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After quickly replenishing their air tanks with fresh bottles, Jackson and his remaining team re-entered the inferno. They navigated through the hazardous conditions, systematically clearing sections of the building, searching for any remaining patrons.
Canned food exploded around them. A case of corn erupted in flames then quickly dimmed. Jackson was able to piece together the puzzle of the widespread fire. He discovered remnants of something unexpected—a part of a plastic bottle with the word “aspirin” on it, bits of wire, pieces of a cell phone, and what appeared to be a blob of silly putty, possibly some type of explosive. This device was cleverly concealed between the cases of canned corn.
He retrieved the remnants of an exploded can of tomatoes, putting his findings inside and crimping it closed with his foot. Now he had to get it to a safe place before the putty inside, if it was an explosive, blew up.
Jackson glanced around, assessing his options. He advised Luke to keep the team moving forward. One wrong choice could have catastrophic consequences. If there were any more customers or staff trapped, he wanted to make sure they got out.
Before he could say a word, a cold sweat ran down his back. The order to abandon the building came over the radio. “Abandon” meant that every firefighter was at major risk. They no longer had control of the fire.
“This is Engine 3 Captain. We are located in the canned foods aisle, evacuating,” he gave their location. “Move it. Get out!” Jackson pointed to their best chance of egress. Amidst fiery, collapsing ceiling panels and burning pallets and goods, he created distance behind his team in case the putty he found exploded.
Suddenly, multiple popping sounds and explosions of fire were followed by a loud crash echoing through the building as a large wall of metal shelving tumbled down. Pieces struck Jackson across his back with a sickening thud. He spiraled backwards, separated from the rest of his company and blocked from their exit.
“Jackson!” Luke shouted. He tried to claw his way to his friend.
The rest of the team followed as they fought through the flames and debris to try to reach him. With every passing moment, the fire threatened to overtake them.
Adrenaline surged within him as he pushed some of the debris aside, stumbling to his feet. “Engine 3,” Jackson commanded over the radio, his voice firm and demanding. “Get out of the building now. I'll try to find another way out.”
There was a moment of hesitation before his team members acknowledged his orders and began to evacuate. Jackson listened intently as their voices crackled over the radio, guiding each other to safety amidst the inferno.
With firmness in his voice despite the muzzling effect of his mask, Jackson yelled over the noise and confusion, directing his lieutenant, “Luke, get the company to a safe place. Get this can to Detective Everhart. Don't wait for me.”
Luke nodded, clutched the can tightly, and sprinted toward safety with the rest of the company of Engine 3.
Jackson switched up his radio to the wide command. He had to make a call no firefighter ever wanted to make. And in an “abandon” situation, he knew he was the only help he had. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is Captain Jackson Reynolds. I'm injured, separated from my company and blocked from exit. My current position is central between the A side and C side. Repeat, Mayday!” His voice crackled over all the radios on the fireground, urgency evident in every word as he issued the distress call.
Static crackled over the radio before a voice responded, “Copy that, Jackson. Stay calm.”
Jackson took a deep breath. Alone now, he took a moment to assess his surroundings. Flames danced around him, casting eerie shadows on the walls as he searched for a possible escape route. The heat grew more intense, threatening to engulf him. Drawing upon his training and experience, he forced himself to stay calm and focused, determined to find a way out of the fire.
A plan formed in his mind, though he knew the odds were stacked against him. He closed his eyes and conjured up the face that fueled his will to fight. Olivia Everhart. With a final prayer for strength, Jackson plunged deeper into the burning building, searching for a path to safety. Every step he took, he reminded himself to stay calm and focused. Panic killed.
* * *
Olivia's hands trembled slightly as she switched the radio to the fireground frequency, the crackle of urgent voices filling the car's interior. The fire, once manageable, now raged out of control, consuming everything in its path. Her heart sank as she listened to Chief Fred Lamply’s order to abandon the interior firefight, a last resort in the face of overwhelming danger.
“Jackson, get out of there!” she spoke aloud, fear coursing through her.
She glanced at the rearview mirror, her mind flashing back to the interview with the Waverly family. The Consumer Club, a cornerstone of Waverly Junction, now stood engulfed in flames. The significance wasn't lost on her. Christopher Waverly designed it. It wasn’t just another property but a symbol of the community's livelihood. People relied on the Consumer Club for their everyday needs, and now, with its destruction, disaster would inevitably ensue in the town.
Her thoughts raced as she navigated the streets, each turn bringing her closer to the blaze. The origin of the fire gnawed at her. Until she and her partner did their job, no one knew, was it an accident, or something more sinister? Regardless, the consequences were dire. Lives were being lost. She couldn't afford to let emotions cloud her judgment.
Fingers tapping on the steering wheel, she dialed Michael's number again, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her chest. “I'm three minutes out,” she informed him.
There was a moment of silence before Michael responded, “Liv, it's bad,” the weight of the situation evident in his tone. He went on to describe the scene—the desperation, the flames licking at the sky.
They spoke about how they would try to uncover the truth behind the fire and bring justice to those affected by the tragedy. As they discussed their plan of action, Olivia's heart lurched in her chest. Amidst the static and chaos of the radio, she heard it—Jackson's voice, strained with pain, calling “Mayday.”
Her breath caught in her throat, an ache like she had only felt once before in her life coursing through her veins. Jackson was in trouble. With determination etched on her face, Olivia pressed harder on the gas pedal, pushing the car to its limits as she raced toward the fire.
* * *
In the suffocating haze of the smoke-filled building, every breath Jackson took felt like a battle against the oppressive weight of the air. With each step forward, his lungs screamed for relief, his vision blurred by the thick, acrid smoke. But amidst the relentless alarms and the crackling flames, he spotted her—a figure shrouded in agony and despair.
His training kicked in, pushing aside his own fear and exhaustion as he approached the woman, her body ravaged by the merciless fire. Dropping his empty Scott Pak to the ground, Jackson knelt beside her. The alarm screamed its alert. He managed to reset it.
“Hey, hey, can you hear me? It's going to be okay; just hang in there,” he murmured.
