Page 2 of Flash Freeze

“Would you like to come in?” Flash asked her guest. “Our coffee isn’t the greatest, but I can pour you a cup.”

“No, thank you,” she answered. “I can’t stay. I just wanted to check if you needed anything, make sure the men are treating you with respect. It seems you have everything handled here.”

“They’re a great crew,” she said. “Flores is sort of new. He transferred over a few months ago because …” She stopped, her heart seizing up at the reminder of what had happened. She even felt the rumble vibrate through her feet and legs, the boom resounding like a distant echo.

“Shared trauma can either break or bind a crew,” Velasquez said. “I see it has bonded you. Chief Burks wasn’t sure what to do after the Lieutenant Edwards debacle, but then I saw your name on a list of candidates testing for a lieutenant spot. I asked him to hold off on assigning someone else to see how you’d do. After your excellent test score, strong interview, and his seeing you in action, he thanked me and gave you the slot. I believe you deserve it.”

“Thank you, Assistant Chief Velasquez,” Flash said, pride swirling in her chest. “I’ll try not to let you down.”

“Oh, forget about me,” she laughed with a wave. “Don’t let the people of Houston down, and I know you won’t. Now, if you need anything, just—”

The alarm bell blared. “Engine Eight, Engine One, Squad Eight, Ambulances Eight and 508, respond to a three-alarm fire at Gulf Allied Chemicals.”

Captain Jake O’Riley was first into the bay. His granite jaw belied the freckles covering his face as he pulled a hard hat over his rust-colored hair. “There’s already been one explosion,” he reported. “Hazmat is on the way. We need to get that fire contained ASAP.”

Flash nodded and rushed to the gear rack, her teammates joining her in an instant.

“I should come too,” declared Velasquez. “Someone will need to coordinate the various teams.”

Flash spared her a glance. Worry veiled the woman’s face, but something more like fear flashed in her dark eyes. They should all be afraid of a chemical plant explosion. If the wrong agents got into the air, there could be casualties for blocks around. They had protective gear, masks, and oxygen tanks; the civilians didn’t.

“Let’s hit it!” she called to her engine crew. In boots and turnout coats, they mounted up, Waylon behind the wheel. Snuffles watched anxiously from her sentinel station by the door while Flash flicked on the lights and sirens, and they sped toward danger.

Lights whirred, and sirens screamed as Waylon whipped the big firetruck through the parking lot toward the section of the complex with jumping flames and billowing black smoke. Two police cars were on the scene, and four overwhelmed officers were struggling to maintain crowd control.

Flash pushed the call button on her radio. “Dispatch. Eleven-nineteen, Engine Eight at Gulf Allied Chemicals.” Jackson reported for Squad and Trevino for Engine One. She pulled on her helmet and vaulted from the passenger seat. Thick smoke with a sharp chemical tang burned at the back of her throat as the fire roared from the building thirty yards from their truck.

“Flores, Woods, get the hoses ready. Waylon, hook us to a hydrant,” she ordered. The engine held water, but not enough for a blaze of this size.

She’d double-checked her tank that morning, ensuring it was ready for action. Throwing open a side compartment, Flash yanked out a Halligan.

“Thank God!” cried a forty-something-year-old man in a soot-smeared white shirt, his dirty-blond hair disheveled and singed. He had exited the nearest doorway, assisting a hunched woman in worker’s coveralls who was coughing and clinging to his waist.

Flash rushed forward. “Over here,” she directed. “Stay clear of the building.”

“I can’t,” he shouted, and coughed into his elbow. He practically flung the employee into Flash’s arms. She caught the woman and steadied her while narrowing her eyes on the man.

Before she could speak, he said, “I’m the plant manager. There are still people inside. Some could be trapped or lost in the smoke. It’s almost zero visibility. I’m responsible for them!” With a pained expression, the tall, muscular man, who could have played college football, spun back toward the inferno. Another boom sounded, followed by a fresh column of fire-infused smoke. Both ducked.

“No. They are my responsibility now, sir. Stand back!”

Instantly, paramedic Juanita Lopez was there, and Flash passed the smoke inhalation victim to her. Lunging forward, she grabbed the manager by the arm. He spared her a shocked look over his shoulder. Maybe he was used to giving orders. Maybe he was surprised she was strong enough to stop him. Either way, he froze, gaping at her before another cough bent him double.

“We’ve got two lines charged,” Waylon said as he trotted up to her.

“Hold it, Cash,” boomed Captain O’Riley. Assistant Chief Velasquez kept pace as they approached. “You’re a lieutenant now, and I’ll have no cowboy heroics out of you. You’ve got more than your own life on the line from now on. We need information before going in there.”

Two more employees stumbled out coughing, one with scorch marks on his uniform. EMT Alberto Luis Santos, Nita’s partner, met them with non-rebreather masks and O2. “We’re going to need more ambulances!”

“The plant manufactures industrial solvents and oxidizers,” the manager said. “I don’t know what happened. The explosion came from the office area. The holding tanks are over there.” He pointed to a wing on the other side of the flames from where they stood. “I was conducting a meeting with the office staff, but there were other folks in the blast zone. There shouldn’t have been, but I’ve got to get my people out. If you can contain that fire before it reaches the tanks, it’ll be all right.”

He pulled. Flash held firm.

Jake scanned the building from the outside. “Mr.?”

“Booker. Justin Booker, plant manager,” he huffed in frustration. “We’re wasting time.”

“Well, we aren’t wasting lives,” the captain retorted. “Is there a closer approach to those holding drums?”