Page 19 of The Flames Between Us

We're about ten feet into the house when it happens. A ceiling beam near the stairs gives way with a sickening crack, crashing down in a shower of sparks and debris. The sound—so similar to the Henderson collapse—triggers an immediate physical response.

Cold spreads through my chest. My breathing constricts. The world slows down, underwater-like, just as it did at Henderson's house. Just as it did at Pineridge.

But this time, I'm prepared. In the space between the beam's fall and my next heartbeat, I remember Everly's techniques. I focus on the physical sensation of the hose in my gloved hands, the weight of my breathing apparatus, the solid floor beneath my boots.

*This isn't Henderson's house,* I tell myself firmly. *This is 1427 Maple. The collapse was a beam, not the ceiling. Grant is right in front of you. You are present. You are needed.*

The cold recedes slightly. My breathing regulates. Time returns to normal speed.

"Crawford!" Grant's voice cuts through my awareness. "You good?"

"Yeah," I manage, surprised to find it's not a lie. "I'm good. Let's move."

We advance further, spraying water up the stairwell to control the flames. Above us, I hear Lewis's voice over the radio: "Chief, I've located the victim. Elderly male, unconscious but breathing. I’m bringing him out now."

Relief floods through me. He's alive.

"South exit compromised," Lewis continues. "Moving to the east window. I'll need ladder assistance."

"Copy that," Brock responds. "Max, reposition the ladder to the east side, second floor."

Grant and I maintain our position, keeping the stairwell clear as Lewis navigates toward the window with their victim. The fire is responding to our suppression efforts, but the structure's integrity is increasingly compromised.

"Ollis," Brock's voice comes through my radio. "Need your assist with the victim extraction. Grant, fall back once they've got him out the window."

"Copy," I respond, backing carefully toward the door, maintaining the hose line until I'm clear of the structure.

Outside, I sprint to the east side of the house where Max has positioned the ladder. Above, I can see Lewis appearing at the window, the unconscious form of Frank cradled in his arms.

"Ready for transfer," Lewis calls down.

I position myself at the base of the ladder as Max climbs up to help. Together, they secure the victim to a rescue harness, then begin the careful descent. I stand ready, heart pounding not with fear but with focused purpose.

When they reach the bottom, I help lower Frank onto the waiting gurney. His face is soot-streaked but he's breathing, an oxygen mask already being placed over his nose and mouth by the paramedics who arrived while we were inside.

"Good work," Brock says, appearing at my side as we watch the paramedics load Frank into the ambulance. His wife climbs in beside him, her earlier panic replaced by tearful gratitude.

"I just assisted," I say. "Lewis made the save."

"You did your job," Brock counters. "And from what I saw, you handled that beam collapse without hesitation."

I look at him sharply. "You saw that?"

He nods. "I see everything on my fireground, Crawford. Including when one of my best firefighters faces down a trigger and keeps functioning."

His words sink in slowly. I had been so focused on managing my response that I hadn't fully registered what it meant: I didn't freeze. When confronted with a scenario eerily similar to Henderson's, I stayed present. I kept moving.

"It's working," I say quietly, more to myself than to Brock.

"The therapy?" he asks.

I nod. "The techniques she taught me. They actually helped."

Brock claps me on the shoulder. "Good. Keep at it."

The rest of the call is straightforward—extinguishing remaining hotspots, securing the scene, documenting the response. Throughout it all, I feel a cautious optimism growing. Today wasn't a full test—I still didn't enter a fully involved structure fire—but it was progress. Definitive progress.

Back at the station, the post-call routine helps ground me further. Cleaning equipment, restocking the truck, filing preliminary reports. Lewis finds me in the equipment bay, hanging my turnout gear to dry.

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