Burn ▹ Ashton Irwin

epilogue

3 years later: April 2nd - 3:10 PM

Sirens flashed and the alarms blared through their speakers, echoing off the walls of every building in New York City. Bystanders took notice of the loud, monstrous vehicle that practically flew down each street, as it was eagerly trying to get to it's destination. It's destination that needed a lot of help at the moment.

I clung the the side of the firetruck with my arms wrapped around a railing that was fastened vertically to the door. I gazed around in search of the smoke or any other sign that told me we were close. I met the gazes of wandering citizens who were looking at us firemen with grave fear in their eyes. They automatically know what's happening somewhere in this big town; somebody out there is in trouble.

"Anybody know where we're even going?" I shouted into the open air, hoping one of my coworkers could hear me.

"Irwin," I glanced over my shoulder when I received an answer from Blake, a middle-aged man who's been working here for years.

He was in the same physical position as I: holding onto the side of a firetruck, ready to hop off and spring into action. He pointed towards the sky and my gaze followed his. Sure enough, I finally spotted the main source of the house fire. A thick cloud of black smoke rose above the buildings a few blocks east from where we were currently.

"Damn." I exhaled. Just based off the amount of smoke I could already see, I knew this one was going to be particularly bigger than all the others this week. You'd think that with the 20 different fire stations across town this would be the first one we've been called to lately. But you'd also be surprised; New York City is fucking huge. We're called for help almost every day.

I joined the fire department about one year ago. After going through court and having to spend some time in prison/on probation for a few months (because let's face it: Derek wasn't the only one committing crimes every day), I needed to get an actual job. As in no more stealing, no more drug-dealing, and especially no more drug-buying. When it came time to actually choose a career, I knew that this was exactly what I wanted to do.

I'm not scared of it anymore. I'm not scared of anything anymore, actually. Fire doesn't terrorize me like it used to. In fact, I think nothing of it whenever I'm around it. All I think about is saving innocent people that are trapped inside of it's grasp, and nothing else.

The truck skidded to a halt outside of a burning town house. The moment the vehicle came to a complete stop, we all went straight to our usual duties without another thought.

I jumped off the side of the firetruck, slung a helmet over my head, and strapped a clear, oxygen-preserving mask over my face. My heavy boots thumped against the pavement as I walked towards the front door. Black smoke quickly consumed the air and flames of fiery reds and oranges danced in every window sill. People were shouting and panicking from every corner as another man from my team blocked off the area with caution tape.

"Michael," I looked over my shoulder and called out to one of my best friends. He slipped his helmet on and jogged up beside me. "You're coming with me."

"Got it." he nodded.

One of the commander and chiefs of Station 10 trudged past Michael and I with a hose in his hand. "You're going in, Irwin." he ordered.

"I know," I responded. "I'll call for back up if there's any problems."

I'm usually the one to go into the buildings to look for people, anyways. After joining the fire department last year (with Michael interested in working here as well), I made it clear that I wanted to be the one to go in and find whatever survivors were left. Since then, I've always been the one to get people out of every burning building we were called to. I enjoy that part the most because I can relate to them. I know what it feels like. I've experienced it myself, after all.