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“Why not?”
“John Fisher washed out of the program about six years ago.”
“What happened?”
“He couldn’t cut it.”
When the alarm went off, there was no more time for conversation. Lana took the picture from Pete as they all headed toward their gear and the engines.
The dispatcher announced it as a full box, meaning the fire was big. From ten blocks away, Lana could see smoke wafting across the rooftops.
The paint factory was fully involved when the engine pulled up; large billows of smoke belched from the roof, and flames had already broken through.
Lana rushed past a probie struggling with his gear and not yet into his air pack. She entered the warehouse next to the paint factory. Its wide, roll-up doors were flung open, and the space was crowded with cardboard boxes. With an ax in one hand and a nozzle in the other, she clambered up the stacks of boxes toward the lathe and plaster wall, she could get water on the fire. She hoped to then advance to its seat.
She chopped at the lathe and plaster, cradling the nozzle between her knees. The wall sheared off easily, revealing metal corrugation underneath. She swung at the metal, but someone yelled behind her.
Sean settled next to her with a chain saw. It was one thing Sean knew, and it was the best way to cut a metal wall confidently and precisely. The corrugation sagged with each quick cut. She stood to one side, ready with the nozzle in case there was fire right behind the wall.
When the flames leaped vehemently through the opening, Lana could see that the paint factory was completely enveloped. They couldn’t enter there.
Lana knew from experience that if a third alarm wasn’t pulled, it would be soon. The loud sounds of exploding paint filled the air. She moved deeper into the warehouse, chopping holes in the corrugation, and sending streams of water in.
After searching for a good entrance, Lana and Sean found a place where the fire wasn’t as intense. With four squad members on their tail, they went through the opening.
More paint exploded nearby, and Sean ducked, driving down her head, too.
When she could safely move again, she swung her ax toward a large plate glass window. Glass exploded outward and fell to the pavement below. Through the window, Lana could see that thick black smoke blanketed the nearby freeway. Traffic had completely stopped moving.
The upper floor of the paint factory was a large, open space with only skeletal partitions. An open staircase led to a platform above with rudimentary railings. Next to this was an open attic space that gave her and Sean perfect access to the now burning virulent fire below.
With a slightly higher angle on the fire, perhaps the water could douse the fire and salvage some of the owner’s property.
The floor was nothing but plywood, and Lana walked gingerly across it testing each step for any weakness before she placed her boot.
Slowly they inched closer to the office that obviously had a direct stairway up to the roof. Her radio crackled and her captain told her to clear the way for the squad to reach the roof for ventilation.
Through the smoke and fire, she spied the office door, and as she watched, she noticed the telltale sign of smoke wafting under the door, then abruptly, being sucked back in.
“Backdraft!” she screamed.
Then someone pushed her out of the way of the door as it exploded outward. The hose caught between her and her body, thereby protecting her and anyone else around her. Lana fought to hold on as the hose seemed to squirm with a life of its own.
“Are you okay?” Sean yelled close to her ear.
Lana rose to her feet.
“I’m fine.” She turned to look, and all her squad members were rising from where they had jumped for cover.
“Good call,” a firefighter yelled. Lana couldn’t make out who it was because of the smoke and roar of the flames.
Lana’s heart lurched, thinking about what could have happened, but the fire was what was important right now. She shrugged off the incident and pushed forward. She had a mission to clear a path to the roof.
The rest of the fire was a blur. Chopping holes with the large, powerful circular saw, sending streams of water, steam so thick it obscured a clear view. The building creaked and groaned and cracked. Every so often more paint exploded, sending what looked like fireworks into the air. Timbers gave way with muffled thumps, and the metal corrugation whined as the intensity of the heat bent and melted it. Every so often, too, the air cleared, and Lana could make out the tall and thin wreck of the structure.
Lana and her crew members fought the blaze all afternoon, but the paint factory suffered irreparable damage. The only alternative for the owner would be to rebuild.
Lana went back to the engine and approached the captain. “Do you want me on fire watch tonight?”
