When the Devil Dances

“So today you get tested,” she said with a sigh. “And if you complete the course in time, making all the requirments, you’ll be considered for inclusion. I’ve got seven slots to fill. My guess is that only five or six of you will pass. But… I’d rather have five that pass than seven that don’t.”

One of the group behind her stepped forward and handed her a clipboard. She glanced at it and nodded. “As I call your name, step forward, join up with one of the officers behind me to draw bunker gear and get ready to start your evaluation.” She looked up one more time and smiled thinly. “And good luck. Anderson…”

* * *

Wendy threw on the bunker-coat and buckled it up. Once upon a time she had heard that there were multiple ways to put on a bunker-coat, most of which could get you killed. It had always seemed silly to her; like having a gun that shot you if you loaded it backwards. The gear was heavy and hot, but it had its purpose. On the wall above the lockers was a sign: “Like a rich armor, worn in the heat of the day.” She’d tried for years to find the source of the quote, but the firefighters weren’t telling and she’d never been able to find it anywhere else.

She reached into her locker and pulled out the breath-pack, spitting into the facescreen and wiping the saliva around to prevent condensation. There were various products to do the same thing, but strangely enough saliva was the least unpleasant at high heat conditions; you could use baby shampoo but it had a vaporization point well below that of the lexan visor and the fumes were unpleasant. Saliva had a low vaporization point as well, but it just smelled a bit of burning hair. Which, if you were vaporizing it off your faceshield, you were already smelling.

She checked the air and all the rest of the gear. There weren’t supposed to be any booby traps built in at this point, but she wasn’t willing to go for “might”; among other things, for part of the test the firehouse would be filled with smoke and she’d need the air.

Everything appeared to be right, though, so she donned the breath-pack, put on the respirator, put on her helmet and turned around.

By that point, the smoke was already streaming out of the smokehouse. The smoke was generated — there was no actual fire involved in the event — but it looked real. It looked as if the smokehouse was going to billow with flames at any moment.

She was supposed to be the fifth person to take the test, but there was only one person in front of her. As she noted that, the first testee exited the smokehouse on the roof and started the rope portion. The various lines above the smokehouse, which stretched around the room in a spiderweb, were an integral portion of the event. The Urb had some awesome chasms in it and emergency personnel never knew when they might be dangling over a two thousand foot drop. Being able to do specific rope work — and more importantly, being fundamentally unafraid of heights — was an important portion of the test.

Wendy shivered. She was not fundamentally unafraid of heights. Quite the opposite. But she could still do the job.

“Cummings.”

She shook herself and tore her eyes away from the testee who had just jumped across a small gap onto a swaying platform. “Yes?”

“You’re up,” said the firefighter who had led her through the preparations.

“Okay.” She knew the firefighter; she knew most of them. But at the test it was all supposed to be totally impersonal. She knew why; she understood why. But it would be nice if somebody acknowledged her; acknowledged that she’d been a reserve ER for four goddamned years and this was the first time she’d managed to even make the pre-quals for the PPE. She paused a moment, but there was nothing else. Then she stepped forward.

“Cummings,” Chief Connolly said. “Eight events. Ladder move, ladder raise/lower, high-rise pack, hydrant manipulation, the Maze, door breach, vertical environment, hose drag and dummy drag. You are familiar with each test?” she asked formally.

“I am,” Wendy answered just as formally, her answer muffled behind the faceshield.

“At each station there will be a firefighter to direct you to the next station. Each station is timed. Movement from station to station is timed. If you ‘bump up’ on the person in front of you, you may wait and rest and the time does not count against you. The entire course, method and time, is graded and you must make a minimum grade of eight hundred points to qualify. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“In addition there are specific items that are automatic fails. If you lose the high-rise pack, it is a fail. If you skip a step of the door breach or misevaluate it is a fail. If you enter the smooth tube in The Maze instead of the corrugated it is a fail. And if you drop the dummy, it is a fail. Are you aware of these fail points?”

“I am.”

“Do you fully understand the requirements to pass the evaluation?”

“I do.”