Page 1 of Grayson

1

Grayson Hawk

This life, the job and its unpredictability never get easier. What we as firefighters see, the things that no matter how hard we try to change we are unable to, weigh heavy on each of us. I see it in the faces of those men I call my brothers. The heaviness that presses on our chests with each call we respond to. The loss and the struggle, it’s the worst part. Though I know we try not to, it’s hard to not take it home with you.

But one thing is for certain, those incidents involving children haunt me. The fear in their eyes, the cries of innocence, it rips through me like a shock wave every single time.

The blaring sirens echo as we turn the corner and come to a stop in front of the address we’d been given. A frantic woman stands out front at the end of her driveway waving her arms in a panic. We all jump into action, jumping out of the truck as an ambulance and two police cars skid to a stop.

“In the back,” the woman screams as tears roll down her face. “My husband jumped in too.”

Before any of us can move Fed, or as most know him as Silas Feddeler, takes off running. Leaving all gear behind, he disappears around the side of the house. The rest of us chase after him.

Just as I clear the back of the house, I see Fed jump into the pool without a second of pause and his arms immediately start sifting through the cover that is stretched over ninety percent of the water.

Another man is tugging and yelling out for his young child that is trapped beneath the heavy cover.

“Oh my God!” the woman screams.

I look over at Hayes, he looks at me and we both drop our gear and jump into the ice cold water.

Immediately Asher Hayes and I both join Fed as we fight against the strength of the pool cover. We’re tugging and pushing, digging and sweeping our arms beneath the plastic when suddenly I feel a small foot.

Grabbing hold, I tug and pull the small child to me. Lifting him above the water I hear the mother scream out in agony.

“Hollywood.” I hurry to the edge, holding the still child close. Treading through the water, everything feels as though it is moving in slow motion. Rhett is already waiting with outstretched arms.

Immediately he takes the small boy and lays him out on the deck surrounding the pool. We all stand back, watching as he works the lifeless boy. The space around us is silent besides the soft cries of the terrified mother. Like each one of us is holding our breath and waiting, silently praying for a good outcome, unable to stomach the idea of anything other than that.

The sounds of my heartbeat echo in my head. I take deep breaths, my hand fisting the edge of the pool as I stare at the boy that couldn’t be more than three years old.

Defeat takes over as Hollywood continues to tirelessly work the small child. Unwilling to accept that he may be gone, he counts out the steps before leaning in to breathe for him once more.

“Come on, kid,” he practically growls the words I know we are all thinking.

Hanging my head, I grind my teeth feeling anger rush through me just as a small cough fills the silence.

The mother still cries but it’s the sound of the father that gains my attention. I look up as the mountain of a man falls to his knees and falls forward. His entire body shakes as he sobs in relief.

“There you go,” Rhett encourages the little boy as he rolls to his side and coughs up water. “There it is, little guy.”

The father practically crawls along the deck flooring toward his son, but keeping a safe distance allowing Rhett to do what he needs. Suddenly the little boy lets out a cry and the dad reaches his hands out and takes his son’s hand. Seeing that, the comfort he offers to his son, though it is only a small gesture practically breaks me.

I glance over to my side. Hayes, myself, and Fed are still all standing side by side in waist high water. Relief hits each of us as I can see our shoulders visibly sag.

One by one, we climb out of the pool and stand by as they load the little body onto a stretcher and strap him in. With one parent on each side of him we all stand back as they begin walking toward the front of the house. Gathered next to our rig, we load up and I pause with one foot on the step as the father of the boy looks back over his shoulder.

With his hand pressed over his heart he mouths two words that hit me deep, “Thank you.”

I nod, not needing the thanks but appreciating it at the same time.

I didn’t become a firefighter so that I can get thanks. I didn’t become a firefighter because I have some hero’s complex. I became a firefighter because I feel like everyone, no matter what walk of life they are treading, deserves to have someone willing to risk it all to be by their side during their worst.

My thanks was seeing a child reunited with their parents. My thanks was knowing that a mother or father would go home safe to their families. I didn’t need the words, just the knowledge that a family wouldn’t have their lives shattered, because I and my fellow brothers gave it our all to protect the ones they love.

The truck is silent as we pull away and start toward the station. I know we are all trying to rein in our emotions. It’s never easy when it’s a child. Hell, it’s never easy to roll up on any scene, child or not.

As we pull into the station our sweet house granny is waiting by the doors with a container in hand. After losing her husband a little more than a year ago, she relies on us I think as much as we do her. With Oscar our house dog at her side, he once belonged to her before we adopted him. He is a Swiss Mountain dog and it became difficult for her to take care of him on her own. With him living at the station directly across the street from her, it was the best of both worlds. She could see him whenever she wanted to and we got to see her too in the process.

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