Imperfect Heroes

“You´re my hero.’

Her last words to him before he left. Lying in bed, the white sheets tangled around her body, dark hair falling down her shoulders. Pale skin, beautiful eyes.

Stan struggled with his trousers, wrenching the material over his legs. Once done, he lingered on the edge of the bed, enjoying the feel of her fingers as she pressed teasingly into his back.

“Nervous?’

“Just a little. Hell, I´m sh-“

“Language,’ she reprimanded, poking him harder.

“Sorry.’ He twisted to see her sit back against the headboard. “Yeah, I´m nervous.’

“Have you eaten something?’

A half-chewed piece of dry toast was waved over the bed, sprinkling crumbs onto the sheets.

“That barely counts as food, but I´ll let you off.’ A smile. “I´ll make you something great tonight. A reward for the returning hero.’

He pulled away, pushed up from the bed petulantly. “Don´t use that word.’

“What´s wrong?’

“It´s just, I don´t like it. I´m not, y´know, one of those.’

“Is this because of what your dad said?’

Shoulders tensing involuntarily, he pulled a white t-shirt over his head, tried to hide his reaction. But he couldn´t. She saw what no one else did.

“Can we not talk about that?’

“It is, isn´t it? You shouldn´t listen to him.’

“He´s my father. I don´t have a choice.’

“You could hang up.’

“You know I couldn´t do that.’ The fingers of his right hand strayed to a white mark on his forearm. He placed his fingertips across the puckered skin, closed his eyes.

The sheets rustled as she sat up, the springs creaking as she knelt beside him. Her chin came to rest on his shoulder, breath warming his skin.

“Your mother is proud of you.’

“I know.’

“So am I.’

“I know.’

“You´re gonna do great.’

He failed to answer, a shadow falling across the room. To break its spell, she used nimble fingers to snatch the toast from his hand. He tried to snatch it back, too late: she was sat back against the wall, munching on the toast with a mischievous smile playing about her face.

He sighed, bent over to pull his shoes on. “I won´t even see any action today, you know that. I´ll be stuck at the station house, cleaning the trucks, just like every other rookie.’

“You don´t know that. You´re full trained now, remember?’

“As of yesterday.’

“And what a lovely ceremony it was.’

He rose, paused to jab at the underside of her foot. She shrieked, drawing her knees towards her and away from his teasing.

“I´ll be back about eight.’

“I know.’

Grabbing his car keys, Stan offered her a smile, reassurance he didn´t feel.

“Love you.’

“Love you too.’

He was already half way out the door when she called out.

“You´re my hero.’

He closed the door without looking back.

*

Unbelievable heat. Stan could feel his eyebrows crisp, his skin shrivel up in protest, despite the heavy protective layer which entombed him. Heat, carried within the smoke, tendrils creeping through the mask and into his throat and lungs. His heartbeat thundered in his head, a thousand horses; and above that, the crackle of flames, the ominous creak of wood under pressure. And above that, the sharp burst of static in his ear that preceded every order from his captain, every shout.

“Beta team have vacated the rear exit. Alpha team, we need you on the second floor. Ladders on their way, ETA three minutes.’

And above that, the voice of his father.

“Sorry I couldn´t come to your inauguration ceremony, son.’

“That´s, it´s – that´s not quite what it´s called –“

“Whatever. Your mother told me it was quite the affair. Everyone in their dress uniform. Did you hire one?’

“No, dad. I bought mine.’

“And how much did that rush you? Better value to hire one.’

“There´ll be other times I have to wear it, dad.’

“I doubt it. Your brother´s worn his robes three times this term. Met the Chancellor he did –“

“I know.’

“Carter!’

A heavy, gloved hand clamped down onto Stan´s shoulder, propelled him forward.

“You go right with Kenny and Stone, and check out the end of this floor.’

He nodded, then remembered procedure, curled his forefinger round to touch the tip of his thumb and ‘okayed´ the order.

Stone, the oldest, took the lead, feeling his way through the smoke. An old pro. Kenny came last, the familiar green splash of his lieutenant stripes almost entirely obscured by soot. Wedged between them, Stan the rookie was in the safest place to be. Couldn´t fall back, couldn´t lag behind or get lost. Couldn´t stumble forward with his inexperienced feet and plunge through some weak floorboards.

Safest place to be. But he felt claustrophobic. Couldn´t see anything beyond Stone´s back, his oversized muscles straining to escape the cloth that bound them. Stan felt puny in comparison.

“You´ll never get any respect if you carry on like this. You need to beef up, son. Pack on a few extra pounds. Eat your potatoes.’

“But I´m full.’

“I said eat them.’

Another burst of static. The chief´s voice. “Alpha team, come in. You boys found anything yet?’

“All empty so far chief,’ came back the response. Then, “Stone?’

“Nothing so far Lieu. We´re heading to the end of the corridor.’

The air was clearer here. Stan could see the walls and the ceiling, see the smoke curl around his feet. But he never saw Stone stop, almost walked into the man´s back.

“Do you guys hear something?’

Stan strained, but heard nothing other than the crackle of flames. And his father.

“What do you think you´re doing here? As though you belong. Be realistic, Stan, accept your place in life.’

Out of the corner of his mask he saw Kenny gesture ahead.

“Something, a woman maybe. Twelve o´clock.’

Stone flashed a white grin. “Right boys.’ He turned, presented Stan with his back. “Carter, you remember how to do this, right? It´ll be just like practice.’

Stan ‘okayed,´ flashed his own grin, identical to Stone´s but without the breeze. Switched into autopilot mode.

Take a step back, give your partner some room. Watch out for his swing, avoid any chunks of wood. Count –

1…2…3…

The countdown was interrupted by the crunch of a door wrenched from its hinges. Stone stumbled forward, regained his balance quickly and ploughed into the room, Kenny and Stan – still trapped in the middle – close on his heels.

The temperature was cooler here, the smoke thinner. They were stood in the living room of a small flat. A fitted kitchen was on one side, and a large window on the other looked out onto the street. Across the room were two doors, and it was to these that Stone headed.

Stone´s voice, Stone´s face, naked, free from the mask but black with smoke. Before Stan had chance to register the risk Stone was knocking on the left-hand door.

“Hello? Hey, anyone in here?’

This time he heard it.

“In here.’

Through the door, pushing it forward and dragging the towel that was wedged beneath across the floor. Into a bathroom. White tiles and white walls, startlingly bright. A rubber duck sat on the toilet. And huddled in the bath tub, a woman with wide eyes, clutching a wriggling child to her chest, futilely trying to press a damp cloth over its screaming mouth. She looked up at Stone and Stan and burst into tears.

Stone, brusquely: “Hey, it´s alright. Just do like we say and we´ll soon have you out of here.’ Then to Stan: “Take the kid.’

He nodded, a swell of adrenaline make his heart beat faster. With gloved hands he reached down to his charge, but the girl only screamed louder and grabbed a tighter hold of her mother. Stopped. Saw himself in the child´s eyes. A monster with huge, calloused hands and a grotesque, grinning face.

“Come out. Come face me.’

Carefully, fumbling with the straps, Stan pulled the mask from his face. Heat and smoke hit him immediately, assailed his eyes and noise. Through this he smiled at the child – a face black with soot, naked skin bright red, eyes streaming. But it was enough to make the girl hush, move away from her mother to peer curiously up at the unmasked monster.

“Hey. My name´s Stan. What´s yours?’

The girl hesitated, was prompted by her mother.

“This is Becky. I´m Wendy.’

“Hi Becky.’ He offered his hands to her. “You want to come with me honey, see if we can get you out of here?’

A nervous look between the stranger and her mother.

“Maybe we can find some of your friends outside, huh?’

“Go with the nice man, sweetie.’

The girl was pushed upwards suddenly, into Stan´s waiting arms. She wriggled briefly before settling into his shoulder, her hair tickling his cheek.

A crackle of static from the radio. “Stone, come in.’

Stone flipped his radio. “We hear you, chief.’

“We´ve got a gas leak on the floor below you, east wing. I repeat, a gas leak, first floor, east wing. Get out of there.’

Stone shook his head, as though his captain could see him. “Negative, chief. I´ve got two civilians with me.’

“Understood. Head to the –“

At that moment a huge explosion rocked the apartment block, shook the walls, sent showers of plaster from the ceiling, knocked the shower rail from its hook and left ears ringing. Both girl and mother started screaming, Becky smothered to Stan´s chest, Wendy shushed by Stone and his oversized arms, pulling her out of the bath.

“We gotta get out of here,’ Kenny said, unnecessarily.

“Check the stairs.’

He disappeared. There was a radio crackle, a worried voice. “Stone? Come in, Stone? You boys still with us?’

Stone, knocking his radio with one hand, hugging Wendy to him with the other. “Still here chief.’

“Gas tank blew. There´ll be more like it, too. I want you all out of there, ASAP.’

Kenny´s face reemerged round the door frame, red and shiny with sweat. “Stairs are gone. It´s like quick-fire out there.’

“Ladders?’ Stone, to the radio.

“Stuck in a jam on Central. But I´ll get them there. You boys hang tight.’ Another crackle, then silence.

“What´s going on? What was that?’ Wendy, crying again, half slumped against Stone´s shoulder.

“It´s okay.’ Kenny, broad Irish accent trying to reassure. “Just a little upset downstairs. It shouldn´t effect us.’ Glanced at Stone. “We waiting for the ladders?’

“Yup.’

“There isn´t a fire escape?’ Stan heard himself ask, voice tinged with a touch of panic.

“Not in these buildings. Too old for tests and too cheap to bother the inspectors.’ A flash of concern. “You alright?’

“Yeah. No worries.’ And Stan swallowed his fear, followed his assurances with a grin. Meant it.

“Okay. Wendy? We´re going to head out of here into your living room, okay?’

She nodded, clung to Stone as her lifeline. “Becky?’

“She´ll be fine.’ Stan tried to bounce the toddler gently, looked into her reddened eyes. “Hey Becky?’

Shocked at being addressed, the girl´s mouth closed and she simply stared at the man carrying her.

“Okay. Wendy, I want you to press that damp towel to your face, okay? Hold onto me, and I´ll take you through to the window. Piece of cake.’

Stan felt something wet being pressed into his free hand. A flannel. He lifted it up and pressed it to Becky´s face gently, over her mouth. She resisted for a second, then relaxed, and he felt several tiny fingers press against his own.

Out into the next room. The smoke was thicker now, the heat stronger. Stan found it difficult to make out the opposite wall, impossible to see the wallpaper design. Thought he saw the paper peeling from its surface. The three men ducked low, pulled their charges close. Made it to the window in several strides, though it seemed to take a lifetime.

“You always outstretch yourself. Think you can do more. Well you can´t. You should know that by now. You´re the failure, and your brother is the success.’

Stan took in the room around him. Tattered sofa, magazines on the coffee table, several stray toys, a plastic doll, glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling without emotion. A coat, casually slung over the back of a chair. He was suddenly, frighteningly aware that in a matter of minutes they would all be nothing but fuel for a fire.

There was another, smaller explosion, enough to shake the walls and rock Stan from his feet. He saw Stone stumble, half-collapse against the outer wall and window, dragging Wendy to the floor with him. Saw Wendy scream, then stifle the sound in the damp rag she pressed to her face.

In his arms, Becky spasmed, fought to escape both her capture and the room around her. Stan held on tight, though she feebly kicked his chest and cried into his ear. Kenny´s hands were suddenly on him, pressing Becky to him, pulling him down. He saw the Irishman´s gaze flicker over his shoulder, turned his own eyes to follow and saw flames licking the apartment door, saw black smoke snake its way inside.

“Masks,’ Stone ordered, pulling his own from his head and pushing it over Wendy´s head. Stan did the same, snapping the straps from around his own neck and lifting up Becky to place the oversized mask over her head. Kenny´s own fingers returned to help him.

Is this what this job is about? Waiting? Waiting to find out whether the child in your arms is going to see her friends again, whether the woman across from you will see her daughter grow up?

Another inner voice, not his own.

Is this about whether you´re going to cut it?

He saw his father´s face, heard his voice, felt the back of his father´s hand strike his face.

Felt the wall press into his back, cowered, wanted to run, wanted to call out. Wanted a rescue.

Trapped.

Why did I think I could do this? Stupid. Stupid boy. Stupid man. Nothing´s changed.

I´m still afraid.

And he saw her face. Saw her tangled in linen bed sheets, her cheeks flushed, her eyes…

You´re my hero.

Another explosion. Flames were licking the ceiling. Smoke filled his nose and mouth, burnt at his lungs. Each breath was a struggle, painful. His eyes watered, blinking furiously.

Kenny was struggling with the window, trying to break the catch free from years of rust and layers of paint. Stan saw him mouth curse words. Then saw his elbow rise up, swing round, smash through the pane of glass with terrible force, shards slicing through his gear and cutting into his skin. Fresh air was weren't good into the room as fast as the heat was weren't good out, and Stan found himself caught between the cold chill of oxygen on one side and the intense heat behind him. Becky was shaking, her fingers clutched round one of his, but he couldn´t hear her cries.

Couldn´t hear anything.

You´re my hero.

*

“Let me through!’

“Sorry ma´am. No members of the public are allowed onto the scene at present.’

“I´m not a member of the public!’

“Sorry ma´am. Unless you have some form of ID to prove to me why you should be here, I´m going to have to ask you to stand behind the line like everyone else.’

“Look, buster, if you don´t let me through this minute I´m going to ram that baton right –“

“Hey, Phil, it´s okay. She´s with the rookie.’

Stan saw her push her way past the beat cop without a backwards glance. She was running, dark hair thrown backwards. She disappeared briefly behind someone´s shoulder, then reappeared beside him. Her hands stroking his face, clutching at him.

“Oh, thank god. When I saw the news I was so scared – “

He coughed, smoke lingering in his throat and lungs. “You and me both.’ His voice sounded alien, gravelly and scratched, and caused her to look up at him in concern.

“They told me you were alight, you are alright, aren´t you?’

A paramedic, tidying the back of the ambulance on whose step Stan was perched, turned round.

“He´ll be okay. Couple of bowls of ice cream and a days rest and he´ll be good as new.’

She looked relieved. “Ice cream, huh?’ Smiled mischievously, pressed her lips against his ear. “I´m sure we can find interesting ways to help you feel better.’

He felt her hand massage his, her fingers digging in hard. Demanding physical reassurance of his presence.

Across the street, a third crew were starting to put out the flames. The building was little more than a shell, blackened into charcoal at one end, smudges of the original white just visible at the other, the wing from which Stan had escaped. The ladder had pulled back, was folded into its usual position. Quiet. Smoke hung in a thick cloud around the entire area, reached up into the sky and disappeared. A crowd of curious onlookers had gathered, gazing up at the carcass above them, whispering to each other and pointing, penned in by a line of bored beat cops. Amongst their number wandered the inhabitants of the building. Some just stood and watched, looking dazed and shell-shocked. Others turning to relatives and friends and waited, or vented rage, broken over all they had lost.

“They´re only possessions.’

He must have spoken aloud, because she gave him an odd look, then followed his gaze around to rest on a middle-aged woman, angrily beating her fists against her husband´s chest.

“At least they´re alive.’

She flashed him a look of deep worry. “I thought there were no fatalities.’

He gave her a smile, surprising her. “There weren´t.’

“Hey Carter!’

His Captain´s voice, and a hand, beckoning him over. Stan saw several camera crews, a couple of news vans, and Stone and Kenny, grinning and waving.

“Looks like you have a fan club.’ She smiled at him, stroked his face. “Maybe you should go over there.’

“I´m not really a PR man.’

“It´s part of the job.’ She tugged on his hand. “Go soak up your glory.’

He slipped off the edge of the step. She squeezed his hand one final time, then pushed him gently towards the film crew.

Is this what I´m doing now?

Soaking up glory.

Someone was tugging at his uniform. He thought it was her, but turned and saw Wendy, her clothes soot-stained, a blanket falling from her shoulders. Becky was cradled in her arms, sleeping peacefully, her head nodded gently against her mother´s chest.

“I never caught your name.’

He floundered, memory having deserted him. “Stan. Stanley Carter.’

“Stanley.’ She offered him a beautiful smile. “Thank you.’

And then she was up on her tiptoes, leaning against him. Her lips brushed his cheek in a kiss, and then she rocked back, and he was left smiling at her, feeling foolish.

“You´re our hero.’

Another yell from Kenny drew his eyes across the crowd, and when he looked back, Wendy and Becky were gone. The film crews were hovering, Stone was giving an apparently intense interview to a pretty blonde armed with a microphone, and Kenny was waving, drawing him over.

He took one look back at the building behind him.

This is what I do now.

End