The Firefighter's Thanksgiving Wish

“Here we go.” Frankie could see thick gray smoke billowing into the sky from the back of the two-story saltbox. She killed the siren as they pulled up in front of the home with an overgrown front lawn and a wheelchair on the porch. The door burst open and Shirley Desmond flew out, silvery-gray hair flying about her frantic face, her ripped flowered housedress fluttering around her knees. “She won’t come out!” Shirley cried as she ran toward them. “Amelia’s still upstairs and she won’t come out. I’ve screamed and screamed—”

Frankie dropped out of the engine and raced around to catch Shirley by the arms. “Where’s Ivan?”

“In the hospital. He was admitted last week. Pneumonia. But my girl. She’s up there. She won’t come down.”

“All right. Shirley, you need to calm down,” Frankie ordered. “Let us do our work, okay? Where’s the fire?”

“Kitchen. I bet I left a potholder on the stove. It must have caught. I can’t see much—”

“All right.” Frankie scanned the growing crowd and spotted BethAnn Bottomley in all her designer finery. “BethAnn!” Frankie waved her over.

BethAnn puffed up as if being announced the winner of a beauty pageant. “Yes?”

“Would you please stay here with Shirley? I don’t want her going back inside. You hear me, Shirley?” She caught the older woman’s face in her hands. “I can’t worry about you and Amelia. You trust me, don’t you?”

“I—Yes.” Shirley blinked, and two big tears plopped onto her cheeks. “Save my girl, Frankie.”

“I’ll get her.” Frankie nodded, and when she turned back, she saw that Fletcher and Sebastian had already dragged the connector hoses out to get the hydrant water running through the engine. Frankie retrieved her helmet and facemask just as the SUV pulled in behind the engine. Roman, Kendall and Kurt Murphy sprang out.

“What do we have?” Roman demanded.

“Kitchen’s in the back of the house. Sounds like a stove fire.” Frankie filled him in. “Daughter’s in a second-floor room. Won’t come out. We need to go up. Now.”

“You said the daughter’s special needs. What’s her situation?” Roman walked beside Frankie as she headed up the walkway to the porch.

“She’s autistic. Mostly uncommunicative with strangers, but I know her a little.” Frankie could only hope Amelia would remember her, otherwise this was going to turn into a fight, which would only compound the situation.

“Right. Kendall and Fletcher, head in with the hoses,” Roman ordered. “Let’s hope we get lucky and it’s confined to the kitchen. Report in when you get a look. Kurt, you’ve got RIC duty.”

“Understood,” Kurt said with a slow nod. Being the rapid intervention crew or individual meant he would remain on standby in case any of the firefighters going into the house needed help.

“Keep an eye on those hoses, too,” Roman added.

“Understood.” Kendall hefted the nozzle and hose over one shoulder and dragged it and Fletcher with her.

“Let’s go—” Frankie said to Roman, but she found he’d walked away and was talking with Shirley. “Chief, we need to—” Frankie heard the distinctive release of the fire extinguishers inside. Puffs of white mingled with the gray snaking out the front door. “Chief!”

Roman held his hand out behind him as if to say hold on. He was nodding as Shirley rattled on, hands flailing in panic.

Frankie’s pulse kicked in double time as Kendall reported in through the intercom in her helmet. They didn’t have time to waste chatting. Smoke continued to churn out of the house, even as Kendall said they were getting it under control.

Her blood pounded in her ears. They had to get in there, get Amelia, in case the fire sneaked past them or hit a gas line. She looked back one last time then, realizing Roman wasn’t done with his conversation, went on ahead. She pulled on her mask, tucked her helmet down low on her head and stepped into the smoke.

Once inside the house, she noticed that most of the fire had been contained by the extinguishers. The thick smoke was still billowing. Blinding. It always stunned her how pitch-black a house could get with even the smallest fire. As she turned toward the stairs, she saw Kurt reach out and yank open the second window in the kitchen while Kendall doused the flames. Unshakable Kendall, who had served multiple tours in Afghanistan and barely lived to tell the tale. Now here she was again, right in the middle of the action. No hesitation.

“Frankie!” Her name snapped in her ear as a hand clamped around her arm. Foot on the first stair, she looked back into the most ferocious glare she’d ever seen. “Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me?” Roman demanded. “You wait for backup!”