Free In the Blaze of His Hungers by Dominique Frost

in his room, sorting out his schoolbooks so he can sell them second-hand before he goes to college.
    That’s when he gets the call.
    Tucking a book under his arm, he takes his phone out of his back pocket and clutches it to his ear. “‘llo?”
    “Is this Ryan Carpenter?” It’s a woman, clipped and professional, and there’s something about her tone that Ryan can’t put his finger on, but instantly makes him go cold.
    “Yes,” he says. “That’s me.”
    “It’s about your father,” she says.
    The book slips from Ryan’s grasp and crashes to the floor.
    * * *
    Ryan’s so badly shaken he probably shouldn’t drive, but he does anyway, jamming his foot against the accelerator and gripping the steering wheel with clammy hands. There’s too much traffic on the goddamn roads; it’s the end of the workday and everyone’s heading home. Every minute seems like an hour as red light after red light delays him, until he’s cursing, terrified, quaking in his seat. Nausea at the thought of what he’ll find chokes him; the air scorches in and out of his throat and bile threatens to rise at every swerve.
    Finally, he’s at the hospital, his car screeching to a halt in the emergency parking lot. He races into the building, past the heavy double doors and toward the reception. Inside, everything smells of antiseptics and despair, and he hates it, hates how it’s still the same, how he still remembers where the cancer ward is.
    But he isn’t going to the cancer ward, this time.
    It’s the burn unit.
    He’s given a map with directions on it; he heads for the burn unit immediately, even though, when he gets there, he’s told to remain to the waiting room because Mr. William Carpenter is currently in surgery, getting skin grafted onto his legs. More on his right leg than his left, and he’s lost a lot of fluid, but he should make it. A kindly nurse with too-thick mascara tells Ryan the odds are in Dad’s favor.
    But Ryan’s been told the odds were good before. Mom hadn’t survived those odds. Dad may not survive them, either. He could get infected. He could go into hypovolaemic shock. Hell, he could go into renal failure because of plummeting plasma levels. Ryan knows what damage burns can do, because as a firefighter’s son he couldn’t help but read about it, even when he was only nine years old, as though knowing what could happen might prevent it from happening at all.
    It’s happening now. Knowing about it doesn’t change anything. Ryan’s here again, helpless again, on the brink of losing the only parent he has left.
    And why? All because Dad’s brave, because he’d never leave a victim trapped in a burning house. The lady on the phone had told Ryan that he’d been the last firefighter to leave, and there had been a gas explosion before he’d made it out.
    There’s a couple folks from Dad’s squad occupying in the waiting room, ash-stained and weary and still in uniform, their faces lined with worry. Brad Evans, Tom Sutton and Raquel Cruz are there, along with a newbie Ryan doesn’t recognize. Brad, who’s the same age as Dad and is one of his poker buddies, comes forward to clap Ryan on the back and say, “It’ll be all right, kid.”
    It won’t be. It can’t be. Ryan’s father is in there, unconscious, with third-degree burns to 22% of his body. That’s what the nurses at the ward desk had said, and Ryan can’t stop picturing it – the skin melting off his father’s legs, the raw, bloody mess they must be beneath the grafts.
    At some point, when he feels less likely to vomit at the slightest provocation, he calls Javier. If he was thinking objectively, Ryan would know it isn’t wise for Javier to show up here, where people can see that he’s there for Ryan, that he’s more than Ryan’s boss.
    But Ryan isn’t thinking objectively. He needs Javier with him, as much as he’s ever needed anyone. Javier must be able to hear it in his voice, because he doesn’t ask any questions,