Chapter Text
2017
The Sun was sinking over Mancora, painting the horizon in streaks of orange and pink. The salty breeze from the Pacific mingled with the faint aroma of fried fish and sweet tropical fruits wafting from nearby food carts. Evan Buckley wiped a damp cloth over the bar’s weathered surface, the wood sticky from spilled cocktails and humidity.
The place was still buzzing, tourists laughing over bottles of Pisco and plates of ceviches, surfers recounting waves they’d conquered. Evan moved between patrons with ease, offering easy smiles and light banter. He had always been good at blending in, at slipping into new places like he was born for them.
He glanced out at the waves curling in the distance as he wiped a damp glass with a rag. He’d learned to appreciate the rhythm of this place– the easy flow of surfers, tourists, and locals blending into a laid-back chaos he could predict.
“Have you ever thought about leaving this place?” Connor’s voice cut through Evan’s thoughts as he slid onto a barstool, shaking sand from his hair. The guy was a regular– an American tourist.
Evan smirked as he set the freshly polished glass down. “What, and miss out on the endless tequila shots and backpackers complaining about sunburns?”
Connor laughed, shaking his head. “Come on, Evan. I’m serious.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “I’ve got this idea. Hear me out– L.A.”
Evan blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift. “L.A? Like… Los Angeles?”
“Yeah.” Connor grinned, his eyes gleaming with that infectious enthusiasm Evan had come to associate with wild ideas that usually led nowhere. “You’re wasting your time here, man. L.A is the kind of place where you can really do something. Make something of yourself.”
Evan crossed his arms, the thought both ridiculous and oddly tempting. “And what exactly do people ‘make’ of themselves in L.A? Sounds like a lot of traffic and overpriced coffee.”
“That’s part of the charm.” Connor joked, then grew more earnest. “Seriously though, the city’s got opportunities. Whatever you want– firefighters, actors, artists…they’re all there, chasing their dreams. You’ve got the restless vibe, Evan. I see it every time you look out at the ocean like it’s daring you to do something bigger.”
Evan frowned, turning over the words in his mind. Restless? Maybe Connor had a point. He’d always been the guy looking for more. He just didn’t know what “more” looked like yet.
He leaned his elbows on the counter. “Tell me more about L.A.” he said, curiosity breaking through his skepticism. “Why do you think I’d fit there?”
Connor’s grin widened, practically contagious. “You’d fit in because L.A’s all about reinvention, man. People come there to figure themselves out, or start over. Doesn't matter where you’re from or what your story is– you just show up, hustle, and boom, new life.”
Evan huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Sounds like a sales pitch.”
Connor raised his beer in a mock toast. “Guilty as charged. But seriously, imagine it– beaches, nightlife, endless opportunities. You got that whole rugged, good guy charm thing going on. You could bartend there easily if that’s what you wanted. Or… You could do something bigger.”
“Bigger.” Evan repeated quietly. The word stuck in his mind like a stubborn splinter. He thought about the long, hazy nights here in Mancora– the rhythm of surf, the flickering lights, and the parade of faces that changed but never really went anywhere. It was beautiful, sure, but stagnant.
Connor leaned in, his voice lower but insistent. “What is it you really wanna do, Evan? Not just tomorrow, but long-term. If you could do anything, no limits– what would it be?”
The question hung between them, heavy and unsettling. Evan wasn’t sure how to answer. He’d spent so much time of his life running from things– his parents, expectations, regrets– but he’d never stopped long enough to figure out what he was running towards.
“I don’t know.” Evan admitted honestly. “I guess I just wanna…matter, you know? Do something that means something.”
Connor nodded like he understood. “Then come to L.A with me. See what’s out there. You might not find all the answers right away, but I promise you’ll find something that’ll make you feel alive.”
The idea sounded insane– a leap into the unknown with no guarantees. But maybe that was exactly what he needed. A slow grin tugged at Evan’s lips. “Okay, fine. You’ve got me thinking about it.”
“Thinking? Nah, man.” Connor said with a mock-serious tone. “You’re already halfway to packing your bags. Trust me– I know that look.” Evan rolled his eyes. “And don’t worry– I’ll teach you how to survive the traffic.”
Evan shook his head, laughing despite himself. “Guess I better start getting used to chaos, huh?”
“You were made for it.” Connor said knowingly.
Evan felt the first flicker of excitement spark in his chest, unfamiliar but welcome. Maybe it was time to trade predictability for possibility.
The bar had emptied out by the time Evan locked up for the night. Moonlight gleamed off the ocean, turning the waves silver as they crashed against the shore. The night air was cooler now, carrying the faint scent of salt and freedom.
He walked along the sand, his flip-flops dangling from his hand. The rhythmic sound of the waves usually calmed him, but tonight his thoughts were loud, tangled with possibilities Connor’s words had unleashed.
Los Angeles.
It sounded like something from a movie– a place where dreams were either made or crushed under the weight of relentless ambition. But he wasn’t looking for fame or fortune. He just wanted… something. Something bigger, like Connor had said.
He kicked at a shell embedded in the sand, frustration creeping into his chest. “What the hell do I even want?” he muttered to himself.
There was a familiar ache under the surface, one he rarely let himself dwell on. The hollow space carved out by years of feeling invisible back home. No matter how far he ran– from Hershey to Peru– that ache had followed him, a constant reminder that he was still searching for a purpose.
Connor’s voice echoed in his mind: What is it you really wanna do, Evan? Not just tomorrow, but long-term. If you could do anything, no limits– what would it be?
Evan stopped walking, the damp sand cool under his feet. What did he want?
Images flickered through his mind– snapshots of moments he hadn’t thought about in years but that suddenly demanded attention.
He was sixteen again, biking along the wooded trails outside Hershey. The thick summer air clung to his skin, and the scent of pine and damp earth filled his lungs. The ride had been his way to escape the suffocating tension at home, but that day, the sound of a sharp cry cut through the stillness.
Evan skidded to a stop, gravel spraying beneath his tires. A young boy, no more than ten, was trapped in the shallow creek bed below, his bike twisted awkwardly on the bank. Blood trickled from a gash on his knee, mixing with muddy water. Without hesitation, Evan had dropped his bike and scrambled down the embankment, his shoes slipping on the slick rocks.
“Hey, you okay?” Evan had asked, voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through him.
The kid sniffled but nodded bravely. “My legs hurt. I can’t move the bike.”
“Don’t worry, I got you.”
Evan lifted the bike with more effort than he wanted to admit, freeing the kid’s leg from where it had been pinned. He hoisted the boy up onto firmer ground, guiding him back to the trail. The rush of relief and pride hit Evan harder than the effort of the rescue itself.
I did that, I helped him. He’d thought.
The memory bled into another, a couple of years later on a long stretch of highway outside Washington, D.C. Evan had been road-tripping with some friends he made along the way when they spotted a woman stranded by the side of the road, smoke curling from the engine of her beat-up sedan.
“Just keep driving.” one of his friends had muttered. “Someone else will stop.”
But Evan had already pulled the car onto the shoulder.
He hopped out, ignoring his friends’ complaints. “You need a hand?” he called over the roar of passing cars.
The woman, flustered and swearing in the summer heat, had looked at him like he was her last hope. “Yeah.” she breathed. “The tire blew, and I can’t get the lug nuts loose.”
Evan knelt beside the car, dirt smudging his jeans as he worked the wrench with determination. Sweat dripped down his temple, but he didn’t care. When the new tire was finally secure, the woman’s gratitude was palpable, her smile bright despite the chaos of the moment.
“You’re a lifesaver.” She had said with a laugh.
Evan had shrugged, brushing off the praise. “Just doing what I can.”
But the truth was, moments like that made him feel more alive than anything else ever had.
Then there was this fire– small, but terrifying nonetheless. He hadn’t planned to spend that night in a dingy hostel off the coast of Ecuador, but bad weather and a flat tire had forced him off the road.
He was lying on a creaky bunk bed when the acrid smell of smoke jolted him awake. Panic surged through the narrow hallway as guests stumbled from their rooms, coughing and disoriented.
His instincts kicked in without hesitation. He spotted a young mother struggling to carry her toddler, her face pale with fear. Flames licked the edges of the wooden walls, eating away at the building faster than anyone could process.
“Here, let me!” Evan shouted, extending his arms.
The woman hesitated for a split second before handling her child over. He had cradled the little girl against his chest, his heart pounding as he led them through the smoke-filled corridor toward the exit. His lungs burned, but he didn’t stop until they burst outside into the cool night air.
The mother collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath. “Thank you.” She managed between sobs, clutching her daughter tightly.
Evan knelt beside her, his own chest heaving. “Just glad you are both okay.” He said hoarsely.
Back on the beach in Mancora, Evan realized those memories weren’t just random flashes of his past. They were breadcrumbs, the universe showing him signs toward a path he hadn’t seen clearly until now. He wanted that rush again– that certainly, even in the chaos, that he was exactly where he needed to be. Helping. Saving. Making a difference.
The answer hit him like a wave, sudden and undeniable.
Firefighter.
The idea seemed crazy, but it made sense in a way nothing else ever had. The adrenaline, the teamwork, the chance to save lives– it was everything he had been chasing without even realizing it.
Evan stared out at the horizon, heart pounding with newfound clarity. L.A wasn’t just a wild suggestion anymore. It was the first step toward something real.
The next morning, Evan found Connor nursing a hangover at a beachside café, slouched over a half-empty cup of coffee. His sunglasses barely hid the evidence of the previous night’s tequila marathon– red-rimmed eyes and a face that clearly regretted most of the night’s decisions.
“You look like hell.” He teased, pulling out a chair and dropping into it with a casual thud.
Connor winced at the noise, raising a hand as though Evan’s voice was a personal attack. “Keep it down, man. The sun is my enemy right now.” Evan laughed, the sound cutting through the easy murmur of the beach crowd. “Worth it?”
Connor groaned dramatically. “Always worth it. Question is, why are you so chipper?” He lifted his sunglasses enough to give Evan a suspicious glare. “Nobody’s that perky unless they made some life-altering decision or found enlightenment at the bottom of a rum bottle.”
Evan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his expression shifting from playful to resolute. “Funny you should say that.”
“What’s up?”
Evan exhaled slowly, as though saying it out loud would make it all the more real. “I’m in.”
Connor blinked, clearly hungover but still trying to process the statement. “In for what?”
“Los Angeles.” Evan said, a grin tugging at his lips. “I’m coming with you.”
For a moment, Connor just stared, like Evan had suddenly started speaking in tongues. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
Connor’s confusion morphed into triumph. “Holy shit! I knew you’d crack! I knew it!” He pointed at Evan with a shaking finger, nearly knocking over his cup of coffee in the process. “You’re gonna love it, man. I’m telling you– surf in the morning, tacos for lunch, palm trees everywhere…L.A was made for you.”
Evan shook his head, laughing at Connor’s antics. “Yeah, yeah, but I’m not just coming to bartend.” His voice grew steadier, conviction grounding his words. “I think I want to do something different. Maybe…become a firefighter.”
Connor’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what? Firefighter? Like… actual fires? Running into burning buildings and stuff?”
“Yeah.” Evan said, the certainty surprising even himself. “Sounds crazy, right?”
Connor whistled low, leaning back in his chair. “Big move, Buckley. That’s… whoa. I didn’t see that coming.”
“Yeah. Me neither.” He said, feeling the weight of it settle over him. “But it feels right.”
Connor raised his coffee cup in a toast. “To new beginnings, man.”
Their glasses clinked together, sealing the decision that would change Evan’s life forever.
Two weeks later, Buck rolled into Los Angeles in his Jeep, the warm California sun beating down on the city’s sprawling streets. The hum of traffic, the endless stream of people, and the palm trees swaying against a backdrop of smog and blue sky were an overwhelming sensory overload compared to the laid-back rhythm of Mancora.
He’d driven nearly non-stop, his Jeep packed with the few belongings he’d decided to keep: a duffel bag of clothes, a box of mementos that contains pictures of him and Maddie, souvenirs from his travels– ticket stubs, postcards, keyrings.
His body ached from the hours spent behind the wheel, but the moment he crossed into the city, a jolt of nervous excitement had sparkled through him.
Connor had texted him the address of a café in Venice Beach where they’d meet, and Buck now found himself squinting at street signs as he navigated unfamiliar roads. The closer he got to the ocean, the more the air shifted– warmer, saltier, carrying the promise of new beginnings.
When he finally spotted the café, a small place with mismatched outdoor tables and chairs clustered under striped umbrellas, Buck pulled into a spot and killed the engine. He sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, taking it all in.
He was here. No turning back now.
Connor was already waiting for him, lounging at one of the tables like he belonged there, his phone in hand and a half-empty iced coffee in front of him. He looked up as Buck approached, his face breaking into a wide grin.
“Well, well, look who made it!” Connor stood, pulling Evan into a quick, enthusiastic hug. “How was the drive?”
“Long.” Evan admitted with a laugh, running a hand through his messy hair. “But I’m here, so… worth it, I guess.” He dropped into the seat across from Connor, letting out a deep breath. “This place is…huge.”
Connor smirked. “Yeah, it can feel like that at first. But you’ll get used to it. L.A’s got its own rhythm– you just have to figure out how to move with it.”
Evan leaned back in his chair, his gaze wandering to the bustling street nearby. People walked in flip-flops and sunglasses, a mix of locals and tourists soaking in the late afternoon sun. It was chaotic, vibrant, and alive in a way that felt both intimidating and exhilarating.
“Hope you didn’t oversell it.” Evan teased, his grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Connor laughed, pushing his iced coffee towards him. “Try this. If that doesn’t sell you on the city, nothing will.”
He took a sip, wincing at the sweetness. “What is this?”
“Welcome to your new addiction: caramel iced coffee.” Connor declared proudly.
Buck set the cup down, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ll stick to black coffee for now.”
Connor shrugged. “Your loss.” He leaned forward, his tone shifting to something more serious. “So, ready for this?”
He nodded, his confidence growing with each passing second. “I am. I don’t know how it’s all gonna work out, but…I’m ready to try. I figure if I can handle the drive, I can handle whatever the city has got for me.”
“That’s the spirit. Welcome to the city of dreams, Buckley. Let’s make it count.”
Evan smiled, feeling the weight of the journey fade just a little. He was here, and for the first time in a long while, he let himself believe that maybe– just maybe– this was where he was meant to be.
Getting into the fire academy wasn’t as simple as Buck had first imagined. There were no shortcuts, no favors, and certainly no easy way to prove he belonged there. If he wanted to be a firefighter, he’d have to earn it– just like everyone else.
It started with research. Sitting at Connor’s cluttered dining table, laptop balanced on his knees, he scrolled through endless tabs about fire departments, qualifications, and academy requirements. The information was overwhelming: written exams, physical assessment, interviews, health examination and background checks.
“You sure about this?” Connor asked one evening, glancing at Evan from across the room.
He didn’t look up. “Yeah, I am.” His voice was steady, filled with more conviction than even he expected.
Connor snorted. “Figured you’d wanna be a lifeguard or something. Ride around on a Jet Ski, save some beach babes.”
“Tempting.” Evan admitted with a grin. “But nah, I want something more real, you know? Something that makes a difference.”
That was the truth of it. Surfing waves and bartending had been fun, but he wanted something meaningful, something that gave his life a purpose.
Evan stood in front of the Firefighter Candidate Academy registration desk, the line moving slowly as hopeful recruits filled out forms or spoke nervously with staff members. The hum of conversations and shuffling papers filled the room.
A middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor beckoned him forward. “Next!”
He stepped up, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and nerves.
“Name?” She asked, fingers poised over the keyboard.
“Evan Buckley.” He said confidently.
She typed rapidly, her gaze nerve wavering from the screen. “Applying for the FCA entrance written exam?”
“That’s right.”
“ID and proof of residency.” She instructed.
Buck slid his driver’s license and utility bill across the counter. She verified the documents, then pushed a form toward him.
“Fill this out.” She said. “Exam’s in three weeks. Study materials are online– link’s on the packet.”
“Got it.” he said, taking the form.
As he walked away, he glanced down at the confirmation sheet:
Written Exam: August 3, 8:00 a.m, Los Angeles Convention Center’s Petree Hall.
This was it– the first step toward becoming a firefighter.
Evan wasn’t exactly a bookworm, but he knew this test wasn’t something he could wing. He’d read enough forums to understand that the written exam tested mechanical reasoning, reading comprehension, math skills, and problem solving.
Sitting at the small kitchen table, he pulled the FCA study guide on his laptop. Pages of sample questions and explanations filled the screen.
“Okay, let’s do this.” He muttered to himself.
The first section– mechanical reasoning– was all about understanding how gears, pulleys and levers worked. He always had a thing for fixing things, whether it was in the house or on his motorcycle, so these questions clicked for him.
Reading comprehension was trickier. He forced himself to focus on dense passages, highlighting key information and answering questions about main ideas and supporting details.
Math was where things got messy.
“Great.” He grumbled as he stared at a complex word problem involving fractions and water flow rates. “Exactly what I signed up for.”
Still, he pushed through, taking practice tests late into the night. He even found himself solving problems in his head while waiting in line at the grocery store or during morning runs.
One afternoon, Connor walked into the living room and found him surrounded by papers, a calculator in one hand and a pencil in the other.
“Man, you look like you’re cramming for finals.” He said, laughing.
“Feels like it.” Evan admitted. “But hey, no pain, no gain, right?”
Connor grinned. “You got this.”
The Convention Center buzzed with low conversations as candidates lined up to check in. The room itself was cavernous, filled with rows of desks, each one spaced meticulously apart. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a sterile glow over the sea of nervous faces.
Evan stood near the entrance, his hands resting on his hips as he scanned the room. The weight of anticipation sat heavy on his chest. He wasn’t the type to get nervous– most of the time, he thrived on adrenaline. But this was different. This test wasn’t about surviving a night shift or winging it behind a bar in Peru. This was about building a future he wanted more than anything.
“Name?” The proctor asked him as he reached the front of the line.
“Evan Buckley.”
The proctor checked a clipboard, then handed him a numbered card. “Desk 37. Leave your phone and personal belongings in the bin. No talking, no leaving the room unless absolutely necessary. Got it?”
“Got it.” Evan confirmed, sliding his phone and keys into the bin before heading to his seat.
The test packet sat ominously in front of him– thick and filled with questions that could make or break this phase of the process. A sharpened pencil rested neatly to the side.
The proctor’s voice cut through the hum of tension. “You have three hours to complete the exam. Begin.” The room fell silent except for the rustle of papers and scratch of pencils on paper. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus as he flipped open the first page.
The first section was mechanical reasoning. Diagrams of gears, pulleys, and levers filled the page, each accompanied by questions that tested his understanding of basic physics.
His lips curved into a slight grin– this was familiar territory. Memories of tinkering with engines and fixing random mechanical issues flashed through his mind.
Gear A has 24 teeth, and Gear B has 12 teeth. If Gear A makes four complete turns, how many turns will Gear B make?
8 complete turns. Easy.
He breezed through the section, finishing faster than expected.
The next section required more focus. Dense passages about fire protocols, emergency response strategies, and departmental regulations filled the pages.
Low-pressure hydrants can be classified as follows: “double” hydrants, which can supply two engines; “single” hydrants, which can supply only one engine: and “suction” hydrants, which are supplied from a static source.
According to the passage above,
a “single” hydrant is a high-pressure hydrant.
a “suction” hydrant can supply two engines.
a “single” hydrant can supply only one engine.
a “double” hydrant is supplied from a static source.
He read the option carefully, and marked “C” as the correct answer and moved on.
Then there was math. Evan grimaced slightly as he turned the page. Numbers had never been his favorite thing, but he knew this part was crucial.
If a fire engine pumps water at a rate of 1,500 gallons per minute, how many gallons will be used in 12 minutes?
18,000 gallons.
He double-check his work, tapping the pencil against the desk before moving on.
As the minutes ticked by, his confidence grew. He fell into a rhythm– read, analyze, answer. The room faded away, his focus narrowing to just the test in front of him.
Finally, he reached the last problem. His hand ached from writing, but he powered through, double-checking his calculations before marking the final answer.
“Time’s up.” The proctor announced sharply. “Pencil down.”
Evan exhaled deeply, muscles tense from concentration. He set the pencil down carefully and leaned back in his chair, letting the weight of the moment settle over him.
As the proctor collected the exams, he felt a surge of cautious optimism. He’d given it everything he had, and that was all he could do.
Walking out of the testing center, Evan blinked against the bright sunlight. One step down– many more to go. Maybe.
About a week later, he received an email notification. His heart raced as he clicked it open: Congratulations, Evan Buckley! You have passed the FCA written exam with a qualifying score of 92%.
He laughed out loud, a rush of relief and pride flooding through him.
Connor raised an eyebrow from the couch. “Good news?”
“Passed the exam!” Evan said, grinning ear to ear.
“Knew you would.” Connor said, confidently.
His mind was already moving ahead. The written test was just the beginning. But he was ready. One step closer to becoming the firefighter he was determined to be.
The morning sunlight streamed through the blinds as Evan sat at the kitchen table, sipping his coffee. His phone buzzed, breaking the quiet hum of the morning. He glanced at the screen, his heart rate spiking when he saw the subject line: FCA Interview Invitation.
He stared at the message for a moment before opening it.
Dear Evan Buckley,
We are pleased to inform you that based on your performance on the written exam, you have been selected for an interview for the upcoming class at the Firefighter Candidate Academy. Your interview is scheduled for Wednesday, August 9th, 9:00 a.m, at the Los Angeles Fire Department Training Center.
Please arrive at least 15 minutes early, dressed in business casual attire. Bring a valid photo ID, your resume, and any supporting documents you feel may be relevant to your candidacy.
We look forward to meeting you.
Sincerely,
The Los Angeles Fire Department Recruitment Team
Evan blinked at the screen, his pulse racing. He had made it this far. It was a huge accomplishment.
He spent the following days preparing. He wasn’t one for overthinking, but he knew this was a critical moment in the process. The interview was his opportunity to showcase not just his knowledge, but his passion for firefighting, his dedication to service, and his ability to work as part of a team.
The morning of the interview arrived quickly, and he found himself standing in front of his mirror, adjusting his shirt and jacket. Business casual, he reminded himself, though he felt a little out of place in the collared shirt. He wasn’t exactly used to dressing up.
He took a final look, grabbed his folder of documents and headed out of the door.
As he drove to the Center, his nerves began to settle. He wasn’t the type to be intimidated easily but his mind raced with questions. Would he be asked about his past? About the choices he’d made that led him here? Would they challenge his readiness, or was it going to be an easy conversation?
The building was imposing when he arrived, a large complex with heavy-duty doors and windows that seemed to exude authority. Inside, the atmosphere was quieter, a sterile hum of professional energy. He signed in at the front desk and was directed to the waiting area.
The waiting room was filled with a few other candidates, each one looking just as nervous as he felt. They barely made eye contact, each one focused on their own thoughts. His palms were slightly clammy as he took seat, the nerves from the morning creeping up on him again.
At precisely 9:00 a.m, a woman in a crisp uniform entered the room.
“Evan Buckley?” She called, scanning the names on her clipboard. He stood up, adjusting his folder under his arm. “That’s me.” She offered a quick nod. “Please follow me.”
The interview room was sleek and professional, with a long table and three figures seated behind it. A middle-aged man with graying hair, a woman in her late thirties with a strong, commanding presence, and a younger man with a relaxed yet attentive demeanor. All three were dressed in firefighter uniforms.
“Mr. Buckley, thank you for coming in today.” The man with the gray hair began.
Evan nodded, offering a polite smile. “Thank you for having me.”
“Take a seat.” The woman said, gesturing to the chair across from them.
He sat down, his posture straight but relaxed as he placed his folder on the table. The woman looked him over for a moment before speaking again. “Let’s start with something simple: Why do you want to be a firefighter?”
He didn’t hesitate. The answer was ingrained in him. “I’ve always been drawn to service. There’s something about being able to help in an emergency, to be the one who makes a difference. I want to be part of something bigger than myself, something that challenges me both physically and mentally. And firefighting, it’s more than just a job. It’s about saving lives and making a real impact. That’s what I want to do.”
The younger man leaned forward slightly. “Can you tell us about a time you worked under pressure? How did you handle it?”
He thought for a moment, the memory of a difficult situation back in Mancora resurfacing. “I was working as a bartender, and one night, a customer collapsed from an overdose. The bar was packed, and people were panicking. I stayed calm, I called an ambulance, checked for breathing and pulse, he didn’t have any so I started performing CPR. It felt like everything was happening in slow motion, but I just focused on the task. It was a long few minutes, but the paramedics got there in time and he survived. That experience taught me how to keep my cool under pressure, how to act quickly and effectively when things go south.”
The woman nodded approvingly, making notes. “And what do you think are the most important qualities in a firefighter?”
He didn’t have to think long. “Strength, both physical and mental. The ability to work as a team, to put the safety of others before your own. And a willingness to never stop learning.”
“Excellent.” The graying man said. “One last question, Mr. Buckley. How do you handle working with a team, especially in high-stress situations?”
“I thrive in a team environment. I understand that everyone has a role to play, and when we work together, we can achieve more than any one person could alone. I listen, I contribute, and I always have my team’s back. Whether we’re lifting someone out of danger or going into fire, I believe in the power of having each other’s trust.”
They all exchanged looks, the younger man nodding as if approving of his answers. “Thank you Mr. Buckley. We’ll be in touch soon.” The woman said, standing up.
He stood as well, offering a confident handshake to each of the interviewers. “Thank you.”
As he walked out of the building and back into the L.A sun, he felt a rush of both relief and anticipation. He had answered the questions honestly, with everything he had. Now it was up to them.
A week had passed since the interview. Evan was on edge– nervous and excited, waiting for the call that would tell him if he had made it to the next step in the recruitment process. The days had been filled with more studying, more preparation, but in the back of his mind, the looping CPAT was always there.
One afternoon, as he was in the middle of reviewing some fire safety protocols, his phone buzzed. The caller ID read Los Angeles Fire Department Recruitment. His heart skipped a beat as he answered. “Evan Buckley.”
“Mr. Buckley, this is Sam Davis, from the LAFD Recruitment Team. I’m calling to inform you that you have been selected to take the Candidate Physical Ability Test as the next step in your application process.”
His breath caught. He had really made it this far.
“That’s great! When is it?” He asked, his voice steady but filled with excitement.
“We have an available time slot next Monday, at 10:00 a.m at our training facility in Orange. You must confirm your appointment by the end of the day.” She explained.
“I”ll be there. Thank you.” Evan felt a surge of relief and motivation. It was real now.
The CPAT was known for being one of the toughest parts of the firefighter recruitment process, designed to simulate the physical demands of the job. Evan had been preparing for this moment for weeks, running, lifting weights, and practicing endurance exercises. He knew it would push him to his limits, but that was exactly what he wanted.
The morning before the CPAT, he woke up early, knowing he needed a solid night of sleep. His mind ran through every part of the test. He reviewed the seven events:
stair climb – Ascend and descend a stairway with a 50-pound weight vest.
hose drag – Drag a hose and nozzle a distance of 75 feet.
equipment carry – Carry two tools over 40 feet.
ladder raise and extension – Raise a 24-foot ladder to a vertical position and extend it to simulate a rescue situation.
forcible entry – Simulate using a sledgehammer to strike a target on a mechanical device to simulate breaking a door.
search – Crawl through a dark, maze-like environment while searching for a simulated victim.
rescue – Drag a 165-pound mannequin a distance of 50 feet, simulating the need to rescue an unconscious or injured person.
ceiling breach and pull – Use a tool to pull down a simulated ceiling.
The morning of the CPAT was bright, the air thick with heat even though it was still early. Buck drove to the training facility, trying to keep his nerves at bay, but they had a way of creeping up on him anyway. He arrived a bit early, the smell of fresh asphalt and the faint scent of exhaust in the air as fire trucks rumbled by in the distance.
The building was massive, a series of interconnected training zones for recruits. He walked inside and checked in at the front desk. He was handed a number– a small piece of paper with the number 17 written on it. He was told to wait for his turn.
The waiting area was filled with other candidates, each one looking as focused and tense as Buck felt. Some were stretching, some were pacing, others were sipping water and silently psyching themselves up. He recognized a few faces from previous steps.
When his name was called, he stood up, feeling the weight of the moment settle onto his shoulders.
“Mr. Buckley?” the technician asked, clipboard in hand. “Ready?”
Evan gave a tight nod, rolling his shoulders as he followed the technician to the starting area. His heart pounded in his chest. They briefed him quickly on the rules again, emphasizing that the CPAT was a pass/fail test. If he couldn’t complete it within the time limit, or failed any of the taks, he wouldn’t move forward with the process.
“You’ll have 10 minutes and 20 seconds to complete all eight events.” the technician explained. “If you finish in under that time, you’re good to go. Any injuries or difficulty, just let us know.”
“Understood.” Evan replied. His hands were sweaty, but he wiped them on his pants, then gave the technician a smile. “Let’s do this.”
The horn blared, signaling the start. Buck jogged up the stairs for the first event, the 50- pound weight vest adding an additional challenge. His legs burned almost immediately, but he pushed through, focusing on the rhythm of his steps.
Next, he sprinted to the hose drag, pulling the heavy hose behind him as he fought against the drag of the 75 feet of hose. His arms screamed in protest, but he was determined. He wasn’t going to let anything stop him.
The equipment carry followed, a test of endurance as he picked up the heavy tools and carried them to the designated point, feeling muscles stretch with the weight. His breathing was labored, but he didn’t slow down.
By the time he reached the ladder raise and extension, his legs were on fire, but he couldn’t afford to stop. He gritted his teeth as he raised the ladder, remembering all those hours at the gym pushing himself harder and harder.
Forcible entry was a blur, but he hit the machine hard, his shoulders straining as he simulated breaking down a door.
The search was where he felt the burn in his lungs most– crawling through the tight, claustrophobic space, but he just focused on the task at hand. Stay calm. Keep moving.
Then came the rescue. A 165-pound rescue mannequin lay on the ground, representing a victim that needed to be pulled to safety. He gripped the straps over its shoulders, planting his feet firmly before dragging it backward across the concrete. His legs trembled under the strain, but he kept moving, inch by inch, until he crossed the finish line of the 50-foot mark.
Finally, there was the ceiling breach and pull event. Evan stood before a simulation divide designed to mimic prying open ceilings during a fire to vent heat and smoke. He gripped the pike pole, a long and heavy tool, and drove it upward into a weighted ceiling panel. The first push was manageable, but the pull back down required every ounce of strength left in his arms. He repeated the motion over and over– push, push, push, pull– his muscles shaking as he completed the required repetitions.
When he finally let the pike pole drop to the ground, he was gasping for air, every part of his body screaming. But he didn’t care. He had done it.
The time clocked his time at 9 minutes and 45 seconds, well under the maximum limit.
Evan was barely able to catch his breath when a technician approached him with a smile. “Congratulations, Mr. Buckley. You’ve passed.”
A wide grin stretched across his face. His legs felt like jelly, but he couldn’t suppress the rush of triumph that surged through him.
He had made it. Another critical step toward becoming a firefighter was behind him, and he wasn’t stopping now.
Evan’s journey to becoming a firefighter wasn’t just about physical endurance and strength– it was also about having the knowledge and medical skills to save lives. After passing the CPAT, he received the next important step in the process: the Emergency Medical Technician certification exam.
The notification came in an email from the Fire Department, detailing the requirements and instructions for the EMT test. He skimmed the email, heart racing.
Congratulations on passing the CPAT. You are now eligible to take the Emergency Medical Technician (EMT) examination, which is mandatory for firefighter applicants. Please visit the California EMS Authority website to schedule your exam.
“More studying, huh?” he muttered with a crooked smile, already picturing the thick EMT manual gathering dust on his desk. He had flipped through it during breaks between physical training but now knew it was time to dive in deep.
Evan approached his preparation with the same exact determination he used for his physical assessments. He cleared his calendar for the next two weeks, dedicating long hours to studying airway management techniques, trauma protocols and cardiac emergency procedures.
His kitchen table was covered with flashcards, diagrams and color-coded notes. He practiced CPR techniques on a training dummy he borrowed from a friend at a local first-aid training center.
Late nights were filled with reading about everything from how to control major bleeding to the proper use of a bag-valve mask (BVM)
There were moments when he doubted himself. Medical terminology wasn’t his strong suit, and memorizing the intricacies of human anatomy felt more overwhelming than hauling a 165-pound rescue dummy. But he was nothing if not persistent.
“You don’t quit halfway through a fire.” He reminded himself during one particularly frustrating study session.
The testing center was located in a nondescript building in downtown LA. Evan arrived early, his nerves bubbling just under the surface. The sterile smell of the facility mingled with the faint hum of air conditioning as other test-takers waited silently, flipping through last-minutes notes.
After checking in and verifying his identification, he was led to a small cubicle where a computer waited. The proctor explained the rules: no talking, no phones, and no leaving the room until the exam was complete.
Evan took a deep breath and sat down.
The exam was broken into several sections, covering patient assessment, trauma care, airway management, and medical emergencies. The questions were detailed and specific: What is the first step in managing a patient with suspected spinal injury? How many chest compressions should be delivered in one minute during adult CPR?
Evan focused on each question, drawing from hours of study and practice. When he wasn’t sure, he used logic and elimination to narrow down the choices. Time seemed to blur as he moved through the exam, his pulse steadying as he gained confidence.
After what felt like an eternity, he clicked the final “submit” button. The screen displayed a message:
Congratulations, you have passed the EMT examination.
He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. His lips curved into a triumphant grin as relief washed over him.
On his way out of the building, he called Connor. “Guess who’s officially certified to save your dumb ass if you ever choke on a taco?”
Connor laughed on the other end. “Let me guess– LA’s next top firefighter?”
“That’s right.” His grin widened as he walked to his Jeep.
The background check wasn’t a flashy part of the journey to become a firefighter, but it was just as critical as the physical or medical certifications. The Los Angeles Fire Department made it clear during the recruitment process: integrity and character mattered just as much as strength and skill.
Buck sat in the waiting area of the personnel division office. A folder containing his application documents rested on his lap– employment history, references, and proof of certifications all meticulously organized.
It wasn’t like he had skeletons in his closet. No criminal record, no legal trouble. Still, there was something about having your entire life put under a microscope that made anyone uneasy.
His interviewer, a no-nonsense investigator named Officer Rivera, called him into a small conference room. Her expression was neutral, professional, but her sharp eyes missed nothing as she shook his hand and gestured to him to sit.
“Let’s start from the beginning.” She said, flipping open a thick file. “Full legal name?”
“Evan Buckley.”
“Date and place of birth?”
“June 27th, 1991. Pennsylvania, USA.”
“No arrests, citations, or outstanding warrants. Is that correct?”
“Yes. Pretty boring, huh?” Evan tried to lighten the mood, offering a sheepish grin.
Rivera didn’t smile but moved on. “I see you’ve lived abroad. Mancora, Peru. For how long?”
“About a year. I left after some time traveling. Spent most of it working, staying out of trouble.”
“We’ll be verifying your employment history and contacting references. Anything we should know before we make those calls?”
“Nothing that will surprise you. I worked hard, kept my head down.”
The rest of the interview covered everything from his high school records to his brief stints working odd jobs across the country before landing in Peru. Rivera’s questions were precise, digging into gaps in his timeline and probing for inconsistencies.
Finally, she closed the folder and fixed him with a steady gaze. “This part of the process isn’t just about what you have done, Buckley. It’s about trust. Firefighters are held to high standards– you’re expected to be honest, reliable, and accountable at all times. Got it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good.” She nodded. “We’ll be in touch.”
Two weeks later, Evan was sitting on the couch when his phone buzzed.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Buckley, this is Officer Rivera from the LAFD background investigations unit.”
He sat up straight, heart thudding. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I just wanted to inform you that you’ve passed the background check. You’re clear to proceed to the next phase of the hiring process.”
Relief flooded through him, and he couldn’t help the grin that broke across his face. “Thank you, Officer.”
“Good luck, Buckley.” She said before hanging up.
Buck exhaled deeply, the weight of weeks of uncertainty lifting off his shoulders.
The day he received the official call from the LAFD inviting him to complete the final stages of the hiring process was one he wouldn’t forget. The voice on the other end of the line was formal but congratulatory.
“Evan Buckley, congratulations. You’ve successfully completed all stages of eligibility, including background checks, certifications and examinations. We’d like to formally offer you a conditional position as a recruit for the Firefighter Academy.”
His heart skipped a beat and he clenched his fist to keep from cheering right there.
“I accept.” He said firmly, barely able to keep the excitement out of his voice.
The HR coordinator continued. “This offer is contingent upon passing a final medical evaluation and orientation process. Details will be emailed to you. We look forward to seeing you soon.”
“Thank you.” He said, grinning ear to ear. “I won’t let you down.”
After hanging up, he sat back in disbelief, staring at the phone as if it might vanish from existence. He was one step closer to putting on the gear and earning his place as firefighter in Los Angeles.
A week later, Evan arrived at the department’s central training division. The station buzzed with energy– fellow recruits greeted one another nervously, their excitement barely concealed beneath polished exteriors.
A senior firefighter named Captain Ortega addressed the group. “Welcome to the start of your firefighting journey.” He said with a stern but encouraging expression. “You’ve already made it further than most. But don’t get too comfortable– this is where the real work begins.”
The orientation covered department protocols, expectations for the academy, and what it truly means to serve as a firefighter. He listened intently, taking in every word. He felt the weight of responsibility pressing on him but also the thrill of being part of something bigger than himself.
The HR officer handed out thick packets detailing the terms of employment, benefits, and training schedules. “Sign these and return them before the end of the day.”
Evan’s pen hovered over the contract for just a second before he pressed it to paper. His signature was bold and decisive– marking the official start of his new life.
The Fire Academy smelled of sweat, determination, and the faint tang of burnt wood that clung to the training grounds. Evan stood among a group of recruits, the California sun beating down relentlessly on their newly issued academy gear. There was a nervous energy in the air– the kind that came with new beginnings and untested challenges.
The instructor, a grizzled firefighter named Harris with a booming voice that could probably be heard three blocks away, paced in front of the lineup.
“Welcome to hell.” Harris barked. “You made it this far, but don’t pat yourselves on the back yet. Some of you won’t last the week. Maybe not even the day. We’ll see who’s got what it takes.”
Evan squared his shoulders, determination hardening his resolve. He’d worked too hard to fall short now.
“Alright, listen up.” Harris said. “We have a problem already.” He lifted the clipboard and squinted at it. “Four of you geniuses got the same first name: Evan. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?” You think I’m gonna shout “Evan” and all four of you come runnin’?”
A few nervous chuckles rippled through the group.
“That’s what I thought.” Harris grunted. “We’re fixing this now. You’re getting nicknames. Earn’ em or take what I give you– your choice.”
He pointed to a tall guy with dark hair and a cocky smirk. “What’s your last name?”
“Buchanan, sir.”
“Kanan.” Harris declared without hesitation. “You’re Kanan now. Deal with it.”
The recruit’s jaw tensed, but he nodded stiffly, biting back whatever thought flickered behind his sharp eyes.
Harris moved on to a blonde guy standing rigid at attention. “You?”
“Evan Ross, sir.”
“Fine. You’re Ross.”
Next came a recruit with a nervous expression. “Last name?”
“Everett, sir.”
“Everett, huh? That sticks. Lucky you.” Harris turned to Buckley, sizing him up. “And you?”
“Evan Buckley, sir.”
Harris narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Buckley, huh? Got a good ring to it, but it’s a lot to shout in the middle of things. How about just Buck? Short, strong– fits a guy who gets the job done.”
Evan grinned. “Buck works, sir.”
“Good.” Harris confirmed with a sharp nod. “Kanan, Ross, Everett, Buck– you boys better live up to those names. Dismissed!”
As the recruits dispersed, Buck caught sight of Kanan walking off, his shoulders rigid.
“Hey, man.” Buck called, catching up to him. “That name bother you?”
Kanan shook his head quickly. “It’s fine.” he said tersely, though the tight line of his mouth said otherwise.
Buck shrugged. “Guess it could be worse.”
“Could it?” Kanan muttered, mostly to himself, before picking up his pace.
Buck watched him go, chuckling under his breath. “Yep, this is gonna be interesting.”
By the end of the first week, Buck had learned to ignore the ache in his legs and the sting of swear in his eyes.
One scorching afternoon, the recruits hauled weighted hose lines across the dusty training field. The thick lines were heavy, unwieldy, and fought every movement like a stubborn beast. Buck dug his boots into the ground and heaved, veins standing out on his arms.
“You’re tired, Buckley?” Kanan teased from beside him, his voice strained but still sharp.
Buck gritted his teeth, shooting Kanan a lopsided grin despite the sweat pouring down his face. “Not even close.”
Everett let out a dramatic groan from behind them. “I think my arms just filed for divorce.”
“Custody battle’s over.” Ross chimed in, breathless but grinning. “They got full rights to your shoulders.”
Their laughter was brief, cut off by a sharp whistle. “Less talking, more pulling! You think the fire cares about your sore arms?”
The group grunted in unison, hauling the lines the last few grueling yards until Harris finally gave the command to drop them. Buck let out a breath of relief, his chest heaving as he wiped sweat from his brow.
Later that day, they practiced ladder drills, scaling towering structures while maneuvering heavy equipment with precision. Buck’s adrenaline spiked as he climbed higher and higher, the ground shrinking beneath him with every rung.
More recruits moved cautiously, their grip tight with nerves. Not Buck. He climbed like he was made for it, fast and steady, heart racing with excitement rather than fear.
When he reached the top, he paused for a moment, taking in the sweeping view of the training grounds. The wind tugged at his sweat-soaked shirt, and for a brief second, he felt weightless. He loved this– the thrill, the challenge, the undeniable sense of purpose coursing through his veins.
“You’re fast, Buckley.” One of the instructors observed as Buck descended with smooth efficiency. “Keep that up.”
Buck grinned, adrenaline still humming through his body. “Yes, sir.”
Kanan, who had been watching from the ground, shook his head with a smirk as Buck landed lightly on his feet. “You’re gonna make the rest of us look bad if you keep that up.”
“Maybe you should speed up, Kanan.” Buck quipped, nudging his shoulder.
Kanan rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the competitive glint in his expression. “Don’t worry, I’ll catch up sooner or later.”
About a week later, the recruits were faced with one of the most intense parts of their training. The search and rescue drills. The air was thick with anticipation, and Buck could feel the weight of what was going to happen. His muscles ached from the previous days, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins drowned out any fatigue.
Harris, standing at the edge of the maze-like training structure, surveyed the recruits with an unblinking stare.
“Full gear. Mask on. Visibility zero. Let’s see who can find the victims and find their way out alive.” Harris commanded, his voice cold and sharp.
Buck’s heart thudded in his chest. Full gear was uncomfortable– heavy and hot– but it was the only protection they had. He strapped on his air tank, adjusted his helmet, and tightened his gloves.
He pulled the SCBA mask over his face, and the world around him instantly shifted into darkness. The thick, acrid smoke seemed to suck all the light out of the air, turning everything into a shadowy blur. His breath came in slow, controlled inhales and exhales, the air in the tank cool but the heat of the environment pressing in from all sides.
His hand reached out, finding the smooth, metallic surface of the wall. The instructions were clear: stay low, keep your bearings, and make sure not to panic. But as his knees hit the ground and he began to crawl forward, a jolt of fear shot through him.
It was a simple exercise, but the reality of the simulation was heavy on his mind. There was a person– a dummy– somewhere in the smoke. He had to find them. He had to get them out.
His hands brushed against the cold metal as he crawled, his senses sharply attuned to every sound, every feeling. His heartbeat was the loudest thing he could hear, thudding against his ribs.
He moved in silence, stretching his arm out as far as it could go, following the wall like a lifeline. Every instinct told him to rush, but he held back, forcing himself to stay calm.
Then, his glove brushed something soft– a body.
His heart skipped a beat. A victim.
Buck didn’t hesitate. His training kicked in immediately. He used his knee to scoot the dummy closer, tucking it under his arm and lifting it with the surprising strength he’d developed over the last few weeks.
Every second felt like a minute as he crawled, dragging the heavy body across the ground. His muscles screamed in protest, but Buck didn’t stop. He kept his breathing slow and measured, focusing on nothing but the task.
Then, a sliver of light.
It was faint, but it was there– daylight filtering through the thick smoke, a hint that the exit was near.
He pushed forward, his legs burning, his arms tired. The dummy’s weight felt like it doubled, but he kept pulling, crawling, not giving in to the exhaustion. The light grew brighter, and soon, the outline of the exit was visible.
With one final push, Buck dragged the dummy out into the fresh air. He gasped in relief, pulling off the mask in a hasty movement. His chest heaved as he stumbled to his feet, wiping the sweat from his brow.
Harris was standing at the exit, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable.
“Good work, Buckley. You found the victim and didn’t panic. Keep that up.”
Buck nodded, breathing heavily, his pulse still racing. It felt like he had just run a marathon, but the exhilaration coursed through him.
“Next time, faster.” Harris added. The words were a challenge, not a criticism, and Buck accepted them like a badge of honor. He stood straighter, feeling the weight of the moment– and the promise that one day, he would be ready for the real thing.
As he made his way back to the starting line, he felt a sense of accomplishment flood through him. The academy was tough, grueling even, but every challenge made him stronger, better. And he was beginning to realize just how much he loved it.
The path ahead wouldn’t be easy, but he was ready. He could feel it now– the call of the job, the pull of this new life. It was in his blood.
The sky was a brilliant shade of blue, a stark contrast to the months of sweat and grit that had led up to this moment. The fire academy courtyard was packed with family, friends and department officials, all gathered to celebrate the newest graduating class of firefighters.
Buck stood among his fellow recruits, the polished LAFD badge glinting on his crisp new uniform. His heart raced– not with nerves, but with the overwhelming sense of accomplishment. Months ago, he’d been a bartender in Peru, unsure of where his life was leading him. Now he was a firefighter, ready to serve and protect.
Captain Harris stepped to the podium, his voice commanding respect. “You’ve all earned this day. You pushed through the pain, the doubt and the fear. You showed courage, resilience and heart. And that’s what makes a firefighter. Remember that.”
The crowd erupted into applause as each recruit was called forward to receive their certificate.
“Evan Buckley.” Harris announced.
Buck walked with purpose toward the captain, head held high. As he shook Harris’ hand, the captain’s grip was firm and steady. “You showed up every day ready for work, Buckley.” He said in a low tone meant just for him. “That grit? It’s what makes a damn good firefighter. Don’t lose it.”
“Yes, sir.” Buck replied, pride thick in his voice.
Walking back to his spot in line, his chest swelled with a sense of purpose he’d never known before. This wasn’t just a job– it was a calling.
A week after graduation, Buck received the call he’d been waiting for.
“You’re being assigned to Station 118.” The department liaison informed him over the phone. “Captain Bobby Nash runs a tight ship, but he knows how to bring out the best in his team. Report there tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m.”
Buck barely contained his excitement. The 118 was known for being one of the busiest and most respected stations in Los Angeles. This was his chance to prove himself.
The next morning, Buck pulled up in his Jeep, nerves thrumming beneath his excitement. The towering red doors were open, revealing gleaming fire engines inside.
He took a deep breath, smoothing down his uniform as he approached the main entrance, his heart raced with anticipation. His face was a mix of nervous excitement and awe. His eyes scanned the station, taking in every detail like a kid stepping into a dream come true.
Buck walked up the stairs. The low hum of conversation greeted him as he reached the top. Around a large table, a few firefighters were gathered, casually eating and chatting. They all glanced up as he entered.
“Hi, hum, Evan Buckley, new recruit? I was told to report to Captain Nash.” He said, trying to sound confident.
The room quieted for a moment. One of the firefighters at the table glanced at the others. “You know a Captain Nash?” They all shook their heads in unison. A couple of other firefighters glanced around the room, shrugging with equal confusion. Bobby let the silence hang for a moment longer, savoring the slight tension he created. Then he leaned forward, his eyes locking with Buck’s with a knowing look.
“Take a seat, Evan.” Bobby extended a hand with a warm, welcoming grin.
Buck hesitated for a second, then grinned. This is different from what he expected, but in a good way. “Uh, Buck. Everyone calls me Buck.”
“Welcome to the 118, Buck.” Bobby said with a soft voice as he placed a hand on Buck’s shoulder, in a simple and welcoming gesture.
There was something in Bobby’s voice that assured Buck that this was more than just a job. This was a family. Buck’s smile widened, a sense of belonging settling over him.
“I might be in the right place.” Buck grinned.
Somehow, it felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.