Vertical Burn - Earl Emerson [3]
“You want to go back in and search, or do you want me to get the fans back?”
Cordifis’s reply was to head back inside. Bypassing the rooms they’d already searched, they moved along the front wall of the building. Minutes later, they found a door at the right corner of the building on the far side of a loading area. When Finney opened it, he was greeted by a long flight of descending concrete steps.
In the basement they found a huge subterranean space with a high ceiling and a floor of rough concrete. There was no smoke. By the time they’d searched the area, Cordifis’s five-minute warning bell was ringing, though Finney had two thousand pounds left in his bottle, a little less than half what he’d started with. Cordifis generally ran out of air before he did, but Finney was thinking this was too soon even for him. They would get fresh bottles together.
When they’d made their way outside, a ragged group of spectators in robes, T-shirts, and slippers were congesting the smoky area where Captain Vaughn had set up his command post. Finney grabbed a battle lantern for more light and two spare bottles off Ladder 1. He looked up the street for additional units but saw none. By now they should have had two chiefs—three, counting the safety chief. There weren’t even any additional engines on scene. What the hell was going on? Finney carried the spare bottles over to Cordifis and changed the bottle on his back while Cordifis spoke to Vaughn.
“But she was right there,” Cordifis said angrily. “She could have shut it off in two seconds.”
“You know that’s not the way we fight fire,” answered Vaughn.
“With the fan up, we’d be able to see something. What we’re doing now, this is like playing Pick Up sticks with our butt cheeks.”
“I’ve got Ladder Five going to the roof from the other side of the building. If you want them inside searching with you, I can do that.”
“More butt cheeks isn’t going to help. I want ventilation is what I want. I want those fans.”
Vaughn walked away. A chain saw started up somewhere, the two-stroke engine screaming as the crew of Ladder 5 cut holes in the roof. Cordifis gave Finney a disgusted look, while Finney shrugged out of his own backpack and laid it on the ground to change the bottle. Bill was right, as usual. This would be a whole lot easier with the fans.
Cordifis stepped around Ladder 1 and addressed someone Finney couldn’t see. “Hey, you bastard . . .” Finney missed whatever insults came next as Engine 22’s engine and built-in pump roared.
As Finney slung his backpack and tightened the shoulder straps, Robert Kub stepped into view from around the front of Ladder 1. He wasn’t the one Cordifis was giving a hard time to, for Finney could still hear Cordifis’s loud, angry voice.
Finney had come into the department with Kub, the only African American in his recruit class, and as with most of those he came in with, he felt a special bond toward the man. For the past twelve years Kub had been working for the fire investigation unit, Marshal 5, so he often didn’t arrive at a fire scene until the firefighting units were packing up to leave. Finney thought it was unusual to see him this early in a fire. “What are you doing here?” Finney asked, screwing his low-pressure hose onto the regulator at his waist.
“Dispatcher called me at home. There’s another good fire down on Othello, but I came here.” He wagged his eyebrows. “More potential.”
“Oh, we got potential all right.” Finney grinned, as he left Kub and walked around the nose of Ladder 1 in time to see Cordifis heading toward the building and away from another off-duty firefighter, Oscar Stillman. Finney knew Cordifis and Stillman were good enough friends that a greeting of “Hey, you bastard!” often served as an endearment between them. Just like every other big fire, this was turning into a reunion.
Stillman, who had nothing to do here but watch, turned around and flashed his gapped teeth at Finney. “God, how the hell are you,