“It’s just a drill, man,” Stephan mutters under his breath, but he does snap the latches closed.
“Ready, boys,” I announce loudly.
Trigger says something back, but I can’t really hear it. The roof creaks dangerously as the flames start to lick out from under the eaves.
But then I stand back, watching Trigger and Stephan as they spring into action, sending streams of water into the structure, trying to control the blaze. The object is to keep the building from falling down on top of us, obviously. It involves a bit of problem-solving and more than a bit of courage and brute strength.
“Christ,” Bubba growls as Stephan almost trips over his feet.
He fastened his coat, but not the boots. Great.
Still, it’s not completely terrible. We have an audience of local lookie-loos back behind the rig, snapping pictures and posting them to Instagram and Facebook. If I tried to see this through their eyes, it just looks like a magnificent old barn, slowly being engulfed in flames while two young men in uniform muscle an impressive stream of water into the structure. The spectators don’t see the lazy errors they are making.
But Bubba does. I can practically feel the disapproval coming off him in waves.
As the sun goes down, the billows of smoke and steam turn the air around us into orange veils. Though they almost seem to lose control a couple of times, eventually Trigger and Stephan do indeed get the flames under control and put the whole thing out. When they finally turn the hoses off and turn around, the crowd erupts into applause. Stephan takes off his helmet and swoops a theatrical bow.
I should punch him in the nose.
Rubbing the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve, Stephan grins at me, all cocky and self-assured.
“See? I told you it would be no problem.”
I start to answer, but Bubba interrupts me, hiking his work pants up authoritatively.
“You guys are lucky that whole thing didn’t fall over. What the hell were you thinking!”
Trigger raises his eyebrows and shrugs, clearly confused. He is confused a lot of the time. The guy looks like he is carved out of granite. He is as wide as a door. But thinking is not his strong suit.
“Jeez, Chief, I mean—”
“You guys got lucky!” I interrupt.
Trigger and Stephan both at least have the sense to look guilty, like they are listening to me. I don’t want Bubba to totally go off on them. Not in front of everybody.
Stephan peels his jacket off and stretches his shoulders back. I get the feeling he is doing this for the approval of the ladies behind me, and maybe not listening quite as closely as he should.
“Hey! Are you listening to me?” I snarl, coming up close.
He squints at me, then seems to think better of it, twisting his mouth in a stubborn pout.
“That was sloppy, thoughtless,” I continue, loud enough for Bubba to hear. “You guys could have really hurt somebody.”
“It was just a drill, Pete,” Stephan shrugs, but he doesn’t look up. “Chill. All’s well that ends well.”
“I thought it went good,” Trigger adds. “It’s not like anything ever happens here anyway. It didn’t fall down.”
“Luck!” Bubba scoffs, spitting derisively into the dirt before stomping off.
As soon as he is gone, Stephan and Trigger lean and a little closer to me. “Was it really that bad?” Trigger finally asks uncertainly.
I’m not sure what to tell them. It was pretty bad, but not disastrous. But I need Bubba to feel comfortable so he can retire. He’s not willing to let go of the reins yet, and he should already be living in Florida or something. Every winter is just a little bit more brutal on the old guy. I appreciate his heroic sense of loyalty to the community, but somehow, we have to convince him that it’s safe for him to move on. It’s time.
“I guess the chief wasn’t really impressed,” Stephan admits.
“That is an understatement,” I confirm, rubbing my eyebrows with my forefinger and thumb and drawing my hand over my hair.
I see Stephan’s eyes scan the crowd, the cocky set of his jaw. Being a fireman in St. Charles is catnip for the local women. Sometimes I wonder if these guys are actually dedicated to the job, or just in it for all of the secondary benefits.
“You guys just need practice,” I observe.
Trigger shrugs. “You want us to set the barn on fire again?”
I see Bubba appear at the corner of the building, pounding a stake into the dirt to hold the line of caution tape that will surround the building. Briefly I consider making these guys start over, or maybe go in there with hatchets to do some close work on the glowing timbers. But then again, that is actually dangerous. It might teach them a lesson, or it might get them killed. Not a risk I really want to take.