A Burning Heart

C-1.2

The pain was still there, but he wasn’t alone anymore. Together, they would face whatever came next.

As the comforting words of his friends enveloped him, Rhys felt a sudden wave of nausea wash over him. Just when he thought he could find solace in their presence, a sharp pain surged through his chest. He gasped, and before he could brace himself, blood spattered from his mouth, splattering onto the floor. The room fell into a stunned silence, the previous warmth replaced by shock and horror.

“Rhys!” Montgomery shouted, his voice laced with urgency as he dropped to his knees beside him. Harera’s face paled as he instinctively reached for his medical kit, his hands shaking slightly. “What the hell just happened?” he asked, panic creeping into his tone.

Bishop quickly assessed Rhys, his eyes wide with concern. “Stay with us, Rhys. Just breathe, okay? We’re here.” Ruiz hurried to grab a towel, pressing it against Rhys’s mouth to staunch the bleeding. Hough, usually the first to crack a joke, looked genuinely terrified, his usual bravado replaced by a deep worry.

Rhys’s vision blurred as he struggled to focus on their faces, the reality of the situation sinking in. “I… I don’t know,” he stammered, feeling weak and disoriented. “I just… it hurt so much.”

“Just hold on, buddy,” Montgomery urged, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. “We’re calling for help. You’re not going anywhere, understand?” The camaraderie that had once brought comfort now shifted into a frantic urgency, each of them rallying together, determined to support Rhys in this terrifying moment. As they worked to stabilize him, the bond between them deepened, forged by the fires of both friendship and crisis.

The young man, Marco, lay twisted amidst the charred remains of what used to be his living room. A heavy beam had pinned his leg, and his breathing was shallow, ragged. Smoke still curled lazily from a smoldering curtain nearby, stinging Montgomery’s eyes even through his mask. Captain Andrea “Andy” Herera, her face grim beneath her helmet, was already barking orders into her radio, her voice cutting through the crackle of static and the distant wail of approaching sirens.

"Engine 7 to Command, we have one victim, a male in his approximately 20s, trapped, lower limb injury, possible internal trauma. Initiating stabilization. Requesting immediate medical support and extraction team to Sector 3, first floor!"

Rookie Paramedic Rhys-ren Blackwood, his movements still a little less fluid than Montgomery's or Andy's, was carefully clearing smaller debris from around Marco's upper body. His eyes, wide with a mixture of terror and determination, kept darting between Marco's ashen face and Montgomery's reassuring gaze.

"Marco, can you hear me?" Montgomery knelt beside him, his gloved hands gently probing for a pulse on the young man's neck. It was weak, thready. "We're here. We're getting you out." He pulled a trauma shear from his utility belt, carefully cutting away Marco’s signed shirt to assess his chest. A dark bruise was already forming across his ribs.

"Andy, I've got a possible flail chest, and that leg looks bad. The femur might be a fractured, open wound," Montgomery reported, his voice tight. "We need to control the bleeding in the leg first. Rhys, get me the trauma kit, pressure dressings, and the splint from my pack. Quickly, son!"

Rhys fumbled for a moment, his gloved fingers struggling with the buckles of Montgomery's pack, but he quickly retrieved the requested items. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt plastic and damp ash, making every breath a conscious effort. The floor beneath them groaned shaking, a constant reminder of the building's precarious state.

Andy, having finished her radio call, joined them, her powerful build radiating a calm authority that helped anchor the frantic energy. "Okay, Rhys, help Travis with the leg. Keep pressure on that wound while he preps the splint. Travis, how's his airway?"

"Clear for now, but he's fading," Montgomery replied, his brow furrowed with concentration. He took the pressure dressings from Rhys, applying firm, direct pressure to the gash on Marco's thigh. Marco let out a low moan, his eyes fluttering open for a moment, glazed with pain and fear.

"Stay with us, Marco," Rhys pleaded softly, his own hand instinctively pressing down on the dressing room alongside Montgomery's. The rookie’s face was smeared with soot, his helmet slightly askew, but his focus was absolute.

Montgomery worked with practiced efficiency, his years of experience kicking in. He knew that every second counted. The splint was a challenge to apply in the cramped, cluttered space, but with Rhys' steady hands holding Marco's leg as still as possible, they managed to secure it, immobilizing the limb.

"We need to get this beam off him," Andy stated, her gaze sweeping the immediate area. "Rhys, check the integrity of that wall behind us. Montgomery, can you get a pry bar and see if there's any leverage on the beam itself? We can't move him with that weight on him."

Rhys, still a little shaky, nodded and moved to inspect the crumbling wall, tapping it gently with the back of his axe. Dust rained down, and a small section of plaster detached, clattering onto the floor. "Captain, it's… it's not looking good. Feels hollow."

A deep rumble echoed through the building, closer this time. The remaining light fixtures swayed wildly, sending shadows dancing across the smoke-filled room. A shower of plaster and small stones fell from the ceiling directly above them.

"Incoming!" Andy yelled, instinctively shielding Marco with her own body. Montgomery threw himself over the young man's head, protecting him from the falling debris. Rhys, caught off guard, stumbled but managed to brace himself against a sturdy, albeit smoke-stained, kitchen counter.

When the tremors subsided, the air was thicker with dust, and the smell of burning intensified. Marco coughed weakly, a thin stream of blood tracing a path from the corner of his mouth.

"He's bleeding internally," Montgomery stated, his voice strained. "We don't have much time. Andy, we need to lift this beam. Now. We can't wait for the extraction team. He won't make it."

Andy’s jaw tightened. She knew he was right. Waiting could mean Marco's life. "Okay, Monty. Rhys, you're on the lookout. If anything shifts, you yell. Bishop and I will try to lift it. On three. Ready?"

They positioned themselves, Montgomery at the base of the beam near Marco's pinned leg, Andy at the heavier end. The beam was massive, easily weighing several hundred pounds. It was a desperate gamble, but their only option.

"One… two… THREE!"

With a grunt that tore from their chests, Montgomery and Andy heaved. Muscles strained, veins bulged in their necks. The beam barely budged, but it was enough. A sickening crack echoed through the room as Marco’s leg, now free, shifted. He screamed, a raw, guttural sound of agony that tore at their hearts.

"Got him!" Rhys yelled, having quickly moved to slide a backboard under Marco's body as soon as the beam lifted. The rookie, despite his fear, moved with a newfound precision, guided by instinct and training.

"Easy, easy!" Montgomery instructed, his voice hoarse. They carefully lowered the beam back into place, now resting on a stack of debris they had hurriedly piled up. The immediate danger of the crushing weight was gone, but Marco was still in critical condition.

With Marco secured on the backboard, the next challenge was extraction. The path they had taken was now even more unstable due to the tremor. Andy quickly assessed a new route, a narrow opening through what looked like a pantry, leading to a less damaged part of the house.