Page 92 of Her Braun
“Tell them it’s likely there’s gas or grease involved.” Gibson blinked back tears.
“Ah,” Irish piped back in. “So dry chemical?”
Of course she’d know. Being married to a firefighter she probably knew better than most.
And he'd never felt so fucking useless before. "Thanks."
"You want me to send another? Vitalia's truck is finishing a medical call nearby."
"Send them our way if you can. I... I-"
"Got it, sir. Irish out."
The crunch of tires on the loose gravel of the driveway turned his head and he saw Ambo Nineteen pulled in with Sixty-five coming in beside it.
Two ambulances.
Irish was thinking on the positive side.
He knew there was a reason why he liked her so much.
Harmony was the first one out of Ambo Nineteen with her partner, Vega, right behind her.
Pits clapped him on the shoulder. "You want me to fill them in?"
Gibson nodded and Pits headed for the EMTs.
Mats called out from the front window. "Fire in the front is out!"
"I'm going in!"
Gibson made it through the front door with Mats just a step behind him.
"I'll start in the kitchen!"
"Do it!" Gibson knew that he could be heard over the hose through their radios, but he knew that he was the edge.
Gibson stepped into the kitchen area, the floor switching from a large black and white checkerboard floor to a dull grey cement.
What he saw made him cringe, but he didn't have time to worry about it.
He called out what he saw.
"Body!"
"Fuck!"
He didn't know who'd said the word, but he understood it.
Moving toward the still form outside of a heavy metal door, Gibson crouched down to look for signs of life.
There was none.
The man who'd been caught in the fire had died.
Gibson couldn't tell how much pain he'd gone through, but he could see the evidence that he'd been in the fire long enough that his muscles and tendons had shrunk in the heat. The body was rigid and had the look of a boxer fighting off an opponent.
The man didn't win the battle.
