Miracle in a wall of flames

Seeing a car wreck on the six o’clock news is one thing, but being there at the scene of the accident is another. In seventeen years as a paramedic I’ve witnessed every kind of horror. We learn to expect the worst. Our real nightmare is fire. Paramedics are not fire fighters. We’re trained - among other things - to rescue survivors from a vehicle and treat their injuries first, but if a car is in flames, it’s a non-stop emergency. You just have to hope God’s with you because there’s not one moment to pray.

My partner Tim and I prided ourselves on suiting up in less than thirty seconds: protective pants and coat, helmet and fire-resistant gloves. One October afternoon in 1993 an urgent call came over the radioed: “Two-vehicle collision. Ferguson Road.’

‘Let’s go!’ yelled Tom. We responded to the call. Tom had his gear on before we left the station. Mine was still stowed in a bag in the ambulance. Tom climbed into the driver’s seat, and we proceeded to the accident location, just a few minutes north of town. I’ll set no records suiting up today, I thought, reaching for my bag.

‘Bad news, Roy,’ Tom called out as he pulled our ambulance to a stop by the road. We were first on the scene. One car, its front end smashed, was on the highway, while off on the side of the road a white car was engulfed in flames. Fire roared into the sky. I caught my breath. Our puny ten-pound extinguisher was no match for a blaze like that.

‘Two people are in front,’ I said, spotting their silhouettes amid the flames. Tom ran to the driver’s side of the burning car. I pulled on my gloves, grabbed my medical kit and got to the car seconds behind him.

Tom yanked on the door, desperate to reach the driver, whose stricken face was visible through the window. I could see the car’s crumpled dashboard pushed into her body, trapping her. The door wouldn’t budge. Just as I reached Tom’s side the flames leaped into the front seat.

Panicked, the passenger shoved his door open, falling out on the ground. His clothes were on fire!

‘Tom!’ I yelled. The two of us carried the man away from danger. We pressed his chest and back with our protective gloves, smothering the flames. Then we heard a muffled bang. The car’s windows had exploded from the heat. Tom ran back to the car while I opened my kit and began to treat the passenger’s burns.

Sirens wailed as a fire engine screeched to a stop. Glancing up from my patient I saw Tom reach his arms through a wall of flames, into the car, trying to pull the trapped driver from the car.

‘Out of the way!’ shouted a fire-fighter, moving Tom aside. Positioning a hose, the fire-fighter directed a stream of water into the car. As flames subsided, we could see that the driver was beyond help. We do what we can, I told myself sadly, returning to my patient. People say everything is in God’s hands. In my line of work, that fact was sometimes hard to accept.

With the fire under control, we had our first chance to check the other car involved in the collision. The driver was crumpled in the seat in pain but conscious. As I was examining her I heard the thunder of an arriving helicopter, and a fire-fighter came up beside me to offer his help. ‘Take care of this one,’ I said. I went back to our injured passenger. Tom and I waited until our patient was turned over to the helicopter team.

We removed our protective clothing, and then drove back to the station to clean and restock our ambulance. I was reviewing the disturbing events of the day in my mind, still hoping for some kind of reassurance. Putting new sheets on the stretcher I looked up and saw Tom. His face was pale.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

Without a word, Tom gave me his fire-resistant gloves. Three fingers of his left glove were gone, completely burned off. On his right glove, three fingers and the thumb were burned away

‘Are you okay?’ I asked. Tom raised his hands and turned them palm up. I winced, expecting to see third-degree burns. But his hands were whole and healthy. I turned them over to examine the backs. Not a mark. No evidence of burns. I was speechless.

‘That isn’t all,’ Tom said, motioning for me to follow him.

We walked around to the driver’s side of the ambulance. Tom opened the door and pulled his protective coat from where he’d stowed it behind the seat. He stepped back, offering me the coat.

I couldn’t believe it! Both arms of his thick coat were charred black, clear up to the elbows.

‘I watched you,’ I said. ‘You reached through the window of that car.’

Fire all around me,’ he agreed, nodding. ‘A wall of fire.’

Tom pushed up his sleeves. Again, no burns. Not even the hair on his arms was singed. He’d reach through fire, but he was untouched. It was almost as if the laws of nature had changed.

‘How could this be?’ Tom asked.

I shrugged, and then spoke the answer that hovered in my mind: ‘You were in God’s hands.’

By Roy Gilliland