Remember Me

It comes together

He sat forward in his chair. "What happened?" I looked around the skyline behind Coach, trying to get an idea of where I was to no avail. Somewhere south of 7 Mile. I looked back at him, "Why am I here?"
He stared at me, confused but also relieved. His face quivered slightly and he spoke. "Do you remember anything?"
"Not really." An overwhelming sense of dread flooded over my body. "What happened?"
He paused, looking down at his scuffed, unzipped utility boots. "I..." he froze "something happened last shift." He continued, "Everybody was rotated after they called tag."

My heart sank. Tag is the instance of an emergency fatality. Slowly, as he explained, pieces started coming back. Slowly I began retelling it with him. The soft wail of sirens screamed above my head. The overgrown south Detroit "dead" projects were prime arson attack vectors. I pulled my SCBA straps taught and picked up my helmet. I rested it on my lap and leaned forward, trying to see the engine's direct route. About two blocks ahead of our truck, a red glow illuminated a small multi-family tenement. Small crowds of people stood outside on the sidewalks and street. Most likely neighbors or displaced tenants. Our acting Chauffeur leaned on the air horn and the now severely startled people fled the roadway.
The truck slowed behind a sedan parked in-front of a hydrant and began pushing it. It slid sluggishly along the edge of the curb before crashing into several garbage cans, knocking them over. The truck stopped next to the hydrant and the driver released the air brakes. Parker popped the door open and we evacuated the cab. "Hey!" Coach pointed to a couple people trying to cross the street in front of the still approaching Ladder 41. "Get back!"

Parker and I opened up a couple of right side compartments, pulling out irons and extra flashlights. Coach tapped Parker's air pack to get his attention. He handed him the TIC and ordered him to help the Chauffeur pull the supply line before going interior. Parker handed me the irons and left. I walked around the back of the truck behind Parker and walked up the sidewalk to the front entrance of the fire building. Coach started his 360 of the building and Parker finished with the Chauffeur. He briskly closed the distance between us carrying an uncharged 1 3/4 handline. He confirmed with Coach over radio that Crew One was ready for fire attack. Coach radioed us the go-ahead and we turned to the old wooden door. I handed Parker the Halligan bar. He wedged the Fork end into the small gap between the door and frame. I drove it in with the flat end of the axe before he gave the order to stop. He leaned towards the building, pressing full body weight with gear into the door. It popped open with almost no resistance and I waved to the Chauffeur to charge the line. He gave me a thumbs up and verbally confirmed the action over the radio. I grabbed the nozzle and the two of us stretched the line into the building.

"Crew one?" Coach's voice cracked over frequency. "There is fire on the fourth floor. Take the A stairwell and advance that hall." Parker acknowledged the order and we took the line to the right just as it filled with water. It was exponentially heavier but necessary for our safety to haul up the stairwell. The A stairwell was mostly dark. A couple flickering fluorescent lights illuminated our strenuous trek up four floors. As we ascended, light smoke conditions became more prevalent. The smell of burning wood and plastic cut through my lungs. We stopped at the entrance to the fourth floor. Thin wisps of smoke vented around the cracks. Parker reported our arrival on the fire floor and Coach radioed back he'd be joining us with Tower 64 in a couple of minutes. The two of us donned our masks and hooked on the regulators. I shut my eyes for a second and took a breath of the clean, cold air. I returned to the moment. Parker was cautiously opening the door and checking the hall with the TIC for hot spots. After, we quickly slid into the hall and started checking rooms for fire. I pulled the line along side me and we quickly reached an apartment facing the street. The TIC read 800° through the door.

"Quick hit from above, down, and then in. Okay?" I nodded and he forced the burning door open. My body was met by furious heat. I pointed the line up into the fire's upper atmosphere and I chased the fire back into the far end of the apartment by the window. As the fire retreated we advanced into the small, smoldering apartment. Within minutes we had suppressed the fire and were expecting an early night. The black smoke slowly vented out of what was the living room window. I looked around, examining the apartment. There was still fire somewhere. A soft crackle growing in intensity. Parker pulled wall painstakingly searching for the source of noise while I put out hot spots. The smoke grew thicker and soon our egress into the hall was vanished. Coach reported Tower 64 and he were conducting a primary search on floor four. I put out several more hotspots before stopping. I turned and leaned out of the apartment window and spotted a couple more crews arriving on scene. Tower 56 was already here and declared a split primary-search of the third and fourth floors.

I smiled. My older brother was the Lt. of 56 Tower on B shifts. Usually though, Tower 56 wasn't put on primaries unless nobody else was available. I turned back to the apartment and I was met with total blackness. Within seconds Coach charged into the apartment yelling. Five firefighters from two separate companies followed him in a frenzy.

"We're bailing outta here!" We gathered around the window. "There is fire pushing above us. It's ripping in like 6 apartments."

I looked around to the other firefighters. My eyes locked onto one name tag, Lt. Firefighter Gage Lukas, my brother. In roughly 40 seconds, four firefighters bailed out. Parker followed by hooking off into the crease left in the scorched window sill before repelling down. After Parker reached the bottom, the window frame cracked and started breaking off. Coach followed Parker, using the last strength of the frame. Thinking I'd already gotten out, he declared Engine 31 clear of the structure. The rest of the frame cracked and broke off.
"Fuck!" Gage yelled. He cued his radio and requested a bucket to our window. After we got a 1 minute ETA for the ladder we started looking for other options. There was little to grab onto. Usually, 2 by 4 struts would be sufficient to repel from but whoever was contracted for this building used smaller boards. Gage kicked one of them under the window to test its durability. It bent with the impact before rebounding back. It wasn't safe. "They're too fucking thin!" Gage yelled over the growing roar of the flames.

"Anchor off me." I lifted the lower seam of my bunker coat and pulled on my PES carabiner. "I'm lighter, I'll repel from those struts after you hit the floor." I opened his side pocket to pull out his life safety rope. He grabbed my hand and pushed me towards the window. "What the fuck?" He pulled out my life safety rope and hook. He connected it to his carabiner and backed away from the window, squatting down for better friction.
"Go!" he yelled. A swift stream of rollover ignited up above his head. I turned and rolled out of the window. My gear steamed from the ferocious flames. I released the mechanism and dropped ten feet before stopping myself. I dropped several more feet and looked up in time to witness the devil-like spikes of flames rip out of the window. My heart clawed at my chest and vomit stopped halfway up my throat.
A moment of free fall took over my body and instantly it all went black.