Chapter 21

We’re briefed on the way over through constant updates from dispatch. The radios are blowing up with new information as the fire keeps spreading and working its way through the massive warehouse structure. My brothers and I prepare for the worst as the truck darts through the hot city streets.

“The fact that we’re not the first on the scene makes me uneasy,” Chase says.

“It’s not even our quadrant. We’re two quadrants over,” Wyatt adds to his concern. “I’m starting to think it’s bigger than a five-alarm. How many units are already there?”

“Three,” I say. “We’re the fourth to join the party.”

Chase shakes his head. “It’s gonna be ugly.”

“They said multiple casualties already,” our Lieutenant, Perez, chimes in. “Last body count was up to ten. They are expecting more.”

“What kind of warehouse is it?” I ask Perez .

“An online superstore,” he says. “About as big as a professional football stadium, by the looks of it. They literally sell everything.”

“That kind of place has to have over a thousand employees on-site,” Wyatt replies. “How many made it out that we know of?”

“They’re still counting. Dispatch said 800 were accounted for so far,” Perez replies.

As soon as we arrive at the scene, my brothers and I finally understand the whole picture—it’s a grim one. The warehouse complex is almost completely engulfed in flames, except for the west wing. That side seems to have retained most of its structural integrity, and that’s where two units are focusing their hoses, trying to keep the flames from spreading.

Chief Holt joins the other chiefs on site, getting an update on their progress before coming over to pass along instructions. I see people being carried or dragged out of the west side of the building. On the other side, firefighters are working hard to isolate and limit the damage of the growing flames.

“Our biggest concern is the surrounding neighborhoods,” Holt says, worriedly looking around. Half-a-block south is home to a slew of apartment buildings, most of them erected at the same time as the warehouse. “One strong gust of wind is enough for it to spread beyond our control,” the Chief adds. “I need you, Eric, to work with your brothers on recovering more employees through the west access points, so 67 can refocus their efforts on containing the south side of the complex. We’ve got fire stations 40 and 38 sending their units, as well. They’re five minutes out.”

“Got it, Chief, we’re on it,” I say .

“Milton, Keynes, and Fogarty will help out with triage,” he says. “We’ve got more ambulances coming in, and Dallas Memorial is sending an emergency response team to assist our paramedics.”

“Alright, we’ve got this,” I shout, beckoning my brothers to join me. “Grab the gear!”

We take what we can carry, but it’ll be our axes and crowbars that will do most of the work. In this kind of structure fire, it’s common for people to get stuck under fallen debris. All we can do is get them out with as little physical damage as possible and get them to the paramedics, so they can focus on stabilizing them before transferring them to the hospital.

The entire block echoes with wailing sirens and the constant thundering and crackling of this gargantuan fire. Black smoke rises, swallowing the sun as we make our way across the yard. There are hundreds of people here—most of them scared out of their minds—our firefighter brothers and sisters working hard to get them all to safety as far away from the building as possible.

As we enter the building, I remind myself that this is why my brothers and I chose this line of work. It’s not just for the thrill or the heroism. This is the closest we’ll ever get to war-like fighting again. We are hooked on this kind of stuff. It’s our drug of choice. Fighting, however we can, so that others might live tomorrow.

“Holy shit!” I hear Wyatt say through the radio system.

The view before us is infinitely worse than what we saw from the outside. The entire warehouse is engulfed in flames—giant orange tongues of death licking at everything within their reach. I see the fear embedded on my fellow firefighter’s faces through layers of sweat, soot, and pure dread. It makes my chest tighten yet at the same time gives me a new resolve. We need to help these folks get to safety.

Because of the thickening smoke, it’s hard for the survivors to see where they’re going. The daylight from outside is barely visible from their angle.

“Here!” I shout at a group of three workers stumbling down a set of metal stairs. “Keep going straight! Straight!”

I catch a glimpse of rushed nods as they run past, crying and panting, coughing and struggling to stay upright for a few more seconds. The fire roars on, while beads of sweat constantly trickle down my forehead. My spine tingles with adrenaline as we continue through the warehouse.

“It’s going to get completely out of control soon unless they are able to contain it from the south side!” Chase shouts as he ushers a few more people toward the exit.

“Stay calm and keep moving!” Wyatt shouts to the employees shuffling toward the doors. “Keep going!” He looks at me, and I can see the worry in his eyes through the protective gear covering his face. “It’s gonna turn into a stampede, Eric!”

“Hurry!” a woman comes screaming from the south-eastern corridor. “There are a few people trapped back there! They need help!”

“Where?” I ask, my instincts instantly activated.

“Storage room four, down by the wall, there!” she points me in the right direction.

“Okay, you keep moving! Follow my colleagues and their hand signals!” I reply. “How many more are inside, do you know?

”

She gives me a heartbreaking look. “I don’t know how many are still alive.”

“Ok, we’ll get them. Just keep moving,” I say.

She doesn’t wait around to be told again. The haunted look in her eyes tells me everything I need to know. The death toll will border on catastrophic, no matter how quickly we put this fire out.

“Wyatt! Chase! I’m headed down to storage four!” I call out through the comms system.

“What’s there?” Chase asks.

“Apparently there are people stuck down there,” I say.

“Keep your line open!” Wyatt replies.

Chase joins me. “I’m coming with.”

I give him a slight nod before we go deeper into the hellscape, constantly motioning for everyone to keep moving. It is utter chaos but this is what I was trained for. I have danced with the flames so many times before, it’s almost intuitive.

“Stay close,” I tell my twin as we proceed.

It’s getting harder and harder to see. The flames are illuminating everything but the black smoke immediately blots it out. All I can see are the flashes of orange-golden light. It smells of burnt plastic, charred wood, and melting metal. I need to stay laser-focused and not allow my emotions to get involved.

“There it is—storage room four!” Chase shouts over the sound of beams crashing and flames crackling as the fire continues to destroy everything in its path .

We run up the wide corridor as workers continue to flee in the opposite direction.

“Keep moving!” I shout at them. “You’re almost there!”

“I can’t open it,” Chase concludes as he pushes into the door with his shoulder.

“Hold on,” I reply and use my axe.

I smash the doorknob on the third try and open the door, freeing those trapped inside. They come out like birds, flailing and screaming as my brother and I guide them toward the nearest, safest exit. “Head to the emergency exit!” I shout and point to the green light mounted above a set of doors to our right at the far end of a narrow, but clear corridor.

The flames haven’t reached this part of the building yet.

“Let’s keep it this exit open,” Chase replies.

We burst through, securing the doors in a wide open position for others to use. I look around, slightly confused. “Is this still the west side of the warehouse?” I ask but Chase seems just as unclear.

“I can’t see our crew anywhere,” he says.

“It’s one of the supply doors,” one employee gasps as he reaches us. “We use it for trucks and couriers.”

“Go around the building, head toward the western gate,” Chase tells the guy. “Ambulances and paramedics are waiting.”

It’s eerily quiet but for the howling of flames. The fence surrounding the entire property has been torn down, and the street that runs along this side of the building is empty, but for a few abandoned cars. “We need to go back in, make sure everyone’s out,” I tell Chase.

He nods in agreement but something behind me catches his eye.

I turn around to see four men in uniform coming toward us. “What’s Station 20 doing all the way over here?” I hear myself ask.

“Hey!” One of them shouts, pointing at us. “You the Danson brothers?”

“Who’s asking?” Chase replies.

Something feels wrong.

“Chase, they’re not friendly!”

“Yeah, I can see that,” my brother replies.

They come at us fast, fire axes swinging. Suddenly everything changes. Time slows down. My fighter instincts are activated and without hesitation, I dodge one axe and bring mine up to block another.

Chase drives his right into one of their collarbones. I hear the guy screaming in pain.

Whoever they are, they’re not firefighters. They stole these uniforms and they came looking for us. I don’t have a second to think about the why and the how. I can only let my Navy SEAL training take over and fight them with everything I’ve got. In the absence of firearms, I only have a fire axe and a crowbar. Thankfully, even with my heavy equipment, I’m still able to swerve left and right before I deliver another crippling blow.

“Watch your back!” Chase shouts .

I whirl around and see the aggressor coming. I see the fury in his eyes. But my crowbar swings out, landing across his face. Blood sprays out as he falls backward.

“What the fuck is going on here?” someone calls out from the western corner of the building. “Hey! Stop! What the hell?”

Wyatt’s voice booms from somewhere behind us. “Motherfuckers!”

He flies past me and tackles one of the remaining attackers. Another is down, courtesy of Chase, and not moving. I injured one, and a third is about to meet his maker. Wyatt just rammed into the fourth, and I heard a bone or two crackle in the process.

Actual firefighters come rushing over from the western corner to assist.

Whoever the assailants are, they decide to abandon their mission and flee. They run back up the street, peeling their equipment off and dropping it along the way. I’d like nothing more than to run after them but there’s no time.

“What the hell was that?” one of the other firefighters asks us.

“Damned if I know!” I reply. “They just came at us, out of nowhere.”

“Station 20,” Chase says. “It was on their uniforms.”

“Call one of the officers already on the scene,” Wyatt instructs the assisting firefighters. “They need to collect the jackets and anything else they dropped for evidence.”

Everything blurs into a confusing, frightening haze. “Who the fuck disguises themselves as a firefighter to attack firefighters in the middle of a fucking fire?” Chase snarls, constantly looking around. He’s in his fight mode and would like nothing more than to crush a few more skulls.

“We need a coroner for this guy,” a paramedic says after checking the fallen attacker for a pulse. “He’s gone,” he adds, pointing at an alarmingly large puddle of blood beside him. “Looks like you hit the carotid.”

“He came at me, it was self-defense,” Chase replies, blood still dripping from one end of his crowbar.

“You’ll give your statement later,” one of the seasoned firefighters cuts in. “In the meantime, we need to go back in there. The head count is still off, that’s why they sent us over here.”

“It’s a good thing we found this exit, then,” I reply with a shrug.

It’s infuriating, to say the least. We can’t yet recover from our attack because the fire is still raging and killing people inside this warehouse. Whatever that was, it was premeditated. Those guys had a purpose. An objective had to be met.

Somebody clearly wants us out of their way badly enough to pull something like that.

We need to get back to the fire. We check each other’s gear and make sure we have everything we need before heading back in. The fire is still spreading, the water helicopters are still a few minutes out, and we’re running out of time.