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The tires of his truck had were state of the art, designed specifically for extreme temperatures due to weather. A thick outer layer of rubber was made from fire and heat resistant material, and it was difficult for ice to glaze over the tires. The same tires were recently incorporated into military-grade vehicles and fire trucks.
The fire trucks approaching probably had them. Daniel never thought the tires were necessary. It had been his dads idea to provide him with them. Daniel used to think of it as a family joke, since he was the most temperamental in the family, until now. The driver of the fire truck turned to look at them as it rumbled by.
Daniel couldn't see his expression because the man wore a mask. They on the other hand had no masks. What was that they were breathing? Was it toxic. Daniel remembered reading in the news paper about flamious. It was a chemical many times more flammable than napalm ever was. It was lethal to those who had the misfortune of being sprayed with it.
“Andrew, can breathing in these fumes kill us?” Daniel said.
“From what my dad told me it is no more dangerous than inhaling campfire smoke, Andrew said, “Look how many there are!" It had seemed that only one fire truck had been sent to the scene of the attack, but trailing behind it were seven other trucks. Maybe more. When they had reached the sixth truck a heavily clothed masked firefighter stepped off the truck and walked toward them.
The man put up a hand signaling for them to stop. Daniel obeyed the man and brought the truck to a standstill. The man walked toward Daniels side. He tapped on the glass and said, “Window down please.” Daniel lowered the window halfway. The truck became full of the sour smelling smoke.
“Yes sir?” Daniel said.
“May I ask what you are doing here?” The man said. His voice was hard to hear over his respirator and the licking flames around them. The fires raging around them reflected off his masks visor. His black eyes burned like coals behind it.
“I’m looking for my friend’s home,” Daniel said inclining his head toward Stacey.
“Sir, you and your friends had best get out of here. If her home is on this part of the block I’m sorry to say things aren’t looking to well for her. Carry on and don’t stop until you’re out of this fire. We are going to do the best we can to put it out,” the firefighter said smacking the door and motioning for them to move on.
Daniel rolled up the window and drove off leaving the firefighter standing on the side of the road. “Were are they going to get the water to put out these fires?” Stacey said.
“Firefighters don’t use water anymore remember?” Andrew said.
“Really?” Stacey and Daniel said at the same time.
“They quit using it in late two thousand ten, Andrew said, “In order to conserve water they developed some kind of sandy chemical that is packed in large tanks on the trucks, which they shoot out using their hoses. Where have you two been? Sleeping under a rock?” He had no idea that was more or less true for Stacey.
She has lived in poverty all her life. And now with the air riads over town she may be both homeless and fatherless now. He didn't know how he would possibly comfort her if that were the case. He drove on to find out.