Running to get our gear, we throw it on and load up in the truck as fast as we can. My adrenaline is pumping and my knee bounces as we pull out of the station. Chief relays the information he has on the situation. “Alright, guys. We have an abandoned warehouse that a passerby called in. He says he doesn’t think anyone is in there, but we know these buildings don’t catch fire on their own. So let’s approach it like someone might have been living there and try to do a full sweep.” We all nod and try to prepare for what we’re walking into. It’s impossible to predict how any call will go. We’re always told to expect the unexpected. What might start out as a small fire could spread rapidly. My dad always had a great respect for the destroyer, and I keep that in mind every time I have to go out. I’m not in control. Ever. The moment I forget that is when all hell can break loose. When we pull up, the right side of the building is engulfed in flames. “Shit,” I say under my breath.
