America's Bravest Read Free

immediate area. Her gloved
hand came upon something clunky. Rounded, with a hose. Her air
tank. It must have come off with her helmet and SCBA. Before she
could search farther for Gabe, she heard movement, a groan of pain.
On her knees now, she followed the sound. About five feet away, she
touched an arm. “Gabe, are you all right?”
    “Don’t know.” His words were grunted out.
“Wellington?”
    “Yeah. I, um, followed you down the steps.”
She wished she could see him, but she couldn’t. She held on to his
arm because the contact made her feel better.
    “You disobeyed a direct order,
Firefighter!”
    “I know.” She unsnapped her turnout coat and
shrugged out of it, and her gloves, because the air was stiflingly
hot down here. “You can put a letter in my file.” If they ever got
out. Which at this point was not a given. “Tell me what hurts.”
    “My back. My mask and helmet are gone but the
tank’s digging into me. Help me get it off.” More groans as she
turned him to his side and blindly wrestled with the gear. “That’s
better,” he mumbled, and she could sense him lie back down.
    “Let me check out the rest of you.” Gently,
she prodded his left arm and shoulder. Then his right side.
    “I’m just sore,” he said.
    Opening his turnout coat, she felt his chest.
Crazily, given their situation she thought about how she’d dreamed
of touching him like this, only in different circumstances and
without clothes on. Still, she patted down one leg, then up the
other. When she got to his abdomen, he barked, “Enough.”
    “Your stomach hurt when I touched it?”
    “No. I’m good.” His reply was curt, as if she
was doing something wrong.
    Sitting back on her haunches, she took in a
deep breath. More aware now, she noted a stale musty odor.
“Nothing’s broken that I can tell. I can’t see you though. You have
any cuts or bruises?”
    “My left temple.”
    “Maybe you should lie there a while.”
    “I said I’m good. I need help sitting up,
though. I’m dizzy and my back hurts.”
    “Okay.” Inching over in the direction of his
voice, she scooted to his shoulder and slid an arm under him from
the right side. With the action, his face turned into her breasts.
She stilled, and he said, “Jesus Christ.”
    “Why do you keep yelling at me?”
    “Just help me up, Firefighter.”
    Shrugging, she got him to a seated position,
then slid her hand over the wall behind him. “There’s a wall about
a foot from you. Can you ease back?”
    “Yeah. Is it dry?”
    She put her hand on the wall again. It was
crumbly and pieces of cement came off in her fingers. “Uh-huh.”
    “At least we’re not in a wet basement.”
    Since they couldn’t see each other, she could
only hear him shuffle to a different position. “I’m against the
wall now.” His voice was less harsh, if still raspy.
    Rachel settled next to him, could feel the
slight brush of his shoulder against hers. She heard him slap his
leg. “The lights on our helmets would help!”
    “They must have gone out in the fall. I’ll
find them.” Again, she got to her knees and crawled forward,
sweeping her hand around in front of her for the helmet. Gloves
gone, the debris on the floor scraped her palms and fingers. “I got
one.” She tried to switch it on. “No luck.”
    “Search for the other.”
    Still kneeling, she rummaged around. Dirt and
dust that had settled from the cave-in flew up, making her eyes
water. She proceeded until she found the second helmet. “I got it.”
She switched on the lever.
    “Great!” he said.
    Eerie, that’s what the single beacon of light
was, shining into such complete darkness. She caught a glimpse of
Gabe’s big form slumped against the wall. Cautiously, she crawled
back to him. Careful not to shine the light in his eyes, she set
down the helmet. “You’ve got a cut on your forehead. Scratches on
your neck. The arm of your coat’s ripped. That’s it.” She chuckled.
“Your face is filthy,