Blue Smoke

had introduced them six weeks before. But his companion, the buff, bronzed Adonis in jeans and a BFD T-shirt, had a great many possibilities.
    She’d shared a meal with Hugh Fitzgerald—and a kitchen full of other firefighters—at the station. They’d played poker, had a couple of beers. And, after some major league flirting, had done the pizza and a movie routine, followed by several very juicy kisses.
    Even so, it seemed to her that more than half the time he thought of her as one of the guys.
    Hell, in turnout gear and Fire Line boots, she thought of herself as one of the guys.
    “Hey,” she said to Steve, “what did you do with my roommate?”
    “She’s sleeping like a baby. Couldn’t budge her to come out for this. You up for it?”
    “Ready to go.” She looked at Hugh. “Did you come to watch?”
    “Just finished my shift, thought I’d swing by in case you need CPR.”
    She laughed, began to don her turnout gear, stepping into the protective pants, adjusting the suspenders. “The two of you got through it, so can I.”
    “No doubt about it,” Hugh agreed. “You’re as tough as they come.”
    Not exactly the sort of description a woman pined for from a potential lover, Reena thought. But if you were going to work in the boys’club, you often ended up one of the boys. She tied her long, curly hair back into a tail, donned her hood.
    No, she’d never have the innate femininity of her sisters, but, by God, she’d have a firefighter’s certification before the end of summer.
    “Maybe we can catch a meal after you’re done,” Hugh suggested.
    She fastened her coat, heavy in the heat of August, and lifted her eyes. His were like lake water, she thought, somewhere fascinating between blue and gray. “Sure. You buying?”
    “You get through the maze, I spring.” After helping her on with her tank, he gave her shoulder a friendly pat. “You bail, you buy.”
    “Deal.” She sent him a smile as sunny as the day, put on her mask and helmet.
    “Radio check,” John ordered.
    She checked her radio, her gear, gave John a thumbs-up.
    “I’ll be guiding you through,” he reminded her. “Remember to regulate your breathing. Panic’s what gets you in trouble.”
    She wouldn’t panic. It was a test, just another simulation. She breathed steady and normal, waited for John to click his stopwatch. “Go.”
    It was dark as a tomb and hot as the seventh layer of hell. It was fantastic. Thick black smoke smothered the air so she could hear her own breath, wheezing just a little as she drew oxygen from her tank. She oriented herself, put the points of the compass in her head before she felt her way along, hands, feet, instinct. Found a door.
    She eased through it. Already, sweat slicked over her face.
    There was some sort of blockage. She tried to see it through her gloved fingers, located the low, narrow gap and bellied under.
    There could be people trapped inside. That was the purpose of this exercise. She was to search the “building,” find any survivors or victims and work her way out again. Do the job. Save lives. Stay alive.
    She heard John’s voice, strange and foreign in this black hole, asking for her status.
    “Good. Fine. Five-by-five.”
    She felt her way up a wall, then was forced to squeeze through a narrow opening. She was losing her bearings, paused to try to orient herself again.

    Slow, steady, she ordered herself. Get in, get through, get out.
    But there was nothing but black and smoke and unspeakable heat.
    She dead-ended, felt the first trickle of panic in her throat, heard it in her quick, gasping breaths.
    John’s voice told her to keep calm, to keep centered. Watch her breathing.
    Then the floor dropped away beneath her.
    She grunted on impact, lost her breath, felt her control slip another notch.
    She was blind, and for a terrifying moment, she was deaf as the blood buzzed in her ears. Sweat was rivers now, pouring off her face, down her body under the smothering turnout suit. Her gear weighed a thousand pounds, and the mask was gagging her.
    Buried alive, she thought. She was buried alive in smoke. Survivors? No one could survive this suffocating black hell.
    For a moment, she fought a desperate need to rip away the gear, free herself.
    “Reena, check your breathing. I want you to slow your breathing and give me your status.”
    I can’t. The words were nearly out. She couldn’t do it. How could anyone do it? How could she think when she couldn’t see or breathe,