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The smoke was thick, making it difficult to see more than a foot in front of them. Unable to get more from the exhausted firefighters on a late summer night, Jackson handed over scene command to Turk, who had returned from home to help. It was a small town. Everyone who heard the alarm reported for assignments.
Jackson led a Firefighter Assist and Search Team (FAST) from Station 3 in a coordinated formation, checking each room for potential victims doing right-hand searches. In one apartment, they found an elderly couple huddled beneath a window in fear. Jackson had other firefighters quickly usher them to safety, providing reassurance and guidance as they helped them make their way out of the building. Using buddy breathing, their air masks offered a lifeline in the choking, toxic air.
In another apartment, they discovered a young child, coughing and crying, hidden under a bed. The child clung to Jackson, his trust in this stranger-turned-rescuer evident in his tearful eyes. Jackson was compelled to pull his fingers free from his turnout coat to hand the boy off to another firefighter. He’d find out how he got left behind another time.
The team encountered several other trapped residents. The second floor was finally cleared of trapped victims just as flames began to burn through the floors like erupting volcanos.
“It’s getting hot up here.” Jackson’s voice cut through the noise and confusion, calling for an evacuation. “Evacuate! Everyone, get out now!” His command echoed through the radio and spread to the entire team.
Running for the stairwell, Jackson and the team descended the smoking wooden steps. As they reached the halfway point, the structure, weakened by their weight and the fire, gave way. A deafening crash filled the air as their footing disappeared from under them.
In an instant, they found themselves careening through mid-air. The six firefighters jumped the final seven feet and rolled to the ground below. The landing was jarring. Jackson felt it in his jaw.
The sound of their equipment crashing and boots hitting the ground reverberated.
Dust and debris settled around them. They had no time to check for injuries. The building was collapsing around them. Grabbing on to each other, they ran for the exit, making their way out as the restaurant folded in on itself.
As the team cleared the building, Jackson performed a headcount. His entire team made it out. Liv, still manning the hose line, turned in his direction. Even through her mask, her eyes met his. In that shared look, Jackson saw her worry.
The unspoken feelings between them charged the atmosphere around them. The worry in her eyes seemed to carry an extra layer. He couldn't help but notice a tinge of something more—at least he hoped.
Their gazes held for a moment, and then Jackson returned his attention to ensuring the safety of the rest of the scene. Liv’s concentration also returned to what she was doing. After a brief respite, Station 3 joined the remaining firefighters working to drown the fire from the exterior.
* * *
Staring at the steaming structure of Fiddler’s Restaurant, Jackson ran a hand through his hair. Two major fires in two days—he was exhausted. He stood on the fire ground with Turk and the captain of the Spring Hill FD. “Bert, your people really helped us out.”
“You’ve been busy,” Bert Starr sighed. “Do you have the final numbers?”
“Nineteen minor injuries, fourteen moderate, eight critical,” Jackson replied as he glanced down at his clipboard.
A black sedan rolled closer. “Ugh, PD. Here come the questions.” Bert unhooked the top of his turnout coat.
Jackson chuckled and coughed. “You met her already.”
“Her?” Bert’s brows furrowed.
“Liv Everhart. She hit the exterior with your team,” Jackson said, a hint of affection in his voice.
Turk coughed. Only Jackson would realize his cough wasn’t real.
As Liv stepped out of the sedan, her presence commanded attention. Her auburn hair had come free from its confines, floating in the light wind. It seemed fitting for her line of work, and her intense gaze swept over the scene, taking in every detail.
Bert raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “She's the one in charge of these investigations?”
Jackson nodded. “She's the best in the business, and we're lucky to have her on this case. Liv's thorough and relentless. If there's foul play, she'll uncover it.”
“If?” Bert shook his head at the destroyed building.
* * *
As Liv approached, her scrutiny met Jackson's, and she offered a brief nod of acknowledgment. “Jackson,” her voice was as steely as her gaze, “let's get to work. I need to see what's left of the scene before it's contaminated any further.”
Bert extended a hand to Liv. “Captain Bert Starr, Spring Hill FD. We appreciate your expertise.”
Liv shook his hand with a firm grip. “Thank you, Captain. I'll do my best to find the cause of this fire.”
A second sedan pulled up. Detective Michael Wheaton joined them, carrying tin cans on each arm and a camera around his neck. After introductions, Mike and Liv headed toward the charred remnants of the building, ready to dive into the investigation. Jackson, Turk and Bert stayed on the periphery.
