Page 67 of Free to Live
“No, just the kit!”
I race around the back and grab the enormous portable medical kit so we can begin treating the victims.
36
Joseph
“My dog’s still in there!” the woman screams at Justin and me.
Hell. There’s no way we’ll leave any living being behind if we can possibly get to it. “Where?” Even as I cough in the fresh air, Justin’s clasping the front of his jacket up again. I mentally gird myself to enter the inferno.
“The laundry room.” Her lips tremble even as tears streak down her face.
“Where is that in relation to the rest of the house?” I demand harshly.
“Upstairs. Near the master bedroom.”
“What’s the dog’s name, ma’am?” Justin asks.
“Champ. Like Longchamp bags? I love them so much,” the woman blathers on, but we’ve already tuned her out. We have seconds—maybe a minute—before the entire house is engulfed in flames. If it weren’t for the fact this mansion has multiple access points to the second floor, we’d never be able to make it. Even now, I’m wondering if we should even try.
Almost as one, we slam through the front door this time. The inferno is defying the water being hurled at it from the team outside along the back of the house; making our mission even more dangerous than it was when we were standing with the crazed homeowner.
Our booted feet hit the stairs at the same time.
One.
Two.
Just as I’m about to take the third step, a sharp crack fills the air. I hear Justin scream just before a hand is shoved in the center of my back, plunging me face forward. It takes precious seconds to recover from my fall. Scrambling to my feet, I scream, “No!” Justin is buried under mounds of plasterwork that has melted from the ceiling under the scorching heat.
I scramble back down toward him and immediately begin shoving off the heavy plaster. He’s not moving, but I can still see his chest moving. “Come on, Brady!” I yell over the roaring of the fiery bitch trying to engulf the house with a demonstration of her power. “Stay with me!” I demand.
A weak woof behind me supports my statement. I close my eyes in disbelief. The dog.
Its head nudges me even as I’m shoving enough plaster aside to lift my coworker, my friend, to safety. Carefully, I scoop up Justin and haul him over my shoulder. I whistle between my teeth, and Champ races ahead toward the open door.
I clear the open doorway, and I hear Brett call out for all CFD to fall back.
Too late for Justin, who I’m racing over to the nearest ambulance. It just happens to be the one we drove in together.
* * *
Hours later,it’s well past midnight. I don’t know why I’m here except I can’t go home. I can’t deal with my phone ringing off the hook with the empathy, the weak-ass explanations, or the excuses.
Justin was declared legally dead at Greenwich Hospital two hours ago due to a hemorrhaging brain injury from the plaster falling on his head. His parents were brought in to decide what to do next.
I bolted. It was too reminiscent of before where people kept asking me to make decisions on Mary’s behalf as her medical power of attorney. I still remember being in a fucking haze of devastation while everyone wanted to plead their case for the necessity of organ donation while Eden and Seth stared at me with horror and accusation in their eyes.
And all I wanted to do was hold my baby girl and sink into death right next to her.
Now, I reek of the stench of fire and death, and I’m about to turn to a woman I desperately care for to help me get through a night where I can’t be reminded of any more memories.
Dropping my head to the steering wheel, I debate whether or not I should put the car in gear and turn around when I hear a light tap at the window. I don’t even realize I’ve been silently crying until turning my head to find Holly standing there tips the salt against my lips.
Turning the ignition off, I open the door of the Explorer and just sit there, saying nothing. We haven’t said a word to each other in days, and right now I don’t know how to start. For long moments I take in her clean, unmade-up face. Something tightly wound inside of me relaxes just seeing her. This is what I needed.
A friend.
