Fire Station 95 was right in the flight path of jets coming in at Los Angeles International Airport. Between the airport and the 405 freeway, they were first responders if there was ever a problem near LAX. The firefighters there liked to be busy, but not crazy busy. This day was pretty quiet so far, with only one minor call to answer earlier in the day.
After having a late dinner at In-n-Out, the guys watched people sitting on the small grassy area across the street, near the runways, with jets flying over their heads. Tom never could figure out why people liked to eat there, with the smell of the jet fuel, much less the noise. A quick drive back to the station, Tom was hoping for a quiet night. He pulled the engine truck into the garage, turned off the engine and started going through the power down list, and then it happened.
A loud boom rattled the windows and shook the ground. ”Was that an earthquake?” Tom thought.
Then the station sirens went off, along with the announcement. Firefighters ran out into the garage, putting on their jackets as they jumped aboard. Tom had already started the engine.
It was a plane crash! “Damn!” A plane went down in a neighborhood in Inglewood! Worst case scenario.
“We’ve trained for this, guys!” the captain yelled out.
This didn’t make Tom feel any better. It was going to be a messy night.
Calls were coming in for all available stations to assist. This was a big one. The radio never stopped blaring.
The whole station rolled out and was in route, heading eastbound on Century Boulevard, heading towards Prairie. They could see the eerie orange glow on the other side of the freeway.
“Please God, let it have missed the hospital.” Tom said to himself. He knew too many good people there.
News was coming in that this was a collision between two planes, and that they both crashed in a crowded neighborhood. This was real bad.
Also on the radio was lots of chatter about the news bulletins, about people attacking other people. There was talk about cannibals or something worse, then the captain told them to shut up.
“What are they talking about?”, Tom asked the guys with him. One of them said that the news sounded bad out there. They were even talking about people carrying guns for safety. “What?” Tom asked, but his mind was on driving the truck.
Turning up Inglewood Avenue, after about a quarter mile they began to see the devastation around them. Fires seemed to be everywhere, as well as debris and plane wreckage. The planes appeared to have come down in big pieces, instead of breaking up. “That’s good”, Tom thought, “Better chance of survivors.” They turned right on Hardy Street and stopped the truck. Other fire trucks pulled in behind them, along with paramedics and police.
The noise was almost unbearable, as screams filled the air along with sirens. Flames seemed to be on every house. Plane wreckage filled the street. It was utter mayhem on a stick. There were people on the street, some standing, some sitting, some limping along.
Tom was the last one out of the truck, and put on his jacket on as he approached what looked like a man with one arm, with his back towards him.
“SIR!” Tom yelled, “Are you hurt?”
The man turned to face him.
He had black eyes.
He opened his mouth and said, “Join us!”
The man then grabbed Tom with his one arm and tried to lunge at him, but Tom stepped back, breaking the man’s grip on him.
The man took another step towards Tom, but Tom took two steps back matching, and looking into the face of what was once a man, but now he wasn’t sure what it was.
Tom heard screams from around him. He glanced out the corner of his eye saw other firemen getting into fights with what appeared to be survivors.
The man still faced him, smiling.
Tom never heard the footsteps, and didn’t know they were there, until a bunch of people grabbed him from behind and started eating him.
The last thing Tom saw was the one armed man opening his mouth to feed on his face.
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