Fanning the Flames (Jackson: Girls' Night Out 0.50)

“Foam truck?”

“En route.”

Jake’s eyes flew over the scene again, noting the gas leaking onto the roadway, the flames dancing off it, the hose keeping water between the flames and the body of the tanker and, most importantly, his men working inside the cab of the truck, trying to stabilize the passenger before pulling her out through the broken windshield.

He registered that the firefighter deepest inside the truck was Kevin. And in that moment, Jake saw the fuel that snuck past the column of directed water and started working its way toward the cab. Flames licked over it, as if it were crouching low and stalking its prey.

“Get her out!” Jake shouted, as he broke from the huddle and rushed toward the cab. “Everyone clear now.”

Kevin glanced up, met Jake’s eyes and gave a quick nod, before abandoning his efforts to stabilize her and easing her free of the wreckage. If there weren’t the threat of an explosion, the woman would have been carefully loaded onto a spine board. But when faced with roasting alive, they’d have to risk loss of limb or paralysis. The cervical collar Kevin had already put in place would have to do.

The rescue efforts sped up now as the men outside wedged a spreader between the pavement and the overturned truck’s door. As Jake nearly dove through the open windshield to help, he saw the reason for the holdup. Her leg was pinned under debris.

“Hurry,” Jake said simply, and Kevin nodded before throwing all his weight against a crowbar.

Jake pulled back out to eye that rogue stream of fuel. “McCurdy!” he called to the closest guy working the hose, then pointed. McCurdy set his mouth and cut the spray for a moment before aiming it closer to the truck. Jake knew the calculations going through the man’s head. He didn’t want to wet the cab yet, not while they were trying to free someone. And he didn’t want to push the fuel closer to the truck.

Jake ducked back in to see the progress inside. The spreader was working, creating a space, but the woman’s twisted leg was caught just below the knee.

“Almost there,” Kevin said calmly.

“Kev. We’re in trouble.”

“Then you should back up. I’ve got this.”

“Captain!” McCurdy shouted from outside.

“We’re about to get wet,” Jake said. “She might have to lose the leg.”

Kevin shook his head. “Not yet, Pops.” The calm in his voice told Jake that helping him get the woman out was the only option at this point, so Jake just cursed and eased closer.

“Come on then, dammit.” The smell of fuel filled the cab as he grabbed the crowbar and heaved, while Kevin worked on the woman’s leg.

“Cap!” McCurdy shouted, then, “Heads up!” Water suddenly pounded the back of the cab, the sound exploding around them as spray began to rain down.

“You about ready now, Kevin?” Jake shouted over the noise.

“Just about.”

Jake gave one last shove on the bar, then Kevin said, “There,” and started easing the woman’s knee up. Her foot caught again.

Despite the storm of water raining over them, gas fumes stung his nose and Jake said, “Force it,” just as a whoosh rolled over the back of the truck. Heat touched his calf as he and Kevin got their hands under the woman’s arms and pushed her out the windshield. Other hands grabbed her as Kevin tried to ease her foot from the mangled metal, but it still caught sickeningly as they forced her free. Blood pumped from her ankle as Jake grabbed the stiff arm of Kevin’s coat and hauled him toward the windshield as well. “Go, dammit!”

“Yeah, yeah.” As soon as the woman was pulled free, Kevin vaulted out, then reached back and half dragged Jake out too. The stench of melting upholstery swelled around them until they got to their feet and hauled ass for the waiting line of emergency vehicles. The woman was already on a stretcher and being slipped into an ambulance. More hoses moved in.

“You’re smoking, Pops.”

“No shit,” Jake said, reaching down to brush at the thick canvas of his work pants.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Kevin ignored that and called a paramedic over before shoving Jake down onto the bumper of a truck. “I’m fine,” Jake said again, but he gave in and rolled up the cuff of his pants before one of those bastards got itchy and cut it off. “Nothing big.”

And it wasn’t. A second-degree burn covering a few inches of leg. “Shit,” he said, pretending it was only disappointment that his pants were charred and not a bark of pain as the paramedic cleaned the burn.

“You should be more careful,” Kevin said. “I don’t have a scratch.”