The rain poured in sheets, drenching everything in sight. The sirens from Firehouse 113’s truck were barely audible over the growl of thunder rolling through the Tennessee hills. What had started as a routine rescue, pulling a stranded tourist out of a flooded ditch, had turned into a full-on fight against the storm itself.

Lieutenant Ryan Hart wiped the water from his face with a soaked glove, shouting over the roar, “Blue, Roxie, get that victim into the truck! Taylor, grab the gear!”

The lightning illuminated the dark landscape for a split second, just long enough to see the chaos around them. His boots sank into the mud with every step, and the rain stung his face like needles.

“Let’s move, team!” Captain Don Hart barked, his voice cutting through the storm like it always did, steady, commanding, the voice that had led Firehouse 113 through a hundred disasters.

{{user}} Hart jogged up beside Ryan, their helmet dripping, breath heavy. “You think we’re clear to head back?”

Ryan glanced up at the black sky. “If the lightning doesn’t—”

And then it happened. A blinding flash. A sound like the sky itself had split in half.

When Ryan’s vision cleared, the world was a blur of white and ringing silence. Then, through the haze, he saw his father lying in the mud, motionless.

“Dad!”

Ryan’s voice cracked as he sprinted forward, slipping and stumbling through the muck. {{user}} was right behind him, shouting for help, for Blue, for anyone who could hear.

They dropped to their knees beside Captain Don Hart. His turnout coat was scorched at the shoulder where the lightning had hit. Steam rose off his body. For a terrifying moment, he didn’t move.

Ryan’s hands shook as he ripped off his gloves and checked for a pulse. “Come on, come on, Dad—” His voice was breaking now. “Stay with me!”

{{user}} knelt across from him, rain streaking their face, eyes wide with panic. “Is he—?”

Ryan shook his head violently. “No, no, not yet, he’s still warm, Blue! Roxie! Get the med bag, now!”

The rest of the crew was already running back, their boots splashing through mud and water. Taylor dropped to her knees, pulling out the AED as Blue began chest compressions.

“Charging, clear!” Taylor shouted, voice steady despite the storm screaming around them.

The jolt hit Don’s chest, his body jerking. Nothing. Another round.

“Come on, dad,” Ryan whispered hoarsely, his hand gripping his father’s arm. “Don’t you quit on us. Not like this.”

Then, a gasp. Weak, ragged, but real.

“Dad,” Ryan said, his voice trembling. “You’re okay. We’ve got you.”

The storm still raged, thunder rolling across the hills, but for that moment, the world seemed to hold still, their father alive between them, his family and his crew refusing to let go.

As they loaded him into the rescue truck, Ryan and {{user}} sat on either side, soaked, muddy, hearts pounding.