Page 7 of Igniting Her

Teak rolled the twenty-four-foot extension ladder off Engine 12’s rack with Jamie at the heel. “House record is thirty-eight point four,” she told Ellie.

“You’ve mentioned that.”

“I worked hard for it. I want you to respect the loss.”

Mo held the stopwatch. “She hasn’t lost yet.”

Teak pressed one hand to her chest. “Thank you for pointing that out.”

The drill was simple enough to describe and miserable enough to perform: shoulder the ladder from the start line, carry it fifty feet, raise it against the tower, extend the fly to the third-story sill, secure it, climb, touch the frame, descend, and return both feet to the ground. Teak went first and posted thirty-nine seconds even, then objected to the extra six-tenths as if Mo had put them there personally.

Ellie tightened her helmet strap.

Cassie stood in the narrow strip of shade beside the tower with a clipboard against one hip. Her navy T-shirt darkened between her shoulder blades. A blade of sunlight crossed the page when she looked down to make a note.

Ellie had not forgiven herself for noticing either detail.

“Ready,” Mo called.

Ellie settled the ladder’s weight onto her shoulder. Eight years of muscle memory arranged her hands and feet. The yard narrowed to the start line, the wall, the rise of the fly section. Mo’s arm dropped.

She ran.

The ladder bounced once against her shoulder. She corrected without losing stride, planted at the tower, and drove it upright. Metal flashed above her. One pull on the halyard, two, the fly climbing cleanly; lock, tie, check. She went up fast enough that the rungs became a rhythm instead of separate things. Her glove struck the sill. Down, controlled only where anyone could see it, both boots hitting pavement together.

“Thirty-six point nine,” Mo said.

Teak stared at the stopwatch. “That device has been compromised.”

Jamie whistled. Priya tapped the stopwatch twice, as if Ellie’s time might correct itself. Ellie turned toward Cassie before she could stop herself. The captain’s gaze traveled from Ellie’s boots to the ladder, then up the angle of its rails. No surprise. No satisfaction. Nothing. “Your right shoulder came up during the carry,” Cassie said. “That twisted the bed section. On uneven ground, you’d have lost the balance point.”

Ellie was still breathing hard. “I also took a second and a half off the record.”

“The patient won’t care how fast you arrived if the ladder comes down on them,” Cassie said flatly.

Teak found something urgent to inspect on the tower wall.

Ellie looked at the ladder. The captain was right about the shoulder. Knowing that didn’t improve anything.

“Again,” Cassie said. The second run came in at thirty-seven point two, with the carry level and the heel planted dead center. Cassie checked the locks. “You let the halyard run across your palm.”

“I was wearing gloves,” Ellie said.

“Today.”

“Most people say congratulations first.”

“Most people aren’t responsible for what happens after,” Cassie said.

Ellie took her place at the line again without being told. Something hot and bright had started beneath her ribs. If Cassie wanted form, Ellie would give her form. She would give her a run so clean the woman would have to search another county for a criticism.

Thirty-six point seven.

The ladder landed square. Ellie’s shoulder stayed level. The halyard never crossed her palm. She climbed without skipping a safety check and came down with enough control to satisfy an insurance company.

Mo showed the time to Teak. Teak removed her helmet and held it over her heart.

Cassie made one mark on the clipboard.