Page 2 of Cross Checks

The flames were almost beautiful at first, bright orange and yellow with a practically white-hot core. Then, the first wisps of smoke hit me, and I coughed. I knew it wasn’t good, and I needed to consider my exit route.

I tried to reach my locker, but a wall of blistering heat forced me back. Acrid smoke flooded my lungs with every breath. I choked down panic as I stared at my surroundings in disbelief.

The place that was a scene of celebration only minutes earlier was now a dangerous inferno. Fear jolted me as I tried to process what I saw.

My pulse thundered in my ears. I heard shouts from my teammates, “Fire! Fire! Get out!”

Blinking back tears caused by the thick smoke, I decided my locker was a lost cause. Equipment be damned. If I didn’t move now, I’d be dead.

My instincts started to kick in. I scanned the room. Everyone crowded the main exit, so I turned toward the back hallway, past the weight room. That was a near fatal mistake. Flames blocked the way.

I jogged back into the locker room. An ominous cracking resounded from above, rising over the roar of flames. I glanced up to see an aged wooden beam splintering under the heat’s assault.

Stumbling backward, I watched helplessly as it gave way. The rafter plunged to the floor in an explosion of sparks, igniting a dozen small fires around the room.

Thick plumes of smoke made it hard to see. I hacked violently, feeling like I wanted to cough up a lung. Remembering something I’d learned long ago in school, I crouched low, trying to stay below the toxic clouds.

“Taylor, this way!” I heard someone yell.

I coughed again, my throat burning from the smoky air. The flames were so pervasive that it was hard to see any of my teammates anymore, and I wasn’t sure of the right direction to the exit.

Panic began to surge through me. I was trapped, and icy fingers of fear gripped my heart.

The fire was everywhere, all around me. Falling to my hands and knees on the concrete, I started to crawl and tried to ignore the terrifying scene around me.

I thought there had to be a way out if only I could find it. The situation was dire, and I started to fear the worst. The sound of sirens began to blare in the far distance, and I thought they would be a good omen if they’d arrived about five minutes earlier.

Coughing, choking, and starting to black out, I curled up into a ball on the floor. I'd begun to say my prayers when I heard a sudden, explosive sound shattering the roar of the fire.

The metal locker room door squealed on its hinges, and I heard the sound of jets of water sprayed into the space. The heavy thud of boots followed seconds behind.

I turned and looked up to see a towering figure above me. It was a firefighter in full uniform, helmet, and face mask. His solid build was impressive. The fact that I noticed such a thing at a moment of peril made me laugh to myself.

Despite the danger surrounding us, he exuded an air of calm and confidence. He crouched beside me and lifted me in one graceful, flowing movement.

I clung to his body as he turned to try to exit from the way he came. He changed his mind and pivoted in the opposite direction.

His powerful arms and massive hands shielded me from flying sparks and splintering wood as he pushed forward to exit out onto the ice. The fire itself was starting to lose the battle to massive sprays of water.

The air of the ice rink was significantly cooler, but the stress of the situation seemed to catch up with my savior all at once. He panted heavily as he fought to catch his breath, and his grip on me loosened.

Seconds later, he tumbled to the ice, and I managed to land on top of him. I looked at his face mask, and his eyelids fluttered behind it. In any other context, we were probably comical—a fully uniformed firefighter with a nearly naked man lying sprawled on top of him.

His eyes finally remained open, and his breathing steadied. He quickly offered me a hit of his oxygen, and it was a shot to my burning lungs. It soon calmed me, and I rested my head on his chest as he removed his mask.

"Hey, I’m Hank Davis,” he rasped, his voice ragged and raw.

I started to roll off him but hesitated as the ice burned against my bare skin. My discomfort registered with Hank.

He pulled off his heavy jacket and laid it on the ice. I rolled off onto it and caught my breath.

“Chase Taylor,” I muttered through more hacking coughs.

Hank helped me sit up and then patted my back gently. “Take it easy there.”

Our eyes locked for a long moment. I realized I was still only wearing a towel. Under different circumstances, it would have been awkward. In the aftermath of a disaster, it didn’t matter. Hank was an island of calm, protecting me from any further harm.

“Thanks for saving my ass. Is that what you say in this situation?” I laughed hoarsely.

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