“I’m going to check the other bedroom,” Smith says before he exits the room.
He has to be here. Where are you, kid?
I stand in the center of the room and give it a scan. The ceiling above me starts to groan, paint bubbling from the heat. We don’t have much time. I continue my scan and my eyes rest on a small, wooden toy box. I quickly take two steps to the box and gingerly lift the lid. Inside is the small boy. He’s out, but breathing.
“Found the boy,” I announce into my radio. I make quick work of gingerly removing the small child from the confines of his toy box.
Smith is behind me a second later. “We have to go now. The ceiling is caving in,” he tells me.
I cradle the child against my chest and follow Smith out of the small room. We make it to the living room where the creaks and groans of the stressed structure start to rumble. Pieces of the ceiling start to fall around us as we make our way through the living room. I hold the boy as tightly as I can to protect him from the dancing flames and the falling debris that surround us.
A large piece of drywall breaks away just as I reach the heart of the living room. The force of the heavy, wet material falling on me sends me down to my knees. I lean forward to shield the child from the debris and to safeguard his unprotected body from the flames.
“Stevens!” Smith hollers into the radio just before he starts digging at the drywall on top of me. It takes him upwards of a minute to get the piece of debris off of me. I glance down at the child I’m laying on and see frightened blue eyes staring back at me.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I tell him, knowing that he can’t hear me through my mask. I soften my eyes and keep them locked on his terrified ones. The boy never cries like I would expect him to. He just stares up at me with wide, trusting eyes.
Finally, I feel the weight of the drywall being lifted from my body. When it’s free, Smith makes a grab for the boy I’m cradling. “I got him,” I tell him as I slowly start to stand.
“You just took drywall to the head, Stevens. Let me carry the boy out,” he demands.
“No, I’ve got him,” I insist as we, again, make our way out of the apartment, my iron-tight grip on the child.
My legs carry me down the stairs and out of the burning building completely on their own. Smith radios a status update and our moving positions to the crew on the ground. My eyes remain focused on the path ahead of us, and the boy in my arms. Almost there.
Paramedics are waiting for us on the front lawn of the building. They have two gurneys and a backboard positioned just far enough to be protected from the burning building.
I set the young boy down on the first gurney I get to. His eyes never leave mine. A woman runs up to the boy, hysterically crying and shaking. Two paramedics get to work on the child, placing an oxygen mask on his small face. His breathing is labored, but considering he was in a burning building, he’s not doing too badly.
I rip my mask off my face as the other two paramedics descend on me, but I try to push them back. I need to know how the boy is doing. That’s my focus right now.
“Don’t make me tie you down, Stevens,” Chief Hernandez says from behind me. “They have to check you out. Protocol,” he adds firmly.
I concede and sit down on the second gurney so that I’m facing the little boy. As the female paramedic slips the oxygen mask on my face, the boy next to me holds up his small hand. I take it inside of my gloved hand and just hold it there. Around us, people hustle and bustle to prepare the child for transfer to the hospital. The other paramedic starts pressing around on the top of my skull, causing a wince at the tender spot where the drywall crashed down on my helmet.
“You should go to the hospital and have it checked out,” he reports.
“I’m good. Make sure this kid gets what treatment he needs,” I tell them.
“He will, Nate,” Chief says with a firm squeeze of the hand he places on my shoulder. “Let the guys do their job here so you can be on your way,” he adds.
The sun is out and has been for awhile. The boy is strapped in for transfer so I give his small hand one gentle squeeze. “You’re going to go for a ride in the ambulance, little man. Can you be a big, strong boy for me?” I ask.
The boy shakes his head up and down and continues to watch me with those big, blue eyes. His hand is still firmly tucked inside of mine. My heart does this weird lurch in my chest. He reminds me of my nephew, Grant. He puts all of his trust into me and I’d do anything I can to protect him.
“What’s your name, little man?” I ask.
His voice is hoarse and dry as he speaks, barely louder than a whisper. “Nathan.”