncle Andy,” he said.
“That’s my boy,” I said, and helped him to his feet.
Bobby was waiting outside the window, and we both stood perfectly still and ready for anything as Peter did exactly as I told him. Within seconds, he was being helped down the ladder and onto the lawn. It was only then that I let out a sigh of relief.
Bobby looked up at me and gave me a thumbs-up, then waved for me to follow.
I was out of the window in a heartbeat.
***
I walked into Pub 32 and was immediately welcomed by the cheers of my unit. All ten men and women were crowded over our usual two corner booths, which we had chosen specifically because we were rarely disturbed by the bar’s usual university crowd. And, of course, because we had full control of the darts board. For some of us, that was important.
It was also a strategic little spot that allowed me a full view of the bar with all its female clientele, ripe for the picking. There were benefits to living in a town with a university like UCONN, where every year, fresh faces filled the pubs and cafes, making my life endlessly entertaining.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Bobby yelled over the sound of the tribute bland causing a nauseating clatter that made me wish they would just bring in the DJ instead. “Lift your glasses up for the stupidest and most reckless son of a bitch I have ever known. To the slayer of flames, the savior of the innocent, and the collector of distressed women’s panties and STDs!”
“Cheers!” everyone called out in unison just as I slid into one of the booths and was handed a beer.
“Funny,” I said, lifting my bottle and taking a long swig.
“One day, you’re going to get the both of us killed,” Bobby shot me a smile. “Who’s going to stalk university students and take advantage of their daddy complexes if we’re both dead?”
“I’m sure there’s enough creep to go around.”
