“Ah!” Nita lifted a finger, a smile tugging at her lips. “And you don’t suspect she feels intimidated by you in that regard? Maybe a bit insecure that she can’t keep up with you physically, the way you can’t keep up with her in the money department?”
“But—”
Nita’s raised finger pressed over Flash’s arguing lips. “You need to have this discussion with Athena, not me. And you have to be OK with not being the best at everything, or you’ll never make a relationship work. Strong women like Athena need to be the best at something too, you know. Ever think of that?”
Before Flash could form a coherent response, the alarm went off again, blaring through the narrow, tiled room.Saved by the bell, she thought. Honestly, Nita had given her some things to think about.
Flash was in the middle of a weird dream where Lieutenant Edwards had horned in on her date with Athena, doing his best to make Flash look bad while flirting with her girlfriend, when the blaring alarm bell shook her out of it. Groggily, she sat up, dispelling the bizarre images.
“Up and at ‘em, Flash!” Nita sprang from the bed beside Flash’s with way too much energy. The clock read 00:58.
Flash rubbed her face and finger-combed her hair while the dispatcher rattled off the address and other specifics. It must be big, because they were calling for both engines and units from Sixteen as well.
“Let’s move it!” Edwardshollered.
Rushing out behind Nita, Flash reminded herself that the disagreeable lieutenant wasnotafter Athena.
The brisk wind whipping through the open cab windows slapped her alert as the anticipation of the big warehouse fire raced through her veins.
“Listen up,” instructed the lieutenant, as he angled himself in the front passenger seat to see everyone. “We’re heading to Synergy Warehouse Collective, and I just received a heads-up that some fifty-gallon drums of ethanol are housed in the westernmost section, with other flammables scattered throughout. The owner is on his way and says the building should be clear except for two security guards. The cleaning crew should have been out by eleven p.m., and the first trucks and loading crews aren’t scheduled to arrive until four. First priority is to locate the two guards and ensure no one is still inside. Captain O’Riley will be on scene to coordinate with House Sixteen on how to proceed.”
Waylon brought the engine to rest and pulled the parking brake lever.
Edwards was still shouting when Flash and Flores hit the pavement, already jogging toward O’Riley’s vehicle. The captain stood with another officer beside it, pointing at the blazing warehouse. Flash stopped at a respectful distance, giving him an expectant stare.
As the firefighters gathered, Captain Jake issued his directives. “We haven’t located one security guard.”
Glancing about, Flash spotted a tubby fellow in a gray uniform talking to an older man with stress lines weighing down his face. Both appeared devastated as the guard raked a hand through his hair, shooting terrified glances toward the inferno.
“Squad Eight,” O’Riley commanded, “start a search and rescue through the main entrance. Engines Eight and One, get water on that fire through the front; back up Squad and keep your eyes and ears open. Sixteen, get your water cannons aimed at the roof and bring hose support around the west side. Don’t enter the west of the building. I repeat,” he emphasized, “do not enter the west side of the warehouse. They’re storing volatile substances prone to exploding. Lopez, stand by in case they rescue the security guard. Let’s go!”
With safety masks in place, Flash and Waylon burst through the wall of heat at the front entrance, dragging their hose fitted to the nearest hydrant. Inside, the engulfed office spewed flames to the roof like a Roman candle. Crates on the warehouse floor near the office also burned, illuminating a dark structure overflowing with black smoke.
“Someone needs to vent the roof,” Flash yelled above the fire’s crackle. “Ready?”
“Ready,” her partner responded, pressing in behind her in a horse stance to steady the power of the hose’s pressure. Flash opened the valve, concentrating her stream on the office inferno, which looked to her to be the point of origin. Several squad guys raced ahead, deeper into the smoke-obscured building, calling out for the missing security guard.
Together, she and Waylon inched closer, one step at a time. “The office is done for,” her partner called in her ear. “Let’s start on these crates.”
Flash angled her body and the blast of the hose to the side, as steam and smoke swirled around them. Shaquille Woods and Bobbie Flores appeared beside them, adding their compressed gush of water to the blaze. With a loud whoosh, a plume of flames erupted across the ceiling, its rounded billows like a time-lapse film of a gigantic flower blooming. At least it was a good thirty feet above them. The danger lay in the fact that the roof would soon collapse, raining fire and debris onto every firefighter inside. Flash would monitor it.
“Captain, where are those water cannons?” Waylon hollered into the radio clipped to his turnout coat. “It’s spread to the ceiling in here.”
“They’re coming,” Jake’s voice replied.
The squad crew passed them, assisting a coughing security guard from both sides. “We got him, building’s clear,” Lieutenant Jackson reported. “But a hotspot’s sprung up in a storage room about forty yards that way.” He pointed in the direction from which they’d come.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” Flash said and exchanged a glance with Waylon.
“We don’t need to get any further into this zero-visibility if all the people are out,” he suggested. “We’ve got to try and keep this scorcher under control as best we can and leave ourselves a line of retreat.”
“Roger that,” Flash agreed, but wondered about the barrels of ethanol and the firefighters from Sixteen who had taken the west side.
Ash and flaming flakes of ceiling material began falling on them as she and Waylon angled their hose back to the main office conflagration, while Flores and Woods kept on the stack of crates. The concrete floor wasn’t flammable, but sparks and pure heat had set off satellite fires, only Flash couldn’t tell where they all were through the thick smoke.
She knew when the water cannons hit the roof from faltering ripples in the reddish-orange tongues that licked the ceiling. A surge of triumph rushed through her veins—not the same thrill as she’d experienced when she pulled the little girl from the wrecked car or when her entire crew made it out of the wildfire alive, but still satisfying.
Suddenly, the ground shook, followed by a deafening boom and a shock wave of heat more intense than she’d felt in the blazing forest. O’Riley was yelling, “Get out!” over the coms as larger chunks of roof rained on and around them. Flash shut off her water valve and turned to Waylon. They didn’t need to speak as both gripped the hose and ran, following it to the doorway from which they’d entered. She hoped her crewmembers were right behind them.
