2011: It's been ten years since the sky literally came crashing down around Yael Malkah and upended her world. Now she's returned to New York to visit her ailing grandmother. With no other family, it's up to her to take care of the family business...
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TW / Deceased Child, Drug Use
Sirens wailed, filling Haustin's ears with their familiar call, and he clutched his helmet as the rig squealed around a corner, the scent of smoke tickling his nose and indicating they were close. Captain Welch had said the fire was bad. They were only there for containment, and before Engine 12 even lurched to a stop, Haustin opened the door and twisted to the right, getting his first glance of the six-floor building. It engulfed the top three stories in flame, lethal tongues lapping at nearby structures and igniting the late night sky. Damage control. Already, three engines and two ladders were on the scene, unable to contain the hungry monster, their flashing lights bouncing around the neighborhood.
Abel passed him his axe and as Haustin adjusted his grip, a flash of color caught his eye. Lifting his head, he surveyed the fiery windows. There. Third one from the right. Top floor.
A small, tear-streaked face blackened with soot stared down at them, coughing and frantically waving a green Incredible Hulk blanket. Flames crept out the top of the window, surrounding the child, a single face in a sea of angry orange. The only thing between them and the child was a deadly maze through five floors. He didn't give a damn how impossible it might seem, with a full head of steam and terror squeezing its fist around his heart, Haustin's feet were moving towards the front door before he even realized it. Abel and the captain blocked his path.
"Someone's up there!" he shouted.
"No one is allowed in. They just called it," the captain said.
"Bullshit. That's a kid!"
"There's no way to get up there," Abel yelled. "By the time they spotted him, it was too late. Stairs inside are gone. Look, the fire escape is broken, pieces of it are missing. We can't get the goddamn ladder close enough."
"Hammond tried, and he's in the back of the meat wagon, covered in cuts and burns. It's impossible," Captain Blanchard told him, emotion turning his voice shrill.
"No. That's not enough. I can make it!"
Fighting with everything he had, Haustin's pulse pounded furiously, a beast trying to escape his chest. Screams pierced the air above him and bile rushed up his throat. The fire had found something to feast on. Pain filled pleas escalated, as did Haustin's attempts at making it into the building. Four guys restrained him and finally, he gave up, accepting the awful circumstances. The screams died with his efforts, becoming strangled and unintelligible.
The other guys got to work, running hoses and doing what they came to do—damage control. Their faces mirrored his own pain and helplessness, and some sobbed silently, but it did nothing to soothe him. Shoving Alex to the side, he stalked over to the rig, a hot lump of rage lodged in his throat. All their manpower and they couldn't save one kid. Why didn't anyone try harder? Haustin slammed his fist into the side of the fire engine, welcoming the burst of pain.
