CW: Deceased Child.

By the time Engine 12 arrived on the scene, a crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, causing Haustin Macauley's frown to deepen. He hated the gawkers who flocked to a fire, phones at the ready, hoping to catch something heroic or horrific. Didn't matter which. Shouts refocused his attention on the five-story walk-up. Overhead, blackened windows stared down at him with soulless eyes, and orange flames licked at the broken panes, relentless tongues warping the glass, devouring everything in their path. Blinding light swallowed him as a cameraman darted in for a close-up. How the hell did the damn news channel beat his crew here? He glared as he slid out of the rig, watching Ladder 99's truck roll to a stop.

"Macauley, Vasquez." Haustin's ears perked up, tuning in to the captain's gruff voice. "Get in there and sweep for any survivors who might be trapped, take the upper floors. Bond and Tovar, concentrate on the lower floors. Halls are narrow, so we don't need a crowd. Huffstetler, get on the ladder and aim a hose at those windows. Jenkins, take the kid and make sure the roof is stable. Not sure how much longer we got until the whole thing goes. This monster went up fast."

The crew reacted, a well-polished team who'd been through this a hundred times. Haustin picked up an oxygen tank, slipped it on, grabbed his axe, and followed Abel through the building's front door. Instinct slowed his frantic pulse as they rushed up the stairs, side-stepping the exodus of rats dashing towards safety.

He surveyed the general lack of maintenance and upkeep—exposed wires, ancient water stains, and a light switch dangling from its usual position in the flickering light. He cursed under his breath. Goddamn cheap landlords. Most fires they encountered were preventable if the owners actually gave a crap about their tenants and made a few improvements. The dismal state also explained how the fire grew so fast.

After sweeping the burned-out third level and finding nothing, they trudged on to the fourth. The higher they went, the more intense the swirling smoke and heat became. Flames slithered up the walls, across the ceiling, peeking through blackened holes in the sheetrock in a deadly game of hide-and-seek. He and Abel worked down the hall, swift and thorough, checking rooms and calling in reports. At the final door, Abel lifted his crowbar and wedged it open. The second it flew inward, the fresh supply of oxygen fed the fire, causing it to explode outwards, knocking both men off their feet, then sucking back into the apartment, instantly raging and snarling at every flammable surface.

"Son of a bitch," Abel sputtered as he rose to his knees and scrambled for his discarded equipment. "Hate when that happens."

Haustin called it in. "Engine, Engine, focus the hose on the westernmost window. We just pissed this bitch off."

He took a moment to gather himself, disguising it as rechecking the oxygen levels in his tank. It wasn't often a fire managed to rattle him, but whenever it took him by surprise, his heart galloped a little faster and mortality breathed down his neck.

"You okay?" Abel asked.

"Damn oxygen tank is fluctuating. Old equipment," he lied. These days, the only time he lost his cool was when he went into a blaze sober, like today. There'd been no time to sneak a pill.

"Good?" Abel watched him closely.

"Yeah, let's see if we can navigate the fifth floor."

They climbed into hell itself, a nightmare of intense heat, charred framework, and groaning, cracking wood. Orange flames consumed the walls and ceiling, hungry for fresh sustenance or clean air to fuel its growth. Haustin felt the roar of it in his bones and the sound threatened to shatter his eardrums. It'd be easy to get confused, disorientation often led to injury or death for firefighters, and he thanked whatever science or almighty being blessed him with an uncanny sense of direction.

He and Abel found what they were looking for in the first apartment. Two small children huddled under a coffee table and Haustin's gut plummeted to his feet. Part of the adjacent wall had already collapsed on the flimsy piece of furniture, pinning one of the kids and allowing the fire to engulf the leg of another. Both victims were under the age of five and unconscious. He hoped like hell their lack of movement was from smoke inhalation and nothing else.

Haustin rushed forward, moving the debris as carefully and quickly as he could while Abel patted out the little boy's burning leg. Recovering from serious burns was the worst agony imaginable, months and months of skin grafts and debridement, physical therapy. He hated that this little guy would suffer. Abel slipped off his mask, already preparing for CPR, and Haustin followed suit, immediately coughing on the thick air. The familiar scent of singed flesh soured Haustin's stomach, becoming trapped in his nostrils along with the soot and smoke.

The flames edged closer, nipping at his heels and hissing, telling him to hurry. His jaw clenched with tension, and his entire body vibrated with focus, drowning the roar.

The two of them worked silently, a well-choreographed team, and as Haustin removed the last board, a pile of smoldering sheetrock rained down and slammed him into the floor.

Abel was there in an instant, knocking it off, but an ache spread through Haustin's upper back, and he tasted blood on his tongue. Abel extracted the now whimpering boy, and Haustin reached for a tiny girl. Her neck lay at an odd angle, chest motionless. The chaos faded, and he muttered a curse, lifting her in his trembling hands, cradling her.

The little boy spoke, his voice filled with pain. "Did I save my sister? I told her to hide."

Haustin flicked his gaze to Abel and gave the slightest shake of his head, hacking like he was about to cough up a lung.

Abel paused, grief clouding his face, before answering, "You did great, son." He slipped his oxygen mask over the child's small face and pushed to his feet, the kid in his arms. "Let's get out of here."

The remaining wall buckled, spurring them into action. Conditions deteriorated fast as they sprinted down the stairs. Haustin felt the fire stalking them from all sides, a ruthless predator in the jungle. He kept his attention front and center, positive that if he took the time to look back, it would be the last thing he ever did.

They barely made it to the building's lobby when Captain Welch's frantic voice erupted over his radio. "Abel, Haustin, you better be on your goddamn way! Roof's coming down!"

A mound of flaming debris landed next to him, sending up a shower of sparks, and he danced out of the way, struggling to keep hold of the lifeless child. The center of the building collapsed inwards, making it clear he and Abel were far from safe. As they crossed into daylight, a huge boom came from the staircase behind them, and the force of it slammed into his back, knocking him onto his knees. He leaped to his feet, and, with a breath of relief, they burst free of the building.

"They off the roof? This bitch is hungry for something besides wood," he croaked to the captain as he rushed towards the paramedics.

"Pulled 'em off about ninety seconds ago. They're clear."

One piece of good news.

Haustin handed the girl to the EMT and hovered, ignoring the offer of oxygen as he continued to cough. He knew from the extreme angle of her neck and the grayish pallor of her skin there was no hope but waited for official word anyway.

"Where are the parents?" he asked gruffly, rubbing his aching knees.

The medic turned sad eyes to him and shrugged. "Not sure. One of the neighbors said it's a single mom. Leaves the kids alone to run errands."

The medic confirmed the girl was gone, dead on impact, so at least she didn't suffer. Haustin remained quiet from then on. Words and emotions tumbled through him, stealing his ability to talk. The boy would be fine, despite a broken and severely burned leg, but Haustin refused to be around when they told him there had been no saving his little sister. Uselessness gnawed at him, hollowing his insides, a bottomless abyss opening beneath him. Kids didn't deserve to feel this kind of grief.

After the crew finished cleaning up and was headed to the house in the rig, Haustin struggled to purge himself of the lingering anger. What kind of parent left children that young alone? He thought of his own two that he hadn't seen in just as many years.

He groaned, working the kinks from his shoulders. All he wanted was to crawl in a hole and shut the entire world out while he numbed himself into a stupor.

Now we meet Haustin!

Short chapter, I know, so I will update twice next week!