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“Copy that,” Sam said, Dempsey and Gates echoing the words over the headset. Letting the rush of white noise and the muffled sound of the sirens from both his vehicle and Engine Seventeen, which was right behind him, serve as his favorite soundtrack, Sam sharpened his focus and measured out his breaths. His heartbeat kicked harder as soon as they broke away from the clustered buildings and brownstones of downtown Remington and he caught sight of the looming warehouses lining the docks, a thick column of black smoke chugging into the bright-blue sky. The smoke got thicker the closer they got, and by the time Sam pulled the vehicle onto Bridgeford Drive, a veiled haze clung to the air around them.
Although it wasn’t an easy task, Sam knew better than to gawk at anything outside of the vehicle untilhewas outside of the vehicle. As such, he didn’t get a full visual on the fire until he’d parked a half a block up and his boots were on the cracked pavement across the street from the building.
Free-standing structure built like a box. Three stories. Crumbling brick front, half the windows boarded up. Flames shooting from six of the massive window openings on the front, or A, side of the building, two on the B side to the right, with floors two and three both showing fast-moving, bright-orange flames.
Sam was no stranger to fires—in fact, he fucking lived for the rush of knocking them down—but holyshit. This one was a monster.
“Alright, people, listen up,” came a familiar, authoritative voice over the radio strapped to Sam’s turnout gear just below his right shoulder, and damn, Captain Bridges was fast. “City officials have confirmed that this building has been abandoned for eight months. There are no reports of anyone inside, and the adjacent buildings are far enough away for us to keep the fire from jumping. With how fast these flames are moving, it won’t be long before the third floor and roof go. We’re going to let this one do its thing, then wash it down when most of it has burned out. Squad, stand down on vent and search and rescue. Engine, prep the lines. Once the roof collapses and the fire loses steam, I want to be ready to hit this thing and put out what’s left.”
“Copy that,” Hawkins said, arching a brow at the disappointment that had to be plastered all over Sam’s face. “Don’t pout, Faurier. We’ll knock down plenty of fires another time.”
It was standard protocol to let some fires burn out on their own, especially in conditions like this, and he knew Captain Bridges had made the call to protect his firefighters. Sam didn’t have a death wish—safety regs were real, and they existed so he and his squad-mates didn’t end up on the wrong end of the evening news. But it was his job to runintoburning buildings to save lives, and he took that shit capital-S seriously. Standing still on the sidelines? Regs or no regs, it fucking rankled.
“I know,” Sam grumbled, “but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“You heard the captain,” Hawkins said to him, Dempsey, and Gates. “Keep your head on a swivel and be ready to have Engine’s back once they open up the hoses. With the look of this one, they’re gonna need it.”
Sam listened over the radio as their Engine lieutenant, Ian Gamble, gave orders to the Engine firefighters to prep the hoses and tap nearby hydrants. Staring at the fire itself was tempting—this one was already monstrous, the heat blasting off the building making Sam sweat beneath his turnouts despite the early February chill that should’ve been in the air. But Sam knew that what wasaroundthe burning building was just as important as the fire itself—hidden propane tanks or other hazards, looky-loo civilians getting too close for the sake of going viral on TikTok, Christ, the list was endless—so he started a full-scale visual sweep of the scene.
His attention was snagged a third of the way through by Lucy’s voice coming over the radio. “de Costa to Gamble. Something’s wrong with this hydrant.” She gave her location, which was barely around the corner from where Squad Six currently stood, and Sam perked up, dying to be useful.
“I can help,” he offered to Hawkins, who nodded and leaned toward his radio.
“Gamble, you need an assist?” he asked, and Gamble’s gruff voice came back with an immediate response.
“Affirmative. Walker’s tapping another hydrant up the block, and McCullough and I are up to our asses, prepping these lines.”
“Copy you. Faurier can back de Costa up.”
Per protocol, Captain Bridges clipped out his assent, but not before Sam’s boots were already aimed in Lucy’s direction. He caught sight of her as soon as he turned the corner, and damn, this fire was pumping out someseriousheat.
“Hey,” she said, sweat sheening her forehead beneath the brim of her helmet, her expression thoroughly pissed. “The outlet was a little rusty, but not too bad.” She gestured to the wide circle set in the hydrant, where the hose she’d hauled from the engine was perfectly fitted and ready for juice. “But when I open it up, nothing happens. I think the valve is busted.”
Sam took a look at the hydrant and shook his head. “Damn. This thing looks like it was built before either one of us was born. Might’ve been the last time it was inspected, too. Hang on.” Taking the wrench from her, he went through all the motions just to be sure, and yep. Nada. “You’re right. Looks like the valve is damaged. The hydrant could’ve frozen in that cold snap we had last month.”
It would definitely cause valve failure, especially on a hydrant that was already old or too decrepit to begin with. “Shit. Any ideas for a work-around?” Lucy asked, but Sam shook his head.
“Not unless you’ve got a mechanic on speed dial and replacement parts in your pocket. There’s no way we can access the water supply with a busted valve in there. This hydrant is dead.”
Lucy radioed back to Gamble, who sounded about as thrilled as she looked that the hydrant wasn’t functional. “Copy that,” Gamble said over the line. “Walker’s on another hydrant, so we’ll have to make do with that and the water we’ve got on the engine. Fall out.”
Lucy turned to reclaim her gear. Sam moved to help her—not that she needed it, but he had to dosomethingto burn off this energy—when movement flashed in the periphery of his vision, making every part of him freeze except for his pulse.
“Did you see that?” he asked, taking a few involuntary steps toward the warehouse, his gaze locked and loaded on one of the ground-floor windows.
“See what?” Lucy asked, her stare following his and sharpening over the building.
Something moved again behind the dirty, smoke-tinged glass—the silhouette of a person? A jerking motion, like they were ducking, maybe running?—and Sam’s heart vaulted into his throat.
“There’s someone trapped inside that warehouse.”
Shock commandeered her expression as her chin whipped toward him, her mouth parted in shock. “What? Where?”
“Ground floor. Window three,” Sam managed past the knot in his windpipe. His thoughts ricocheted through his brain, moving too fast to grasp. Not thatthatwas anything new, but fuck, it was frustrating. Especially when he needed to focus. “Someone’s in there.”
Lucy squinted, taking a few steps forward, ostensibly for a better look. “I don’t see anyone.”
Damn it, neither did Sam—not now, anyway—but no.No. His brain might not be the most logical organ going, or, hell, even close, but his gut made up for it in spades, and he knew what he’d seen. “I’m telling you, I saw someone in that window.”
