Fire & Water

My dream was almost over when the sound came...Ba Leeeeeeeep beep beep beep. I'm not sure who came up with this alarm but it is extremely effective. "Attention all firefighters, there is a report of a 962 or a possible 963 approximately 6 miles west of Vans Trading Post on US 160", said the graveyard dispatcher for the Navajo Nation Police Tuba City District. I immediately sat up from my brother's couch on which I slept. The first alert mixed into my dream as her lips were pursed for the taking but she spat forth the second alert, "attention all firefighters, there is a report of a 962 and a possible 963 on US 160 approximately 6 miles west of Vans Trading Post" as required by fire and rescue protocol. The sand, the palm trees, the bay and the boat were all gone. I was again in Dine' Bikeyah, Navajo Land, which is the land of vast sky and continuously dry and vegetation deprived landscape nary a few pinon, juniper, and sage where lived the occassional lizard.
I scanned the room and found my bunkers close to my bed. I was proud at how fast and fluid I donned my bunkers while in the station, but I put my right foot in the left boot and left foot in the right boot and then realizing I've only got my tightie whities on. Had to get dressed first, who knows how long I'd be on duty.
I got to station a few minutes later only still with crusties in my eyes. There was another there but I really didn't know his name. James I think it was. I pulled the bay door open and out went the red mammoth Engine 20. This old thing could only get 57 mph on a good day. Today, as turned out, would be one of the worst.
We headed west into the mid morning fair rush hour. The Western Navajo Fair as it called was why I was temporarily stationed in Tuba City in the fall of 1991. The people would come from miles around to bottleneck through US 264 and US 160 into the little desert town of Tuba City, Arizona. Most of them came to see the exhibits, the carnival, the rodeo, and powwow, and the few who came for no another reason than to swill in the firewater.
James and I approached from the east and saw a mile long string of cars with no oncoming traffic. The road had become blocked. At the end on the string in the horizon was a stack of black smoke. Everything at once ran through my head - park the engine upwind, there's a car burning - don the SCBA, have the extrication tools ready, then I saw the cars. I couldn't tell what kind they were at first, one was upside down turned away from us in the middle of the road burning with a stench that filled the air and seared the nostrils and the mind, and the other was a small blue sedan whose front end driver side was crushed with metal and plastic mangled and shredded from its original form.
I pulled a 1 1/2in line and charged it. We've only got 1 tank full of water, I had better make this good. I dragged the hose while James used the holmatro tool in the door, he couldn't get close enough, the heat was shooting out of the window like it wanted to grab him. I shot water into the window opening with a full fog and dowsed the flames from vinyl, plastic, clothing, and flesh of two.
In the other car, the driver was still in his seat without a soul, cans of Hank's offerings were everywhere. Oddly, there was still a can of beer tightly stuffed between the drivers legs. I guess he was trying to protect that one when the Jeep came flying through his windshield.
There were several more that day, and many more when I went back to Station 12 in Window Rock, Arizona. I miss the station, Engine 10, Rescue 28, my comfy bunkers, and especially the gratitude but I won't miss the too young, too old, too fast, and the too drunk.
I always wanted to finish that dream - maybe the palm trees and sand would come back while I slept - they couldn't for a long time.