Page 12 of How to Walk Away

I kept trying to unwedge myself. Nothing.

I’ve felt alone plenty of times in my life—in both good ways and bad—but I have never felt alone like this. “Come back,” I whispered to Chip. “Come back.” But the words were lost in the noise of the storm.

Then, over it all, I heard the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard—before or since.

First far away, then closer: a siren.

The fire department.

Chip had not come back, but now I had something better. I was so glad I’d bought that firefighter calendar last year. Best twenty bucks I ever spent.

Just like that, almost as if it had heard them coming, too, the rain slowed and thinned out to a sprinkle.

The acoustics in the plane were pretty good. After they cut the siren, I could hear the firemen outside, maybe five or six, talking and calling orders to each other. I heard noises I couldn’t decipher: clanking, squeaking, twisting. One guy called another guy a knucklehead. Minutes passed, then more. I wondered why no one had come to get me yet.

Then I heard a new sound—something different: Awhoosh. Just like when your gas stove burner finally catches and leaps up into flames.

It came half a second before the flames themselves. Just long enough for me to lean a tiny bit closer to the ground and put my arms over my face.

Then: noise, wind, heat. I kept my head down because it was the only thing to do. I felt a flash of white heat sting my neck, but then it went away. Seconds later, the fire was gone. The cockpit was smoky and smelled like barbecue and burned hair.

***

THE NEXT SOUNDwas the clanking and gonglike pounding of metal. I heard banging, men’s voices, a motor and a buzzing sound. Then, in what seemed like a second, the roof of the plane—which, given how we’d landed, was more like a wall—was peeled away. Kneeling next to me was a firefighter in full gear and a mask. And all behind him was snow. There was snow in the cockpit, too, now that I noticed.

He took off his mask, and he turned out to be a lady.

That struck me as very novel. A lady firefighter! She told me her name, but I have no idea what she said. Sometimes, even still, when I can’t sleep, I try to remember what it was. Karen? Laura? Jenny?

“We have a live patient,” she announced.

I wondered if I heard surprise in her voice.

She kneeled down beside me, while another two other guys continued cranking off the roof. “Tell me what hurts the most.”

“Nothing hurts,” I said, as she leaned in to check my pulse.

She looked doubtful. “Nothing at all?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just stuck.” Then I asked, “Why is it snowing?”

“It’s not snow,” she said. “It’s foam. For the fire.”

Foam! For the fire! I’d forgotten the fire for a second! Now I realized my neck and arm were stinging. “I might have some burns, actually,” I said.

She smiled at me. “You’re very lucky. The fire broke out just as we cranked up the hoses. We had it out in under a minute.”

“That does sound lucky,” I agreed.

“Plus,” she went on, waving a tiny flashlight back and forth in frontof my pupils, “facedown in a ditch is the best place to be when the flames roll over.”

“So, double luck,” I said.

“Are you kidding? Quadruple. I’m amazed you’re not a charcoal briquette.”

“Me, too,” I said.

“We’re going to strap you to a short board now,” she said, “and then to a long board while we transport you to the hospital.”

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