Vertical Burn - Earl Emerson [42]
“Water,” she gasped. “For the love of God give me some water.”
They gave her water and covered her with a burn sheet.
By the time the rest of the units arrived, the fire had punched a hole in the morning, flames jetting fifty feet into the fog. Standing in the yard in a daze, watching as the medics placed the victim on a stretcher and administered morphine, Finney felt dry heat from the fire. It wasn’t long after Chief Smith arrived that the walls began collapsing inward.
Monahan was the one who found the two-wheeled cart near the back door, the handle melted, the cargo transformed to turds of char.
“Annie? Hey, was that her cart?” Sadler asked, when Monahan brought it around to the front.
“That was definitely her cart,” said Monahan.
“It couldn’t be Annie,” said Finney.
“Yeah.” Monahan held up the cart with one hand. “That was her all right.”
21. THE HERO SYNDROME
At one end of the house a bathtub dangled by its plumbing. At the other end a broken chimney stood alone like a splinted finger. Most of the upper floor and roof had burned off or been pulled down by firefighters with pike poles, as they hunted out the last embers, and the house had spilled its contents like a broken egg; bits of smoldering cloth and burned garbage lay in the yard. They would wait to finish the overhaul until after Marshal 5 had sifted through the ruins and made a determination of cause.
Small rooms, a good toehold, lots of nooks and crannies, balloon construction, and careful preparation by an arsonist had made the fire almost impossible to stop. Because there was a victim, it was especially important to determine cause, yet there wasn’t much left to sift through; the fire damage was massive. In Washington State an arson resulting in a fatality could be charged as murder and would be, if Annie died and if the SFD apprehended the culprit.
As they waited for Marshal 5 to arrive, Chief Smith located Finney in the rest area.
“Splendid job,” Smith said, his face transforming into a mask of smile wrinkles. “McKittrick said he thought nobody could make it up there, but by golly, you did, John. You and Lieutenant Sadler. You two make a great team.”
“Actually it was Diana Moore off of Ladder One. I probably owe her my life.”
The chief, who may or may not have heard him, stooped and picked up Finney’s helmet. SFD helmets were constructed of a tough, resilient plastic, and it was rare to melt one. Doing so was considered a totem of bravado, an announcement that one had gone where nobody else could. Finney’s helmet was melted from the top down, the face shield dissolved onto the blackened shell like a slice of cheese. “I just wanted to let you know what you did won’t go unnoticed. In fact, I’m going to submit you and Lieutenant Sadler both to the awards committee.”
“It was Diana Moore. And I don’t want an award. She should get one, though.”
Chief Smith smiled. “Moore, huh? How the hell did she haul a hose line up there by herself?”
“Same way any of us would have. Muscled it up.”
“Young woman surprises me sometimes.” Chief Smith winked as he left, and said, “Sure is cute as a button.” Or maybe he said, “Sure has a cute bottom.” Finney wasn’t sure which he heard. Both were true.
A few minutes later Gary Sadler approached, his coat open, a cup of hot cocoa hidden in his large fist. Drifting smoke mixed with the fog, so that except for the red flanks of two nearby fire engines, the neighborhood was blanked out.
Sadler’s face was sweaty, his teeth and mustache peppered with soot. He looked around and, when he saw they were alone, said, “You have a problem following orders?”
The animosity in his voice surprised Finney. “Because I went for the ladder?”
“Because you left me alone inside. You have a problem?”
“My only problem is fiddle-faddling around while somebody