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She can’t weigh much more than a hundred and fifty herself. But she’s strong, and women tend to have a point to prove when on the job.
“Let’s go!” Her legs hold steady beneath his weight. “Feeney! Walk out with me. I’ll come back in when we’ve—”
“Go yourself.” I turn toward the staircase leading up and grab my radio. “Patrick’s coming out with the vic.” I smack each stair with my Halligan before I place my weight on it.Only need to learn that lesson once.“She has a clear run from the kitchen to the front door. Vic will need immediate medical.”
“Wait for a second!” Ruiz snarls before Nix can. “Don’t be a dick, Feeney. We talked about this.”
“I don’t have time to wait for a second.” I tap the next stair, and swallow when the sharp end of my Halligan slices through the way a knife cuts through butter. “Stairs are gonna be out of commission any minute.”
I release my radio and brace my hands on the wall for support as I skip the failing step. Pushing up with a grunt, I place my weight on the next step and hold my breath as I wait to make sure it’ll hold.
“Feeney!” Nix booms. “Feeney, report.”
“Heading up to the second.” I make it to the next step and glance in a million directions at once, hoping to god I haven’t already passed Hannah and left her for dead. “Aerial?”
“Main bedroom’s looking clear,” Dawson relays. “Door’s closed, curtains remain intact. Vic could be in there, but taking out the window risks a flashover.”
“I’ll find her.”
I approach the landing and slow my breathing. My tank lasts an hour at best, and I’ve sucked down far more air than I should have in the mere minutes I’ve been inside.
“Heading left to search spare rooms first.” I duck beneath the roll of flames on the ceiling and reach up to pat the top of my helmet.
It’s melting, so if Hannah went left, she’s already dead.
“Hannah!” I turn at the first closed door and kick it in, knowing fire sits on the other side.
Clutching my Halligan in my left hand, I duck through the blaze and search beneath the bed that Ruiz has declared his own. I dig my bar into the mattress and flip it to make sure she isn’t beneath, then I charge to the closet and peer inside.
The mirrored doors shatter when I touch them—a result of too much heat and my added vibration—but I turn, satisfied she’s not behind them.
“I’m seeing streamers and multiple sources of origin, Chief.” I study the marks along the walls, and the clues an inept arsonist has left behind. “At least three fires were started in the second bedroom.”
“Motherfucker,” Ruiz grumbles. “I left my things in there.”
“Ruiz!” Nixon barks. “Keep your head on straight and do the job. Feeney? Report.”
“Moving into the hall.”
But I turn at the crackle and collapse of what I suppose are the stairs just out of sight.
“I have no way out except the aerial, Chief. You ready for me?”
“You open that door, and she’s flashing over,” Dawson warns. “Be careful.”
“Axel!” Hannah’s screaming voice brings my stomach up to the base of my throat as I spin in search. “Axel, where are you—”
“Hannah!” I forgo the other spare room and bathroom and sprint toward the main bedroom. Toward her voice. “Babe! Where are you?”
“I can’t—” she chokes. “I can’t—”
“Don’t open that door!” I shout when the handle rattles. “Hannah! Do not open that door! Get down on your hands and knees and move to the window.”
I stalk along the hall, and swallow when the floor groans beneath my weight. “We only have seconds, Chief.” I grab the doorhandle with one hand—not to open the door, but to make damn sure it stays closed—and use the other for my radio. “Floor’s ready to go. Dawson, break that window and get her out.”
“Axel!” Again, Hannah rattles the doorknob. “You need to come out too.”
“You first!” I keep a tight hold of the handle and lock her away from me while the second story groans under my feet, and the load-bearing walls grumble their protest. “It’s gonna collapse, Sully. You have to go out the window.”
