Page 5 of The Night Belongs To Fireman

When the world didn’t explode, Fred let out a breath and extracted himself from the vehicle. The driver was still staring at him with a look of confusion. Fred gave him a quick assessment. Dazed, disoriented, thready pulse. Very possible head injury.

“In the back. Party,” he told Fred. “Girls.”

“I know. I’m a firefighter, and so’s my friend back there. We’ll take care of it. Can you make it to the sidewalk?”

The driver shook his head. “I can help.”

Absolutely not. Fred didn’t need an injured civilian getting in the way. “No need. The fire department’s been called, they’ll be here any minute. The paramedics will want to take a look at you.” He took off his sweater, balled it up, and pressed it against the cut on the man’s head. “Keep pressure on that wound.” He lifted the man’s hand to take the place of his own, and shifted to the firm, matter-of-fact tone that he always used at fire calls. “Sir, please sit down right away so we can do our job.”

The driver toddled off, slumping onto the sidewalk with a moan.

Fred did a thorough check under the vehicle, searching for signs of a fuel leak. When he found none, he turned his attention to the best way to get the girls out of the mangled limousine. He could grab a tire iron from his truck and knock out a window, or maybe pop open a door.

Oddly enough, the front of the vehicle didn’t look so bad. The rear looked like a crushed eggshell, but luckily, it was an extra-long limo and the middle didn’t seem too severely impacted. As he’d been trained, he did a quick assessment of the crane’s stability. If it was going to shift again, he needed to be prepared. But the long, gray metal struts of the crane seemed rock-solid, as if the piece of machinery would never budge from its new resting place.

Now for the passengers.

He crouched next to the passenger side rear window. It was halfway open, which was lucky because he’d be surprised if anything worked in this car anymore. Inside, the four girls from the bachelorette party were squished together in the long, leather-covered seat, bent slightly forward, the crushed roof pressing against their heads. Rachel, crammed against the driver’s side door, was the only one still conscious. Maybe her small size had kept her from getting knocked out. She was hyperventilating, her breath coming in quick, wheezing gasps. She turned her head from its awkward position and fixed him with enormous eyes, purple in the pale illumination from the streetlights outside.

“Can you … we have to get … help,” she gasped.

“I’m going to get you out,” he said, sticking with the fire scene voice that always worked magic with panicking accident victims. “But I’m going to need your help, okay? I need you to take a good long breath.”

He held her gaze until she gulped some air, and saw the most extreme edge of her panic subside.

“That’s good. That’s very good. The best thing you can do is keep calm. What’s your name? We were never formally introduced,” he added with a smile.

She managed a whisper of a smile in response. “R … Rachel.”

Thankfully, she seemed to be alert and not disoriented. His guess would be that her severely dilated pupils were due to panic, not a head injury. But panic could lead to injury, so keeping her calm was all-important. A glance at the door behind her told him it was much more damaged than the one on the passenger side. He’d have to work from this side, leaving her extraction for last. He hoped she was okay with that.

“Rachel. That’s a pretty name.”

A quick flash of incredulity crossed her face. Idiot. She wasn’t a four-year-old. She didn’t need her name complimented. Still, any expression besides hysteria was a plus, so he considered it a win.

He shifted his attention to the interior of the limo, assessing the conditions for extraction. The air reeked of alcohol. Nope, a four-year-old, she definitely wasn’t. They must have been having quite a party.

“Don’t judge. It’s just champagne,” Rachel said, sounding annoyed. Good. Annoyance was a lot better than panic. “Cindy’s wedding’s in two days, so you have to get her out of here. She’s okay, isn’t she?”

“One thing at a time. Are you injured, Rachel? Does anything hurt?”

“Oh.” She examined her left arm, which looked as if the limo door had nearly squashed it. “Barely bruised. I was watching out the window and saw this truck tipping over and this huge construction thing falling. I tried to warn the driver, but … I’d know if anything major was broken, right?”

“Possibly.” He didn’t want to explain that adrenaline masked the pain of a trauma.

She glanced at him sharply, then dragged in a long, deep breath. He noticed that her hands were clenched so tightly on her seat belt that her fingernails were white. “Really, I’m okay. I don’t think I’m hurt.”

“Good. Then let’s get you guys out of here. My name’s Fred, by the way. I’m a firefighter with special training in situations like these.”

Of all things, she let out a burst of laughter. Slightly hysterical laughter, he noticed, as if she were clinging desperately to her control. “You’re Fred the Fireman?”

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