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Family of Fire

The day is wet and humid, the skies filled with angry dark clouds that pour rain all over us. The ground is muddy with the torrent, and my clothes are sodden, my fur soaked and plastered all over my body.

And here I stand, drowning in grief. My sadness is mine, and mine alone.

The people all around me stand silent, like statues as the priest gives the final rites and closes in prayer. And slowly, they shuffle forward, roses in hand, and drop it into the gaping hole. Water runs in rivulets off their overcoats and umbrellas, all black. They patter on the ground, spattering mud all over them, all over me. But I do not care.

And then there are the coffins, dark wood with a gold trim, handles attached to the sides for ease of carrying. One big and the other small. I cannot bear to think of what lies inside them, of what I could have done, or what I did not do.

The final mourners shuffle away from the open grave, and then it is my turn. Slowly, I walk forward and drop a rose onto the black caskets that hold what I once held dear. The rose is a deep, rich red. The colour of blood.

I want to cry, to scream, to tear my fur out, to shoot myself in the head and let my body fall in with them, an eternal embrace of death. And yet that is denied me.

Instead, I stand there, silent, and I let the rain wash away my tears. Then I am walking away, as others slowly pull me back and offer me condolences, wishes of peace and a good afterlife, all the while silently thanking whatever god they worship that it was me and not them.

The gravediggers heft their spades and begin shovelling dirt into the open grave, muddy dirt and rocks rattling around the hard wood. Slowly, more dirt piles on, and I say my last goodbyes.

And then they are gone.

"Please, Mason! I have a bad feeling about this. I had a few bad dreams about today and I really want you to stay home, just for today!" My wife's urgent pleas ring on my ears as I pull on my uniform and button up the shirt.

"Honey, I have to report to the station today, they need me. At least thank god I haven't had an emergency call yet. It'll be fine." I wave her off as she attempts to help me do the buttons up, and she huffs and stands in a corner, on the balls of her feet and with her ears laid back as she always does when she is annoyed. She says nothing.

"Besides, it's just a few bad dreams. Emma gets them all the time and I used to have a few when I was younger. They always come to nothing. Don't tell me you believe in that now? You don't even believe in religion!"

Iden rolls her eyes. "Don't use this against me, Mason! Just...trust me for a while, and stay home today. Isn't that what we promised when we got married? To trust each other?"

I roll a lint roller over my uniform and brush off a few remaining specks of dust that cling stubbornly to the fabric. Satisfied that I am sufficiently dust-free, I slap a baseball cap on my head and heft up my haversack, chock-full of essentials for today's shift at the fire station. Slowly, I make for the bedroom door, the haversack slung across my back. Iden trails along behind, silent. Suddenly, she says, "You don't believe me." There is a hint of petulancy in her voice, one of the things I fell in love with when I first met her.

I suddenly turn and hold her gently by the shoulders. Her arms are folded and she looks away when I attempt to kiss her.

"Look, I'm not saying that I don't believe you. I do believe that you had those dreams. Just...I don't think it's like, a premonition or something like that. Those don't really happen."

"I...Maybe..." She looks down at her feet. A sudden small voice startles me.

"Is daddy going to work?" I look down to see my five year old daughter at her mother's feet, hands curled around her leg. She looks up at me with those beautiful blue eyes of hers, taking after her mother, who has the same sky-blue eyes. A sad look crossed her face.

"Yes, honey, I'm going to work. We have to earn money or we can't live like this. I still have to pay off our mortgage."

"But daddy, I had bad dreams. About today... Please daddy, don't go. Stay with us." She tightens her grip on my wife's leg.

I sigh. "You too?" Reaching down, I pick up my beautiful daughter. Her fur is a rich brown, and she smells of baby powder and soap. She lets go of Iden's leg without protest, and as I carry her she stares into my eyes. I sit her on an arm and she wraps her arms around my neck.

My wife stares at me. "See, Mason, honey? Our daughter has it too. If mine don't mean anything, at least take notice of hers. She's too young to lie. Please."

I look at her as I pat my daughter's warm form. "Look..." I sigh again. "I have to go and work. I can't stay at home, as much as I'd like to. If something happens, the boys over at the station will need me. I'll bring you all out for a great dinner tonight okay?"

"But..."

I set my daughter back on the floor, where she returns back to her mother's legs. I pull Iden close and feel her warm breath on my face. She smells beautiful, of the mint soap she loves, and a slight undertone of muskiness, a testament of our lovemaking last night.

"Iden, honey. I'm a firefighter. This is my duty. I have to do it. People need me."

"I... All right. Go." She leans in close and I fill my lungs with her smell, and take in her sleek, grey fur. She is so beautiful. Slowly, I reach a hand to her muzzle and pull her in for a long, loving kiss. We separate after a while, with the taste of her still in my mouth. I quickly grab her butt and give it a gentle squeeze, causing her to gasp and slap me gently on the cheek.

Hefting my haversack, I lean down and kiss my daughter on the forehead and she kisses back on my cheek. They are all so beautiful, the loves of my life.

Quickly, as I make for the door, I check my hand phone for any of the alerts that the station gives to all on and off-duty firefighters of an emergency or fire that requires a quick response. Thankfully, there are none, yet. Iden unlocks the door for me and I step out, into the cool breeze and fresh air of the outside. Leaves flutter across my vision, the rich brown of the coming autumn. I enjoy the wind washing over my fur for a moment before turning to bid goodbye to the both of them.

Iden waves at me, her face full of loving emotion and worry. At her feet, Emma waves with an enthusiasm that befits her age. Slowly, my wife smiles.

"Stay safe honey. I love you."

I nod my acknowledgement and walk towards my car, ready to set off and do my job and duty.

Iden, I love you too.

_ _

The station is a mass of noise when I enter, with various men and women laughing, shouting and arguing, some watching TV or playing games, some reading and some chatting. Under all this, however, I can detect a faint trace of the tenseness that envelopes everyone at a fire station, for the dreaded bell and announcement that an emergency had occurred.

I set my haversack down on the bench beside my locker and pull out several freshly washed uniforms from within. Entering the combination, I pull open my locker door and stuff the uniforms inside, just in case I ever needed them. Behind the door is pinned a Polaroid picture of Iden and Emma, laughing together on our trip to Yellowstone, with Old Faithful in the backdrop, spouting water. I smile and take the photo off the door, slowly folding it and placing it in my breast pocket. It just felt right.

"Hey Mason, how you doing? How's Emma?"

I turn to see who it is. In front of me stands a man, so slim and lithe to be almost sinuous. His fur is a dark yellow, but he dyed half of it a bright green. Because of that we call him Molly, and he has graciously accepted it, even putting it on his station identity card.

"She's fine. A bit feverish this past couple of days, but she's well now."

"Well, that's good to hear. She is so sweet. I remember the look on her face when you brought her here last month and I gave her that candy bar. Makes me wish I had children."

I laugh, and he smiles. "Maybe one day, you'll find someone." Molly is single.

A few other men and women bound up to me. Shouts of 'hey Mason', 'hey there Masey', and a few other laughs fly at me. I smile and wave at them. A woman I know as Eselle comes up and offers me to challenge me to a game of Scrabble, with a fifty dollar pot. I graciously decline. She is nigh on unbeatable at the game. In all my time here at the station I cannot recall a time when she lost to anyone, even once. She even beat a university student who was majoring in English who had come to the station to find inspiration for a story. I can remember the look on his face when they tallied up the scores and he handed her a fifty dollar note. It was priceless.

There is a light attached to the ceiling which indicates if there is a call for aid. At that time, it was off, but I knew that if it lit up red an alarm would soon follow, a call to action, to duty, to don our gear and jump on the trucks, to fight fires and save lives.

We never once thought about our own.

As I am engaged in a game of chess with Molly, a piercing shriek rings throughout the station. We look up to see people rushing all over, running to the equipment lockers, donning fireproof suits and strapping oxygen tanks to their backs. The emergency light is on, pulsing a deep red. Molly and I leap up, and my knee accidentally knocks over the chessboard. We do not pay any attention to the upset board or scattered pieces. Instead, we make for the vehicle bay, picking up and donning our equipment along the way. The suit is heavy and traced with fluorescent plastic to help identify us in heavy smoke and our names are emblazoned on the back, in case we ever lose our lives doing our jobs.

I don't like to think about such things. We never do.

With all our equipment donned, we climb into the fire engines in the vehicle bay. They are large beasts of vehicles, not very manoeuvrable but with decent speed for quick responses. Molly piles into the driver's seat and quickly starts the engine, while I leap into the passenger's side. The dashboard is full of equipment, radios, readouts and computers. He turns on the GPS and the address is automatically keyed in for him. As such, we make it out of the station and on our way in less than ten minutes. We are trained for speed, for quick reaction and for efficiency, as every wasted second could mean a wasted life.

The house concerned was a large bungalow, old and made of wood, which would explain how quickly the fire had spread. The grass on the lawn was scorched and burning, and the family that was in it had been forced to stand on the sidewalk. A small crowd had gathered, and they were all pointing and chattering excitedly, some talking into phones and others snapping pictures on their cameras. The woman of the family seemed to be near hysteria, and as we approached she ran at us so quickly Molly had to swerve the fire engine to avoid hitting her. We were the first on scene and as we leapt off the fire engine the woman grabbed onto my arm, sobbing hysterically.

Molly grabbed on to her shoulder. "Ma'am, tell me, is your entire family safe? Are they out here?"

The woman was so frantic she could not speak.

I held on to her. "Ma'am, I need you to tell me, including you, how many members of your family are there?"

Her sobs choked up her throat, but she managed to signal us with her hands 'five'. I quickly looked over and counted all the members of her family, including her, that were safe.

There were only four.

"Shit, Molly!" I yell. "There's still someone in there!"

His eyes widen as he takes in my meaning. Behind him, a second fire truck is attaching hoses to the tank at the bottom of the chassis and preparing to attempt to douse the flames with water and foam. The woman I hold is still sobbing, but I manage to puzzle out what she is trying to say through her sobs.

Son.

I let go of the woman and Molly and I race across the lawn at the house. The air is full of ashes from the grass and wood and smoke chokes us. I can taste ash and burnt things on my tongue. Quickly, I slap on my oxygen mask and pull on a pair of goggles, while Molly does the same. Ignoring shouts from my fellow firefighters, Molly and I quickly check each other to see that our gear is functional and airtight before running into the sea of flames.

The air around the both of us is hot, so hot I can feel blisters appearing on my skin, even through the fireproof suit. The heat sears my lungs, and through the roar of flames I can hear Molly coughing, the lung's natural reaction to such an extreme temperature. We make our way through the living room, careful not to touch anything metal. At such a temperature touching something like that would melt through the gloves we wore and irreparably burn us. It was a scene straight out of hell. Their TV was a melted mess, the interior sinking in a pool of melted plastic. Their sofa was ablaze and their tables were a pile of ashes. I could see broken glass where the windows in their kitchen door had broken from the heat and expanding air. A broken ceramic vase lies on the floor, the soil and sand within crystallised to glass, the pieces scattered far across. In front of us, a wall of flame prevented access any further into the house, and the only option was to go up.

I point at the stairs with a hand and Molly nods. He races in front of me and bounds up the stairs, his slim athletic form lending him speed. We weren't supposed to move fast in a burning house, as the floor could collapse at any moment, with disastrous results, but all I wanted was to find the boy, somewhere in this house, and save him. Every second we dawdled was a chance that the boy could be lost. I knew Molly felt the same way and as we bounded up the steps it was all we could think of.

The only possibility for a room that the boy could be in was a large bedroom with a burning bed in the corner. It was the least touched by the flames, and the other rooms looked like the mouths of hell, such was the intensity of the fire that we knew that if we did not find him in here he was most likely dead. The room door was jammed shut, with only a tiny crack where the heat had warped the wood and the hinges. I tried the door handle, touching it gingerly to make sure it was cool enough. It wasn't, and I burned myself slightly on the metal surface. Looking at Molly, I waved a hand, and shouted, struggling to be heard over the roar.

"Molly, the knob's too hot, I can't open it! We have to break it down!"

Molly gave a quick shrug and slammed his shoulder into the door, near the latch. It shuddered, and almost gave way. As he bounced away from the door I leapt forward and gave it an almighty kick at the spot where the lock attached to the wall. Suddenly, the whole damn thing crumbled away and the metal lock flew from the door. Molly jumped inside and looked around frantically for the boy. He was nowhere to be seen.

"Mason! We don't have much time! Quickly!" He pointed at a small cupboard attached to the wall while he peered underneath the bed. The flames were coming closer now, and the heat was terrible, so intense that the wallpaper was peeling away from the walls in clumps. Underneath my feet the floor felt unstable, and I knew we had to get out soon or it would give way, and we would all fall into the sea of flames below. Rushing to the cupboard, I threw it open in a hurry...

And beheld a small scrap of a boy, trembling and afraid. His fur was blackened where smoke and soot had dirtied it and his eyes stared in helpless fear at the masked and suited man standing before him. Quickly, I gathered him up and made for Molly.

"Mol! I found him!" I showed the boy, who was by now clinging on for dear life around my neck, to him. Molly gave a quick nod and ran for the door. Suddenly, mid-step, he stopped as though he had run into a wall and leapt backward with a yell.

"Jesus Christ! Mason! The air that way is too damn hot! We can't go there!"

The flames had now come so close to the room that the air was being superheated at an astounding rate. With our suits and oxygen masks we had a chance of making it through but the boy would never make it. One breath of that air and his lungs would be seared beyond recognition.

Molly pointed frantically at the window. "We gotta jump!"

I handed the poor boy to Molly. "You'll have to carry him." I coughed. "I'm too heavy. If I land on him I could break his bones."

Molly seized the boy and ran for the window. Without hesitation, he jumped out from the second story window, using a water pipe to slow his descent. Once I saw that him and the boy were safely outside, I ran myself and jumped.

The increased weight I put on the floor to propel my jump caused the wood to disintegrate and crumble away. As I jumped, I could see through the hole in the floor, at the roaring flames that leapt up at me, seemingly trying to reach up and pull me down to oblivion.

And then I am outside, where I can feel the cooler air wash over my body. I am not even sweating; the heat made it all evaporate. But I am outside, where it is safe, and I know I am alive.

The fire was put out in half an hour with the combined effort of both our trucks. All that was left of the house was a ruined, blackened husk, gouting smoke and ashes. The family had lost everything, and yet they had found it all again when Molly, soot blackened and panting from his effort, handed the trembling youngling over to his mother. I can remember her cries of joy and relief, and the kisses she planted on both Molly's and my cheeks. She could not hold back her tears. I could not stop a sense of accomplishment. I had done my duty.

Then, the call came.

Everything is a blur from here on out. I remember Molly coming towards me, his cell phone in hand and a look of pure horror on his face. He pressed the phone to my ear, and I heard what the voice on the other end said.

And then I was flying to the fire truck, Molly beside me. We leapt in and I didn't even bother to belt up. Along the way, I shed all my gear, frantic with worry, and a sort of bizarre resignation. Somehow, I knew they were gone.

I screamed with all my might as I ran towards my burning house. There were a couple of fire engines nearby, and they were doing their best. But somehow, it was not enough. Behind me, Molly tried to keep pace with me, trying to calm me down, but I was having none of it. All I cared about was finding my two loves. As I approached closer, I felt the air sear my flesh, felt my fur singe and start to burn, and yet I kept on coming. Let me die with them, I thought, let me burn and turn to ash, for without them this is no life at all.

And then I felt a weight tackle me to the ground. It was Molly, and he dragged me, with the assistance of two others, back from the searing heat of the flames. I screamed and cried and shouted and struggled, but they were all stronger than me. I wanted to go back, to burn, I wanted to apologize for not believing them, but I knew it was too late.

I fought with all my strength against Molly and the rest. I knew they were trying to save me from death, and yet I saw them as enemies now. I wanted, no, needed to die with them, my family.

Then Molly stuck a syringe into my neck and as my world faded to black, I could only see one thing.

The photo from my locker had fallen from my pocket, and as I watched it flew into the flames, burned, and crumbled to ashes.

_ _

_ _

So there I was, in the pouring rain, at the funeral of my two beloved, my wife, Iden and our daughter, Emma. Both of them, gone now, buried beneath the ground. Iden, burned beyond recognition to such a degree that the only way they could positively identify her was by our wedding ring around her finger. And Emma, suffocated by smoke while hiding in a closet, in a futile attempt to hide from the flames that closed in around her.

They are gone, in a better place now, and I hope that wherever they are, they will receive me with open arms when it is my turn, and they will forgive me for not believing them and for leaving them alone in their final hours. And then we shall all be reunited again, and it will be peace, at long last.

As I sat in my car and prepared to drive away from the graveyard, I hear a little tinkle of a received message in my pocket. Flipping open my cell phone, I examine the message. It is an alert to all firefighters to report back to the station, for an emergency has occurred.

I drop the phone on the passenger seat, and stare into the distance. Then I start my car and make for the fire station. For now, until my time comes, I will be happy knowing that even with my family lost, I have a purpose.

I am a firefighter

This is my duty.