Ginger's Heart (a modern fairytale) (28 page)

“I’ll follow Woodman?” asked Cain from behind him, and Woodman bristled. He didn’t need a fucking babysitter. Not tonight. Not when he already felt like half a fucking man.

To his relief, Scott said, “With me. Engine Three. Lineman. Got it?”

They both hurried into the bay, side by side, but Woodman grabbed Cain’s arm before he headed for Three.

“When we get back, we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Ginger.”

“Christ, Josiah. Stop beatin’ a dead horse. I got nothin’ to say.”

“I
do,” said Woodman grimly, just as the sirens started to wail.

“Fine,” said Cain, turning toward his assigned truck. But a moment later he turned back. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Always, brother,” said Woodman.

Cain saluted him with a grin and Woodman watched him go.

  Watched him go.

***

“You heard about it?” yelled Logan McKinney over the scream of the sirens.

“Not much. Tell me,” said Woodman, holding on to the bar in front of him as the truck lurched out of the garage and raced down Main Street.

“Barn fire at Laurel Ridge. Heard it’s bad. They got, like, fifty, sixty horses there. No hydrants on the property. Fred Atkins called twelve more stations to assist. Overheard him say it might take twenty to get it done.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Bad, right?”

“Don’t sound good,” said Woodman.

“You been through shit like this, Woodman?”

“Barn fire?” He shook his head. “Ship fire was more my style.”

“I’ma say a prayer until we get there, okay?”

Woodman nodded grimly, watching as Logan, who’d only joined the department last year, clasped his gloved hands together and bowed his head, his lips moving in prayer.

It vaguely occurred to Woodman that maybe he should say a prayer too, but his prefire prayers had always started with “Everyone goes home,” which was every firehouse’s mantra.
Everyone home.
Except that Ginger had always been his home, and after he broke off their engagement later tonight, he wouldn’t have a home anymore. He’d have a cold and empty place inside, where Ginger had always lived, where he’d loved her, where she’d let him love her. Even if everyone else came home tonight, he wouldn’t. His home was all but gone.

“Amen,” said Logan. “I said a few words for you too, Woodman.”

“Thanks for that,” he said, though he felt deeply the words were in vain. Without her, he’d be entering a dark valley without hope, without meaning, without a future. He’d be poor ole Woodman, whose cousin took up with his ex-fiancée. He’d be pitied, when for the better part of three years he’d fought for respect and equality, pushing away pity with all his might.

Logan interrupted his thoughts. “Fred’s got me settin’ up an unmanned monitor in sector Charlie. Most of the flames is in sector Alpha, I guess. How ’bout you?”

“I’m s’posed to help you,” said Woodman, cupping his hands over his mouth so that Logan could hear him.

Logan’s face, which had looked a hair shy of frightened, relaxed a little, and he grinned at Woodman. “Oh yeah? Hey, that’s a relief. Thought I’d have to go in alone.”

“No, sir,” said Woodman, looking ahead, where fifty-foot flames licked the clouds and a mass of brownish-gray smoke, acrid and heavy, made the sky dark as eternal night. “Everyone goes home.”

~ Cain ~

Twenty minutes into the blaze, the water in Engine One was gone, and Cain was holding a foam pipe that was running low too. A tanker from Lexington was about to be pulled into their space to take over.

Cain had seen electrical fires, aircraft engine fires, and even a couple of mess fires during his time in the Navy, but he’d never seen anything that felt as huge and as bad as this. So far eight departments had shown up with their engines and tankers, trying to bring enough water to quell the flames, with little luck. The horses had been removed from the inferno, thank God, but the wind had just changed, and the flames were licking through the center of the barn now.

Scott Hayes hit him on the shoulder. “Done here. Let’s move her out.”

The hose was wound, the truck was moved back, and a moment later the Lexington truck had taken its place, her men willing and ready to jump into the fray.

Cain headed back to Scott. “You seen my cousin?”

Scott shook his head. “Put him on Engine Two, which was headed for the back of the barn. Heard it was quieter there.”

“You sure?”

Scott nodded, looking up at the flames that still jumped and spat. “How long till you think this roof—” Just as Scott said the words, Cain watched as the structure appeared to cave in, the front half of the roof collapsing into the middle of the burning structure as flames started eating their way quickly to the back.

“Fuck,” said Cain as he watched it fall.

A loud scream crackled over Scott’s radio. “Fuuuuuuck!”

Scott ripped the radio from his shoulder. “Uh, Fred? What’s happenin’ back there?”

“Fuckin’ roof just caved! 10-88, Code 1! Must have traveled from the second floor. We need trucks back here! Now!”

Cain’s eyes widened. “You said it was quieter back there!”

“Thought it was!” yelled Scott. “10-75 on sector Charlie. I need water on sector Charlie!”

Scott hurried off to coordinate trucks to the backside of the building as the hairs on the back of Cain’s neck stood up on high alert.

I
liked
puttin’ out fires. I liked feelin’ like a . . . a danged superhero. I would’ve done it forever.
Woodman’s words from three years ago came screeching back into Cain’s head, and suddenly Cain knew where his apprehension was coming from: there’s no way that Woodman would stand down. No way.

With his heart in his throat, he raced around the barn in the growing darkness, jumping over apparatus and forcefully pushing other firefighters out of his way until he’d rounded the massive structure to find the back of the barn was in just as bad shape as the front. What he hadn’t been able to see from his vantage point at the front was that the barn peaked in the middle. The middle of the roof hadn’t quite fallen in yet, but both lower sides, in sectors Alpha and Charlie, had.

“Where’s Woodman?” he asked a probie he recognized from Apple Valley who stared up at the blaze with his mouth open.

“I don’t—”

The probie’s buddy stood beside him, and Cain grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to focus. “Where’s Woodman? Where the fuck is Woodman?”

“He was, uh, he was with Logan McKinney.”

“Then where the fuck is Logan McKinney?” he demanded, yelling over the licking flames and sounds of structural collapse inside the barn.

“I don’t know,” said the kid, shrugging helplessly.

Cain pushed him out of his way and continued through the crowd of firefighters until he finally found Fred Atkins. “Where’s Woodman?”

“Woodman? He’s ’round somewheres. Scott and I both told him to stand down.”

“Where’s Logan McKinney?”

“Logan? I sent Logan in fifteen minutes ago to set a monitor. He’s ’round here . . . ” Fred looked around, his brow creasing as he counted his men and didn’t see Logan among them. He nudged the guy next to him. “John, you seen Logan?”

“Logan? Nah.”

Fred pulled his radio into his hand. “I got a 10-66 on Logan McKinney.”

“And Josiah Woodman!” yelled Cain.

Cain laced his fingers behind his neck, shutting his eyes and trying to tune out the cacophony that surrounded him. Radio chatter, sirens, the fire itself, the structure collapsing.

“Speak to me, Woodman. Jesus,
please
speak to me!”

“Caaaaaain!”

He wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the sound of his name or not, but his eyes opened wide, and he ran from Fred Atkins toward the burning building. His boots crunched and skidded over the gravel just outside the mouth of the barn.

“Woodman?” he screamed, taking a look inside. It was a death trap, a full-on blaze of orange and blue, with beams strewn across the floor, at odd angles, slowly charring as the flames licked them into submission.

“Caaaaaain!”

This time there was no question. It was coming from inside, and it was Woodman.

Turning to the fireman closest to him, he grabbed the man’s lapels and said, “My name is Cain Wolfram. I’m goin’ in there for my cousin, Josiah Woodman.”

Then he placed his oxygen mask over his nose and mouth and ran inside.

***

Being inside a fire was something he wouldn’t wish on anyone, but there was a sort of beauty to it too—the orange-colored smoke, the pattern of the flames, the crisscrosses of black beams collapsed in triangles, backlit by orange and blue. The whirls of smoke. The ravenous flames eating, consuming, destroying.

With his mask over his mouth, he couldn’t yell very loud, but he didn’t need to. He found Logan McKinney almost immediately. He was facedown on the floor between what used to be stall bays. He looked unconscious, not wearing a mask. Cain didn’t stop to think. He reached down and hefted Logan onto his back, the dead weight forcing Cain’s muscles to work overtime, and ran back out of the barn as fast as he dared, stopping at the mouth of the barn and screaming, “Help him!” to the crowd of firefighters that had amassed there, waiting as Engine Three’s pipes were socked and opened. They rushed forward to take Logan’s body, and as soon as he was free of the other man’s weight, Cain turned and ran back inside.

Taking off his mask for a moment, he screamed, “JOSIAH!” at the top of his lungs, then replaced the mask.

More debris fell from the center of the barn—parts of the roof that hadn’t collapsed yet, but were fixing to at any moment. He was at the exact spot where he’d found Logan, and he could go left, right, or forward. He opted for left, then heard Woodman scream his name again from the opposite direction.

“Caaaain!” he heard, weaker than before.

He whipped off his oxygen mask and screamed, “Josiah! I’m comin’!”

Reminding himself to step carefully, lest he upset any more of the unstable structure, he made his way toward the sound of his cousin’s voice, his body on autopilot, only one goal in mind: to find and save Woodman.

Finding him proved to be simple. He was also facedown on the floor without a mask, but across his back was a support beam that must have fallen when the roof caved in.

Cain tore his mask from his mouth and knelt down, placing it over Josiah’s mouth and nose.

“I’m here, but you’re pinned. I’ma push it off.”

Standing back up, he leaned down and took hold of the beam with his gloved hands, grunting with the effort it took to move it an inch or two off of Woodman’s spine.

“Crawl, Woodman!” he screamed, but Woodman remained immobile, and Cain watched in horror as another beam fell, not ten feet from them.

He was breathing in soot and smoke now, and his eyes were burning so bad, he could feel the tears trailing down his face. As gently as he could, he replaced the beam on his cousin’s back and leaned down close to Woodman’s ear.

“Can you hear me?” he yelled, coughing over the last two words. “If you can hear me, listen, Josiah. I will lift, but you have to crawl out. You are one tough sumbitch. When I tell you to, you fuckin’ move your ass!”

Josiah’s eyes opened and closed, and he made a sick gurgling sound that Cain took for a yes.

Leaning down again, Cain gripped the beam on either side of Woodman and used every drop of strength in his body to lift up, his arms shaking, his muscles burning. Josiah’s fingers curled into the concrete floor, and he pulled himself, inch by fucking inch, out from under the beam.

As soon as his cousin was clear, Cain dropped the beam and reached down for his cousin, turning him onto his back first, then putting his hands under Woodman’s shoulders to drag him out.

Another beam cracked overhead and fell, flames and sparks spitting above them. Cain stumbled as he walked backward, trying to look back at where he was going, but the smoke was thicker than before and the heat felt hotter. And fuck but his lungs burned like the devil had set up shop, and fuck, maybe he had.

“Cain!” He turned with relief to see Scott Hayes coming toward him. “I’ll take him!”

Scott put his hands under Woodman’s arms, and Cain staggered back, his energy reserves almost depleted.

“Get out of here!” yelled Scott.

Cain turned toward the entrance and directed Scott where to step as he made his way out. Until finally, finally, gravel crunched beneath his feet, and he knew they’d made it to safety.

Scott pulled Woodman over to a grassy patch to the left of the burning barn and laid him gently on the ground. Cain unbuttoned and unzipped his jacket, shrugged off his O
2
tank, and balled up his coat as best he could to squeeze it under Woodman’s head. His cousin’s face was covered in soot and ash, there was a bad burn over his left eye, and his left glove was charred to a crisp. His oxygen mask was askew, and Cain knelt down beside his cousin to straighten it.

“We made it,” he told Woodman, coughing up black mucus and spitting it onto the grass.

He felt Scott’s hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get an ambulance.”

He vaguely heard Scott’s voice on his radio behind him saying, “10-45. 10-45, Code two. I need a fuckin’ ambulance. Now. Back of the fuckin’ barn. Sector Charlie. Now.”

“Cain . . . ,” Woodman rasped, his green eyes wide and wild. They weren’t focused on anything or anyone, just searching and blinking. And then Cain realized: Woodman had been blinded by the smoke and heat. He couldn’t see.

“I’m . . . oh Jesus . . . I’m here, Josiah.” He reached for his right hand and pulled off his cousin’s glove so he could hold his hand.

“Cain . . . listen . . . ” His voice was so soft, Cain could barely hear him, so he shifted his position on the grass, dropping Woodman’s hand and gently lifting his cousin’s head from the bunker coat onto his lap. Woodman had lost his helmet at some point, and as Cain looked down more closely, he realized that Woodman’s mask was partially melted onto the left side of his face.

Cain gasped at the terrible sight of melted skin, fear rolling inside him, gathering, growing stronger and bigger with every passing moment. “St-stop talkin’, okay? I . . . I need you to save your strength. They’re gonna bring you some oxygen. Scott’s got the ambulance comin’ and—”

“She loves . . .
you
,” Woodman said softly, his green eyes searching desperately for Cain’s blue.

She. Ginger.
Because in Josiah’s entire life, there had only ever been one
she
.

Cain’s eyes burned with tears as he tenderly stroked Josiah’s hair off the right side of his face. “No. No, she don’t. She loves
you
. Stop talkin’ crazy. Just hold on. They’re gonna . . . you’re gonna be just . . .”

A paramedic slid to the ground beside them and opened his field kit. He tried to put a new mask on Woodman, but Woodman groaned, “No,” and tilted his head away.

“Josiah,” sobbed Cain. “Please.” Then, “
Where’s the fuckin’ ambulance at?
”

The paramedic pressed his stethoscope to Woodman’s neck. He winced at whatever he heard there and slowly pulled the instrument from his ears.

“Cain . . . be . . . good . . . t’her.”

Cain caressed the skin by the burned part of Woodman’s face tenderly, but his cousin didn’t even flinch. There was no physical reaction. No pain.

“Care . . . for her.” His lungs were barely moving up and down now, and every word sounded thinner. “Love . . . her.” His voice was thready and weak, each breath wheezing and ragged. “Promise.”

Tears ran down Cain’s face in streams as the wail of an ambulance got closer. The paramedic was on one knee beside Cain, motionless, and when Cain looked up at him, the other man blinked back tears before mouthing, “I’m sorry.”

“
Aw, fuck
.” Cain sobbed softly, using the back of his hand to wipe his tears away.

“I don’t need to promise,” he said, leaning down to press his lips to Woodman’s forehead, his tears plopping onto his cousin’s face. He knew Woodman couldn’t see them, didn’t feel them. “You . . . you’re gonna be fine, Woodman.”

Woodman’s green eyes searched the darkness for a face he couldn’t see. A strangled sound crawled up from his throat, and black soot mixed with blood streamed out of the corner of his mouth.