08 Code Red

A Chapter by MattGriffPen

Something bad happens

Code Red

2000, normally there would still be an evening glow at this time, but the storm had turned evening into the blackest night. Connor Grant was sitting in his large leather armchair, Misty, his black and white Old English sheepdog, was fast asleep at floor of his footrest. Connor, in his late 40’s, was in his stripy pajama bottoms, a button collar grey t-shirt and plaid slippers, reading a Stephen King novel and half watching the dry storm through his North facing window. A gentle glow was coming from the fireplace and soothing jazz piano music was crackling from the retro vinyl player.

Misty jumped to attention, releasing a half-arsed grunt at the sound of the house phone ringing; Connor directed his attention to a large brass clock that hung on the wall. Phone calls at this time of night are rarely good news. He placed his book face down on his side table and made his way over to the phone.

“Hello?”

******

“Stay!” He pointed at Misty as he was running out the door. Connor, half running half putting his shoes on made his way down the driveway and toward the fire station. The Black Hollow Bar was between him and the station; on a Friday night he knew where the only paramedic in Black Hollow was. He ran, the wind whirling around his body kicking up debris, persistent flashes followed by more flashes followed by no rain, no thunder. He reached the Bar and tried to pull the door open, the wind snapped it shut pulling the handle out of Connors hand, he reached for it again and forced his way in.

“JACK!!!”

Jack looked up from his drink and over at the owner of the voice he knew very well as Connor Grant, chief of fire. The conversation dwindled slightly, but not completely. Jack stood up and weaved his way over to Connor.

“Jack, code red, it’s the Johnstone’s, burning tree through the roof…”

“S**t.. Um, okay, have you called Jane?”

“No, no, I didn’t know who would be in here so I wasted no time on the phone”

“Right, right..” Jack made his way over to the bar, a lot more sober than he was 2 minutes ago.

“Lucy, call Jane, get her in dispatch, tell her ‘code red at the Johnstone’s’”

Lucy wrote down the order, and before she could confirm it with Jack he had already turned and run out the door.

Jack and Connor legged it the short distance through the village to the fire station; the smell of smoke was being carried around in the vicious wind, Jack’s focus was slightly fuzzy from the 4th or 5th drink he had not 5 minutes ago. When they reached the station they grabbed what equipment they could; a fire extinguisher each, simple breathing apparatus, a bottle of oxygen and a basic first aid kit.

“Are we taking the truck?”

“No, it will have to wait until the rest of the crew arrives, there’s no point bringing it now, we can’t operate it between the two of us”

They bolted back out of the door. Between the bright blue flashes they could see the yellow glow from Johnstone’s house.

“Okay,” Connor yelled through the wind and his panting “scene safety; the tree was hit by lightning causing it to catch on fire and topple through the roof. So there’s chance of further lightning strikes and an unstable building that’s on fire, we’ll do an assessment of the situation but we probably won’t be able to do f**k all until the rest of the department shows up with the truck”

12 hours ago in the gleaming sunshine, the Johnstone’s was a small cream-colored 2-floor home. The beams had been painted deep green and were very well maintained. The front door was in the center of the house with wooden archways painted the same green.

But now, a tree, far taller than the house itself, had been struck by lightning, ignited like a match, toppled over and into the roof. From the outside they could see that the top floor was already ablaze.

Jack did some quick calculations in his head. He would need blankets, gauze, water, burn packs if there were any in the first aid kit. They would definitely need O2, how he was going to share one bottle between the family of three he hadn’t worked out yet, if there still was a family of three to attend to.

At that moment, Victor Johnstone burst the door open and was dragging Alana out behind him by the wrist; she was refusing to leave the burning house. Jack’s eyes widened, his heart sank to his belly, and in an instant he knew what was happening; 13-year-old Sammy was not with them. Jack ran toward the house, under the archway and grabbed Alana’s other hand. She was wearing only a pink nighty, and making the sound of a wounded animal. “NO” she roared, breaking her vocal chords. She took one last attempt at running back into the burning building as Victor and Jack wrestled her to safety.

The wind blew everything around them, igniting the fire even more. The flames were towering above the roof now. The three of them toppled to the floor 30 feet away from the home, casting dancing shadows of themselves into the dark.

“NO!” Mrs. Johnstone cried, “She’s still in there! She’s still alive in there; she’s going to burn.. Burn to death!”

“You can’t go back in there, Alana, it’s not safe, do you understand?”

“NO!!!!”

Jack looked over at Connor who was already looking at Jack. They both looked at the burning building, the heat was starting to radiate to them, even in the howling wind.

“I’m sorry Alana, it’s too late, I’m sorry…”

She went limp, her eyes were streaming tears, her mouth gaped open and for a moment she was crying in silence. Victor raised his blackened palm over his eyes. His chest jolted and he let out a whispering ‘oh my god’. Alana’s audio returned, she moaned and groaned through the uncontrollable sobbing. Jack covered his mouth with his hand. He had seen this scenario a thousand times, a thousand and one times; but the roles were never filled by anyone he knew. In the 2 years he had been providing medical coverage for Black Hollow he had attended to scrapes, scratches, cuts, bruises, fractures, things that can be fixed. But this was unfixable.

What made Jack so uneasy was that he didn’t know if little Sammy was still alive, burning, or dead. Either way, death was knocking at Black Hollow’s door, mere feet away from the only medic for miles around, and the best Jack could do was say; ‘I’m sorry’.

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