October 3rd, 2009

I sat down at the table where I took a bite of my eggs and took a sip of coffee.

“I’m going to be building a new deck so me and Aurora can do cookouts on it,” said Steven. “But I’m going to need to borrow some additional money to get the wood for the deck.”

I replied, “My dad always taught me not to borrow money from others because as the good book says ‘The borrower is a slave to the lender’ or to put it in simple terms. When one owes money, they become beholden to the creditor, often subject to terms and interest rates. For example, if you borrow fifty bucks from a money lender then they want their fifty bucks back then another fifty for interest.

“My family if you borrow money from someone then be prepared to pay them back or work to pay off the debt and when I say work I mean renovating an entire two-story house by myself, tearing up an old deck, putting down a new deck and paint the house with an iceberg blue color. Also, tear up the roof shingles and put down a new one. I was going to give my cousin once removed his fifty bucks back but he told me I had two months to return it. But every chance I tried to pay him back even writing a check but my mom always intercepted it for her drugs.

"Any of you might say that my dad could’ve paid it off but nope then I would’ve needed to pay back my dad for bailing me out. Hey I read the fine print and it said that if I failed in any way to pay back my cousin once removed then I would’ve had to work for him aka renovate his house. That was fun because after school I had my part-time job as a waitress and after working four hours my dad would take me to go and renovate the house.

"But my dad did the rewiring because if not then I would’ve either electrocuted the house or if a lightswitch was flipped then have the house blow up. My dad works five hours as a general laborer and another five as an electrician. But he couldn’t rewire my mother’s brain or lack thereof. It was not fun crossing the Alabama-Mississippi state border a lot. But Socrates said ‘There is only one good knowledge and one evil, ignorance.’He also said ‘The unexamined life is not worth living’ reflects Socrates’ belief in the importance of self-reflection and critical inquiry for a meaningful existence.”

I then took another bite of my breakfast.

“Hey if you don’t mind me asking,” I said, “But how did Little Bird survive the Second World war?”

Steven replied, “President Abigail Orange the second Little Bird female president she said to both Blister Canyon and Lava Falls in 1940 she said and I quote ‘You should start paying attention to what's happening around you. Believe me, way too many games are being played’ because both Blister Canyon and Lava Falls were paying attention closely to what was happening in Europe, not Asia and the Pacific. They got a kick in the balls when the government officials and citizens were reading the newspapers and listening to the radio on December 7th when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.”

The fire bell’s clamor jolted me into action. I sprinted to my station, suiting up with practiced efficiency.

“First taste of the dragon, Probie,” Steven’s voice echoed, a smirk in his tone, “Ready to dance with the flames?”

“Absolutely,” I shot back, “What’s the situation, Lieutenant?”

“We’ve got a blaze at an oil drilling site, five miles out on Route 69, off Interisland 15,” the Lieutenant’s voice was grave. “This isn’t your average fire. They’re calling every city company. It’s a Class B inferno. Empire Utilities has remotely shut down the pipeline. We can’t afford this beast reaching Empire.”

Steven chimed in, “Buckle up, Probie. This one’s a monster. What’s the mick jiggy say?”

“It’s a computer, Steven,” I corrected him.

He scoffed, “It’s a typewriter with a screen.”

Lieutenant Valkyrie cut in, “This is a serious situation. The fire’s spreading towards the storage buildings, offices, and warehouses. Temperatures are hitting 1500 degrees, hotter at the core.”

I had to ask, “What’s an Interisland?”

Steven explained, “It’s like the American Interstate system, but ours were designed for evacuation during nuclear war or enemy invasion. Our Pentomic army could mobilize and counter the invasion. Yes, I said Pentomic. We have Tactical Nuclear Weapons at the Regimental level, if needed.”

As we entered the Interisland, the fire came into view. It was a molten field of lava, a bright red inferno. I strapped my BA onto my back.

“Macaroni, you’re with Steven,” Lieutenant Valkyrie instructed, “You two work well together.”

“But can’t I just wait…” I started.

“Negative, Probie. We’re not waiting for Squad 141 so you can work with your girlfriend,” Lieutenant Valkyrie cut me off. “Carter and Pengelle are a team. Steven and Macaroni, you two handle the warehouse. Pengelle and Carter, you’re on the storage building.”

I remembered Carter’s grumbling about Lieutenant Valkyrie letting me join the company without vetting me. But back in the 2006 Earthquake, my girlfriend had me dress as a firefighter. I was considered a civilian then, impersonating a firefighter. But they needed all the help they could get, including mine.

We stopped briefly for Carter to wrap a 5-inch supply hose around a hydrant. Then we continued down the road to the oil field. My heart pounded in my chest, fear gnawing at my resolve.

“Let’s go, kid,” Steven urged.

We heard Lieutenant Valkyrie say, “Section A and B you check out every floor. Needless to say, saving human lives takes priority. Just remember the longer the fire burns the greater the casualties.”

Warehouse.

“Man, it’s hot,” I muttered, gripping my ax tightly.

Steven replied, “If safety protocol violations caused this, the government will come down hard. Like a blacksmith forging a sword, or metal casting.”

“Metal casting is a process where a craftsman creates metal objects by pouring molten metal into a mold. It’s an ancient technique, dating back to the third millennium BC. The craftsman creates a wax duplicate of the object, builds the mold around it, then melts the wax and replaces it with molten metal. Once the metal cools, the mold is opened and the object is removed,” I explained, “Some of my ancestors were blacksmiths and craftsmen during the Holy Roman Empire of Germany.”

I went over to a trapped worker who said “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

I just said, “Come on I’ll get you out” I then helped the worker out before running back in. I soon then went over to get another worker who just said “My throat… It hurts” but when we got outside I took off my mask and put it on his face so he could breathe oxygen but I gave him over to an EMS Supervisor before putting my mask back on and running back in to catch up with Steven.

***

The warehouse was a maze of metal and machinery. Steven and I descended a narrow staircase, hoping to find a way out.

"What is this place?" Steven wondered aloud, shining his flashlight on a row of sleek devices.

"It looks like some kind of hardware production facility. But why would they have that in an oil drilling site?" I said, puzzled.

We walked around, avoiding the flames that licked the walls and ceiling. The air was thick with smoke and dust.

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"This must be where they make those things," Steven pointed at the devices. "They look like they're ready to ship them out."

We heard a loud beeping sound coming from somewhere nearby.

"Did you hear that?" I asked, alarmed.

Before we could react, a massive explosion rocked the floor. We were thrown off our feet. Debris rained down on us.

"Steven!" I shouted, looking for him.

"I'm fine," he groaned, lying under a heavy steel beam.

I ran to him and saw that his leg was crushed by the beam. Blood soaked his pants.

"Stop lying, you're hurt bad," I said, grabbing my radio. "Lieutenant Valkyrie, we have a situation. There was an explosion under the warehouse. Steven is trapped by a beam. We need backup."

I tried to lift the beam with Steven's help, but it was too heavy. It felt like it weighed a ton.

"Go, get out of here," Steven said calmly. "Save yourself."

I shook my head. "I'm not leaving you behind. You're my partner. We're in this together."

I knew I was risking my career by disobeying an order from a higher rank, but I didn't care. I wanted to keep Steven alive.

I tried to distract him from the pain by making small talk.

"So, what do you think of those disaster movies where they have the power to go out in a slow, sector-by-sector fashion?" I asked.

Steven looked at me incredulously. "Are you kidding me? We're trapped under a burning warehouse and you're asking me about movies? This is not a movie, man. This is real life. We don't have plot armor or a happy ending. We could die any second. And you're wasting time on trivial questions?"

He coughed and winced.

"Sorry, I just thought it might help," I said, feeling stupid.

I hoped that help would arrive soon. I didn't want to lose Steven. He was more than a partner. He was a friend.

After a few minutes.

“Squad 17 here,” said Linda, “What do you need?”

I replied, “Something to free Steven from the steel beam.”

Steven didn't want to be rescued by his sister but beggars can't be choosers.

I then heard Linda order one of her firefighters to use his blowtorch to use his blowtorch to cut the steel beam.

“Can you feel your legs Steven?” asked Linda.

Steven replied, “Can’t feel my legs.”

“Macaroni grab an arm,” said Linda.

I grabbed Steven’s right arm while Linda got Steven’s left arm and put his arms around the back of our necks and carefully walked without trying to hurt his legs. But we had to change his position when we came to the stairs where we had to lay him down where I grabbed his legs while Linda grabbed his arms.

“I appreciate the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario,” said Steven.

I could hear the irony of what Steven said because he wasn’t expecting to be saved by his sister and me but to me, it’s the opposite of the knight in shining armor but we were able to get him out. I then went back in but I was able to get the nozzle and just fought the fire inside of the warehouse.

“Man I wonder how they ever put out oil well fires,” I said thinking out loud.

My girlfriend, Lieutenant Claire Johnson, scared me by saying “Dousing with Water: Large amounts of water are sprayed at the base of the fire. In some cases, a gas turbine is used to blast a fine mist of water at the base of the fire. Use of Explosives: High explosives, such as dynamite, are used to create a shockwave that pushes the burning fuel and local atmospheric oxygen away from the well. This is similar to blowing out a candle. Dry Chemicals: Dry chemicals, mainly Purple K, can be used on small well fires.”

Lusty stayed by me even though she had her own company to run but they’re moving into the same warehouse as us where they’re putting out other fires in the warehouse.

Soon there was a loud explosion.

“I do not like the sound of that,” I muttered.

Lusty replied, “My guess is that it's a fuel silo that finally blew from the heat, and said the silo or storage tank was probably outside of the reach of our hoses and deluge guns.”

“Good to see you again kid,” said Dynamite.

I replied, “You to Technical Sergeant.”

From what I was told in the past that Madelinine “Dynamite” Harmony was suppose to become a Technical Sergeant in the Marine Corps as a Combat Engineer but when her superior officer got a little handsy with her she punched him and he wrote her up leaving her as an Enlisted rather than a NCO. That was when she put in a request to have her side told with witnesses she was told that her request is approved but the Military Judicial system and the Little Bird Military Congress have bigger fish to fry and that they can soon have her tell her side of her story. It would take a minimum of twenty years and her then superior officer has a lot of clout so even with witnesses that the people who he knows will side with him unless they had hard concrete evidence to support her side and until then it’s her word against his word.

“Hey, Lieutenant, what’s the plan?” I, Mackenzie “Macaroni” Waterson, asked.

Lusty shot back, “I’m not your Lieutenant, Macaroni. Just stick to what Lt Valkyrie instructed.”

Lusty was right. Ever since the late 1940s, when the Marines and G.I.'s returned from the war, many transitioned into careers with similar structures to the military. The hierarchy of Captains and Lieutenants was strictly adhered to, with each only commanding their own companies. This structure was put in place to maintain the chain of command and harmony, preventing officers from overstepping their boundaries and taking charge of companies they weren’t assigned to. I learned this firsthand when Lusty had a run-in with a Deputy Division Chief who bypassed Marcus, and a firefighter who ignored Lusty until she lost her temper and kicked him out, telling him not to return.

Even though I wasn’t officially part of my girlfriend’s company, I stuck with them. That was until Lusty asked Mariana “Avalanche” Azure to join me in our search for survivors.

In the quiet corners of my mind, I could hear Avalanche’s whispers, a soft murmur of relief that her father’s shadow hadn’t yet found her in this new life she had painstakingly crafted. She had traversed hundreds of miles, shedding her old identity like a snake discards its skin, adopting a new name, a new ID, a new existence. She had severed all ties with her past, an act as cold and final as the closing of her old bank account and the opening of a new one, a fortress against her father’s prying eyes.

I felt a pang of sympathy for her, a mirror reflecting my own past. My mother, if I could even bestow that sacred title upon her, had never shown me the warmth of maternal love. Not even when I was a helpless infant, cradled in the arms of my father. When he was called away to serve in Operation Just Cause and the Gulf War, it was my uncles, grand uncles, and grand aunts who stepped in, molding me into a woman of strength, self-reliance, and independence. They saved me from becoming a Femme Fatale, a fatal woman like my mother, who turned on those who dared to care for her.

My father, a man of wisdom and patience, had spent twenty-three years trapped in a loveless marriage with her. He had ignored the warnings of his ex-wife’s family, only to realize the truth when it was too late. Yet, out of those twenty-three years of hardship, I was his silver lining, his beacon of hope.

My mother, or rather the woman who gave birth to me, had inadvertently shaped my taste in women. I yearned for loyalty, a trait she lacked, and despised deceit and betrayal, traits she embodied. According to the Kinsey Scale, I’m a five, predominantly attracted to the same sex with a slight interest in the opposite sex. My girlfriend, Claire “Lusty” Johnson, is a three, equally attracted to both sexes.

I seldom speak of my biological mother. She doesn’t deserve the honor of being called ‘mother.’ My aunts and grand aunts, they were the true mothers in my life. They didn’t see me as a niece, cousin, or grand niece. To them, I was their daughter. That’s the Waterson way. We are a close-knit family, regardless of how far the branches of our family tree extend. I have older cousins, once or twice removed, but in my heart, and in theirs, we are siblings, not mere cousins.

I was on the verge of breaking down a door when Avalanche intervened. She took the ax from my hands and led me back upstairs, above the room we were about to enter. The floor wasn’t concrete, but reinforced wood. She started chopping holes into it, a technique we learned at the academy to prevent backdrafts.

The instructors at the academy taught us that the goal is to remove as much heat and smoke from the structure as possible before introducing any new oxygen. This is usually done by cutting an opening in the roof and avoiding opening any windows or doors on or below the fire floor until conditions have improved. But in our case, we were too far beneath the roof, and the room was underground, so venting through the roof wasn’t an option.

Avalanche explained to me, “Fire is always moving towards oxygen and upwards. If you light a branch on fire and hold it up, then move it down, you’ll see how quickly the fire reaches for you. Fire is always seeking a consistent source of oxygen. Oxygen is an essential part of the ‘fire triangle’ that sustains a fire. With enough oxygen, the fire can continue to burn its fuel supply. Therefore, one of the best ways to extinguish a fire is to remove the oxygen supply.”

We soon encountered a door marked with a Fire Diamond. The blue section had a number three, red had a number one, yellow had a number two, and the white had a W.

Avalanche clarified, “Red signifies flammability. A number one indicates materials that require considerable preheating before ignition can occur. Blue represents health hazards. A number three means short exposure could cause serious temporary or moderate residual injury. W in the white section means the substance reacts with water in an unusual or dangerous manner.

"Yellow with a one means the substance undergoes violent chemical change at elevated temperatures and pressures, or may form explosive mixtures with water. Whatever is in that room is for HAZMAT, not us. Only Squads 141 and 525 respond to Level One HAZMAT incidents, which include Class One Explosives and Blasting Agents, Class 2 Gasses, and Class 3 Flammable Liquids. HAZMAT responds to Class One and beyond, which include Oxidizing Agents, Toxic and Infectious Substances, Radioactive Substances, Corrosive Substances, and Miscellaneous hazards.”

I then followed the hose back out because I was taught in the academy that the firehose is a safety line because we can keep our hand on it and be on our hands and knees and follow it back outside where I swapped out my air tank for a full hour long one. To me a hour long one ain’t long enough because while working our bodies are working harder and needing more oxygen so our air tanks is half the time because our standard half hour air tanks is about fifteen minutes because of our respiratory rate increases and last can be affected by physical fitness, how hard they are working and body size. When I stepped outside was when my air bottle gauge started to ring, letting me know that it’s running low on air and has enough for me to get out of the building which I already have.

I was able to get a new air bottle and went back in following the same attack line to return to Avalanche. When I returned any security door she ignored and any door made of wood she went to work with the ax to break it because from the logic that I know of Avalanche and Dynamite they would rather break a door to make it easier to force entry on but if it doesn’t result in a backdraft then it works.

I recalled a memory that’s etched deep within me and out of the blue. I was just a seven-year-old, staying with my great-granddad while my dad was deployed during the Gulf War. My great-granddad, despite his age, was a pillar of strength and wisdom.

When my dad returned from the war, I was about to utter something about my great-granddad’s age. But before I could even open my mouth, my dad interjected, “Yes, your great-granddad may be old, but he’s braver than you’ll ever be. He, along with millions of others, defended the world from the Central Powers and later the Axis Powers. They fought for the freedoms of millions and protected other countries from the greatest threats of their time.”

His voice softened, “He lost many friends and family in the process, including some of his sons in the Second World War. You’re too young to understand the sacrifices millions made, but one day you’ll learn about it in school or from a documentary. Don’t be one of those who take everything they have for granted.”

His words resonated with me, and I never again made a disrespectful remark about my great-granddad’s