Dominant Fireman Daddy by Scott Wylder
CHAPTER ONE
Frank
SPLASH! I hear it before I see it. A young lady fell into the canal right over the bridge by our fire station. I was taking our Firehouse dog, Roscoe, for a walk when I heard the splash. She flails her arms as if she is trying to climb air. I don’t think she can swim. She gasps for air, her shrieks punctuated with gurgles. Opening the mouth and gasping is an automatic response to cold. The water is cold because early spring water ways are cold with melting snow. The canal is not deep, but we have had heavy spring rain and the water current is swift. If she stood up she would probably be fine, but mind can’t think and panic at the same time.
I jump into action. Luckily I still have my boots on. We just had a run on a small fire on 42nd, but it was contained before we got there. I grab a long shepherd’s crook we have in the fire house just for such occasions. On TV and the movies, they have first responders jump in to save someone from drowning, but often a drowning victim is more likely to pull you under the water as well. The crook is the best first resort.
I have to cross the bridge and run-down canal. I hope I can get to her before the next bridge. Then I would have to get in the water or run up, cross the bridge on land and by then she could be gone.
The woman seems to be hanging onto a branch stuck in the canal. The current is so strong the branch will hold, but not for long. Luckily, the crook is perfect for this kind of situation. I hook the curve of the crook around her waist, she grabs the pole and I pull her in towards shore.
“Stand up.” I shout. The water is so swift, even though she’s no more than eight feet away, I know she can hardly hear me.
“Stand up.” I go from a crouching position to demonstrating how to stand. I have hold of the crook, the end wrapping around her waist like a dance partner waiting to waltz her across the canal to safety. It can lead, but it cannot force. “If you stand up, you can walk to shore,” I plead. She shakes her head. She is scared and she does not trust me. She does not trust herself. I will have to make her.
I command, “Stand up.” My face as solid and unyielding as my grip on the crook. I shake the hook, so she knows that I mean it. “I’ve got you.” She looks towards the doomed stream. “Look, I won’t let you go, but it will be easier and safer if you just stood up. Come on, help me. Help me save you.” I shake the hook again. She again, shakes her head “no.” Her insolence infuriates me. I am here to save her, and she disobeys?
“Do what I say. Stand up.” My voice is as serious and immediate as death if she doesn’t do as she’s told. Her legs move almost independently of her conscious will and she stands. She stands attention like a soldier. She stands like a statue. Swift water which once roared like a lion now skittered past us like a mischievous kitten.
The crook gently guides her as she walks to shore, the water only chest deep. Once she is near enough, I reach out my hand and pull her in. She is soaked to the skin and shivering. She is now sobbing. She gasps then sobs, repeat. She is going to hyperventilate if I don’t get her calmed down and warmed up. I take off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders.
