Page 39 of Burn Protocol

I clench my jaw as the sirens rip through the air. The engine bolts out of the bay first, followed by Ladder 1. The tires screech as we make a sharp turn. I feel the straps cut into my shoulders, and I grasp my gloves. The crew is silent. We are all preparing for what is to come. Crying people, injuries, blood. People scrambling over the plaza, cars honking, civilians thinking they can help. Smoke curling out of ventilation shafts. Screams from underneath the pavement. I keep my jaw clenched so that I don’t shudder. Not with their eyes on me, looking for direction.

My radio crackles as we blast out through a narrow street.

“Battalion 1 to all responding units. Plaça Espanya station confirmed. Smoke visible from multiple exits. Metro personnel reporting multiple injured and trapped. Command post to be set up south side.”

I inhale and nod softly to myself.

“When we arrive, we have to move fast. Expect many casualties. Our first priority is moving those near the fire. Anyone that can’t self-evacuate. I expect constant communication. Don’t try to be smart. Do not play the hero. Pair up and stay with your partner at all times. Understood?”

“Yes, lieutenant.”

Their answer is clipped. Humorless. I catch Rivera’s eyes, his knuckles white around his gloves. I nod at him once, letting him know he will be fine. I need my crew to keep a cool head. He nods back and I see his shoulders relax a little, before the radio crackles again.

“Rescue 7, on scene. Heavy smoke, large number of passengers self-evacuating. Unknown number still inside. Establishing command, beginning size-up.”

There is a tightness in my chest. My thoughts finally travel to my biggest fear. How many children will there be? I raise my eyes and catch Maya looking at me intensely. There is a softness in her eyes. Her blink is slow. Almost as if she sees the nerves that rush through my veins. As if she wants to calm me. And the odd thing… it’s actually working. I let go of the breath I was holding as we pull up at the plaza. Díaz has to maneuver the engine around people so that he won’t drive into them. Dazed and confused faces look up. White and shocked. Too rattled to understand they need to move. At this point it is faster for us to walk, but we need our rig. I growl, but Díaz doesn’t seem impressed. He barely reduces his speed as he zig-zags, and I feel a flash of pride rush through me. Only a few seconds later, I yank open the door as I look over my shoulder.

“Let’s go. Radio on channel 5. Maya, stay near the rig. Do not engage with any of the victims. That’s an order.”

The words slip from my lips before I can stop myself. There is no time to apologize, but she just nods in affirmation. I nod back and then turn to face the chaos.

***

The smoke curling out of the stairwells is thick and gray, smelling like electricity and plastic. Fernandes and Rodriques are ordered to enter from the northern side, while Díaz, Rivera, and I make our way inside via the south.

As soon as we move underground, our vision is obstructed by the gray clouds and flickering lights. Bodies crash into us as people rush toward the exit. When our feet hit the platform, the real chaos hits us square in the chest. There are flames coming from down the tunnel, somewhere at the front of the train. People are lying on the platform, in puddles of blood and God knows what else. The lights in the cars flicker on and off, and there are multiple bodies inside as well. Some of them are moving, others not. My fingers tremble slightly as I grab for my radio.

“Engine 2, south side, on scene,” I say, voice flat with focus. “Fire at front of the train, multiple entrapments.”

I glance at my meter. Eighteen minutes of air left.

“Engine 2, south side, initiate triage. Air time?”

“Eighteen.”

“Give me PAR and air at two-minute intervals. Move out when air time is at seven.”

“Copy.”

I nod at Díaz and Rivera before we move toward the front of the train. We don’t run, but we move swiftly. We get lucky. The door is already pried open and clear for us to enter. When our boots hit the floor of the train, we push forward. We tag the injured at the back, telling them to stay low and wait for extraction, before we press forward. My eyes scan each and every victim. How bad are the injuries? Can they move? Do they need immediate assistance? If they don’t, we move on. We need to move those near the fire and assess the risks. I glance at my watch.

“Engine 2, south train. Nearing the front. Multiple victims in need of extraction. PAR 3, Air 16.”

“Update on fire?”

We step into the second-to-last car when the sudden heat blazes at us. We all brace as the hot air curls around us. One glance outside tells us the flames are beneath us. Moving on from here will not be safe.

“Engine 2, south train, heavy fire under floor of car 5. Holding. Multiple victims located. PAR 3, Air 15.”

“Engine 2, hold position. Attack team on the way. ETA 2 minutes.”

I reach into my pocket and grab my tags. Díaz and Rivera are already moving through the compartment with theirs. My eyes fall on a black one. An older woman, curled around one of the poles in an unnatural angle. I swallow and move on. My eyes find another victim, a young man, and I rush over. Blood is trickling down from a gash at his forehead, and his eyes are searching—blurry but present.

“Hey, can you tell me your name?”

His eyes find me, dazed and confused. For a moment, they roll back in his sockets, and I immediately reach for my red tag. He needs help as soon as possible. When I attach it to him, a slender hand tugs at my sleeve. A young woman stares down at me, shaking and shivering.

“Please help my mother,” she pleads as she gestures to a woman behind her.