by Hal Bodner
The fan-boy in the wheelchair reminded me that it was not only petty and self-absorbed, but downright silly, for me to go around resenting civilians because they relied on me to pull their fat out of the fire, in this case, literally. When I take the gifts I’ve been given for granted, I run the danger of becoming mean spirited. I’m so often confronted with the selfishness, thoughtlessness, and downright stupidity of so many people, all of whom seem to think that I’m required to help them, that it’s easy to forget that I don’t take my marching orders from a magic mirror or a burning bush; I undertook this obligation voluntarily.
It was about time I stopped resenting the very path I’d chosen for myself. I let my gaze wander over the people in the room and I reminded myself that none of them had deliberately decided to be here just so they could get on my nerves and screw up my day. For whatever reason–excess weight, a wheelchair, age, hysteria, or injury–these five hadn’t been able to get out of the building before the flames cut them off. Fortunately, none of them had been stupid enough to try the elevator.
I blinked as my heretofore under-used brain cells finally kicked in and a new idea blossomed in the fertile soil of my ever-clever mind. I smiled.
“Actually, there is something you all can do…”
The heavy girl misunderstood and thought I was smiling at her. Her tears instantly dried, her cheeks turned scarlet and she couldn’t look at me straight-on.
Fat chicks and gay guys. It’s like iron to magnets.
“I think I saw something in the hall.”
“You’re not going back out there?” She gasped; her blush faded and she paled at the thought. One hand flew to her overly-ample bosom in a shocked gesture that was surprisingly dainty.
I pointed at the bathroom window. “Get started on breaking that!”
“Listen Mr. Macho…” The secretary actually waggled a finger at me. “You may be all high and mighty, smash through walls for a living, thank you very much. I’m an administrative assistant. Thirty-two years I’ve been with this company. What are we supposed to use? Our bare hands? Did you think about that, Mr. Smarty Pants in the aquamarine cape?”
“It’s turquoise,” I muttered under my breath. “Wait here,” I told the rest in a louder voice. I kicked my stupid fire break aside, spared a small smile each for the large girl and the guy in the wheelchair and exited into the smoke-filled hallway.
“Wait here,” I heard the old broad mimicking me. “He thinks maybe we’ll rush out to catch a movie?”
To be honest, it was mostly my reluctance to behave badly in front of my two newest fans that stopped me from silencing the old bag’s sarcastic comments with a left uppercut to the jaw. Besides, there were other things more demanding of my attention. While I was inside the bathroom, one of the tiny rivulets of flame from the burning wires that I’d so casually leapt over had grown into a full-fledged wall of fire. I tried not to flinch from the pain when I plunged into it and, to my surprise and delight, I discovered that it was barely a foot wide. I emerged in a relatively flame-free area which was nevertheless as hot as hell, and found what I thought I’d seen.
One of those glass-fronted cabinets containing fire equipment hung on the wall. Given how far the fire had progressed, the extinguisher would be about as effective as me peeing to put it out. The hose, however, was another thing. I unwound it, but when I tried to tug it free of its mounting, the unexpected resistance threw me off balance and I ended up on my ass once again. With an angry snarl and a deliberate disregard of childhood warnings that I should “…take that out of your mouth or you’ll chip a tooth,” I bit into the hose fabric near the coupling and began worrying at it. I managed to get a tear started with my teeth, and I finished by ripping it clean through by hand like I was opening a bag of chips. There was no time to worry about neatness so I draped it clumsily under my arm and around my shoulders and hoped I wouldn’t trip over the coils. With my free hand, I grabbed the axe.
Back in the bathroom, I dropped the hose and hefted the axe with a manly, confident grip. Conscious of more adoring gazes from the large girl and the handicapped guy, I squared my shoulders and flexed my arms so that my biceps bulged heroically.
“Never fear,” I proclaimed again, relishing the noble tableau I presented. “The Whirlwind is here!”
With a mighty swing, and an audible swish of metal as it cut the air, I slammed the axe blade into the window, expecting the glass to explode dramatically outward.
Anti-climax is a terrible, terrible thing.
The window did, indeed, crack. There was also what one might call, if one were being very generous, some shattering in the form of a few minuscule pellets of safety glass which tinkled to the floor. The embedded wire safety screen made sure that most of the window stayed put. With an un-hero-like growl, I tossed aside the axe and punched through the cinder block wall next to the window with both hands. I grunted as I ripped the whole damned window free–frame, safety glass, and all–and flung it into the alley below.
I hopped onto the outside ledge to survey our escape route. Chief Thatcher’s people were nothing if not efficient. Either they’d noticed the window popping out of the side of the building or they had heard the crash when it landed. In either case, a couple of them were pointing up at us and shouting. I tried to make out what they were saying but when the newspapers write about “roaring” flame, they aren’t being poetic. You never realize, until you’re caught in one, just how loud a fire in an office building can be. Not only do partitions and things topple over as they burn, but computers and faxes and all of the other equipment tend to explode when they get overheated.
I yelled back but the folks on the ground couldn’t hear me either. I suppose we could have played charades. I pointed to the bathroom behind me, held up five fingers to indicate five people, and hoped they understood. I waited long enough to see a fire truck backing around the corner into the alley before I ducked back inside. I uncoiled the hose and tied one end around my middle. Then, I held out the free end and bowed, with a courtier’s elan, to the trapped people.
“Your chariot awaits, my friends.”
They all looked at me blankly and I heaved a mighty sigh. I honestly don’t know what possesses me to try for panache in the middle of an emergency. People just don’t appreciate style any more.
“Up onto the sill,” I told them. “We’re leaving.”
“I suppose you expect us to climb? That ledge has got to be five feet off the floor. I’m three years from retirement. Do I look like a mountain goat?”
I was tempted. God knows I was tempted. But I kept my mouth shut for once. Instead, I grabbed the stupid cow, and before she knew what was happening, I whipped the end of the hose around her torso a few times and tied it off. Quickly, before she had time for another jibe, I dragged her out onto the ledge.
Below us, the fire truck had gotten hung up at the corner of the alley, too long to make the turn completely. Though the ladder fell short by roughly two stories, it looked fully extended and I figured it was as close as it was ever going to get. Not great, but better than I’d hoped. Two stories is only…what? Twenty, twenty-five feet? Two fire fighters were waiting on the little platform at the top, arms reaching to receive the first refugee.
“You ready, lady?”
Her eyes widened. For the first time, a note of legitimate fear tinged her voice. “You don’t expect me to jump, do you?”
“Of course not,” I reassured her in honied tones.
Then I pushed the bitch off the ledge.
She was in free fall for only a few seconds before the slack ran out and I took the brunt of her weight with my shoulders. In the brief time it took for me to play out the hose and ease her down to the firemen, she impressed me with her vast knowledge of profanity. I learned a few new words that even my days as a street hooker hadn’t taught me.
Once she’d been untied and I tugged back the hose, I turned to the rest of my hapless charges.
“You’re next.”
I moti
oned to the hipster girl, who was huddled in the corner, quivering.
“Oh, no,” she whispered in a high and tight voice. “I couldn’t possibly. I’m afraid of heights.”
“Listen, sister…” In spite of my earlier resolve to try and be more tolerant, my patience was fading fast. “I don’t mean to embarrass you, but all those designer knock-offs you’re wearing are cheaply made.”
“I am not…!”
I cut her indignation short.
“Even if the manufacturer in China bothered to flame proof ’em, it was probably with a fire retardant that does more harm than good. Those things might take longer to burn, but they get very hot and release toxic fumes like nobody’s business. If you’re lucky, you might pass out before your skin starts to get all black and crispy.”
She blanched. A moment later, she was wrapped in fire hose and poised on the sill. Even though I lowered her much more gently and carefully than the first woman, she screamed the whole way down. The instant she reached the platform, she threw herself into the arms of one of the firemen. It was only because I took up the slack in the hose, and because he wrapped his arms around her to save himself, that they both didn’t topple off the ladder.
“Me next, please?” This from the large girl. She glanced at the streamers of smoke trickling under the bathroom door, punctuated by a couple of small tongues of flame.
It was the “please” that got me. She was clearly terrified, yet she was still going out of her way to be polite. A hero could learn a lot about bravery from a gal like her.
“Let me get these two out first. Then, how about if you and I go together, girlfriend?”
I winked and she blushed again. It was kind of cute.
“Don’t worry,” I added, not at all certain, “We’ve got a few minutes before we’re in trouble.”
As if to call me a liar, a cinder block abutting the door frame exploded and sent shards flying everywhere. More flames curled through the newly opened gap and started devouring the paint.
“If worse comes to worse…” My mild flirting seemed to have a calming effect on her. “…I’ll carry you like a bride across the threshold.”
I grabbed up the unconscious burned guy and, as gently as possible, dumped him in the lap of my fan in the wheelchair. The flames seemed to be climbing up the bathroom wall in record time.
“This is the two for one special,” I quipped. “You’ll want to really, really hang on.”
He smiled weakly, but his eyes were round and glittering with excitement. He was just as frightened as the others. Except, in his case, there was the added thrill of being saved by his idol; it was clear he’d never dreamed of meeting the Whirlwind in person.
“You ready?”
He nodded and swallowed convulsively.
“Don’t look down. Or rather, you can look down if you want, I just don’t recommend it. Pretend this is an amusement park ride, and you’ll do just fine.”
His hands gripped the older man, holding him tightly in place. Just to make sure, I flung a few more loops of hose over the pair to keep them together.
I don’t think it occurred to him that he’d be falling freely for a few seconds while I braced myself to counter their weight. Or maybe he was in denial. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to scream in front of me and holding in all that terror was too much for him. In any case, he’d fainted by the time he reached the ladder and it took longer than I would have liked to untie the two of them.
I reeled back the hose.
“Okay, sweetheart. Your turn.”
I held out my hand and bowed as if asking her to dance in some old black and white romantic comedy. Notwithstanding the danger, she entered into the spirit of things and curtsied before allowing me to help her clamber up onto the ledge.
“Will it hold?” she asked in a teeny, tiny voice while I fashioned a crude harness out of the hose. “I’m not exactly a size six.”
“Me neither, honey,” I said with just a hint of a leer.
Her mouth dropped open when she got the point and she flushed. For a second, I thought I might have offended her. But she tittered and shot back.
“Brag, brag, brag.”
I couldn’t keep from grinning. I didn’t know her at all but I liked her spirit. Once I was back in civilian clothes, if I could find an excuse for looking her up, she might be a hoot to grab a drink with.
“Take a minute to relax and brace yourself. You tell me when you’re ready and I’ll lower you slowly.”
She nodded and took some deep breaths.
“Okay.”
It wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d expected. For most of the way, she went down easier than any of the others. The hose held out until she had almost reached the ladder. When it finally snapped, the firemen had already grabbed her legs so she had only a foot or so to fall. She looked up at me with a little “Oh!” of dismay while they undid the remnants of my makeshift harness. I watched the realization dawn on her that I would not be exiting the building by the same route.
“I’ll be fine!” I yelled. I smiled and waved and displayed my whiter-than-white teeth which are not a perk of my being an uber human as some of the tabloids have claimed, but actually from a home bleaching kit.
I ducked back inside and realized how close I’d cut it. The whole far wall, including the stack of partitions, was engulfed in flame. Burning flecks of paint gyrated crazily on the air currents like tiny sugar plum fairies that some juvenile delinquents had captured, maliciously set alight, and released. Melting plastic dripped down the scorched wallpaper and released a stream of thick black smoke. Had we waited much longer, the scenario I’d painted for the hipster woman would have come to pass. Only my augmented constitution kept me from succumbing to the toxic fumes and, even then, I was coughing hard enough to bruise a lung.
Cursing and hacking, I barged into the furnace that the hallway had become. I stood for a moment, disoriented by the smoke, trying to get my bearings, and swiping at my hair when pieces of burning ceiling fell onto my head. I took a moment to expand my senses to make sure I hadn’t missed anyone else trapped in the building. If I had, they were goners; I sensed nothing. Satisfied that I’d done the job as well as it could be done, I took off at a blind run down the hall and dove headfirst through the massive wall of fire. I had some idea landing with a smooth shoulder roll that would bring me right up to the elevator doors.
With all the damned smoke, I misjudged the distance.
Instead of springing to my feet like a Jedi master, I sailed right through the open doors and into the shaft. My hands flailed wildly for another hunk of conduit but luck had deserted me. With nothing to grab, I plummeted back through the raging inferno, twisting and turning all the way.
The roof of the elevator car in the lobby caved in like cardboard when I landed on it. How I was going to explain to Peter why I was limping was something I’d have to deal with when it came up. I shoved aside the shattered plastic sheets of faux wood paneling and warped steel beams and staggered painfully to my feet.
“Do you really want the public to find out you use words like Muthafukinsonuvabitch?”
Gretchen was in uniform. Which meant that slapping her would have been a felony.
“What’s the damage?”
Her smirk at my ungainly landing was washed away by a grim fatigue. Normally, Gretchen is overly obvious about being amused by my whole cape-and-costume routine. It’s only in times of crises that she takes me seriously.
“Not as bad as it could have been. Outside of those who were killed in the initial explosion, and those poor bastards in the bleachers, very few of the spectators have more than mild injuries. Some of the Greene Genes employees are going to be making nice disability claims thanks to the smoke and toxic shit they inhaled, but not too many are in critical condition. As of right now, as I said, it could have been a lot worse.”
“I can tell you there are no stragglers below the fifth floor. Above that, I have no idea.”
“And we’re i
t down here,” she said, drawing my attention to the fact that all of the stragglers were gone save for her, and a trio of grime-covered firefighters who looked ready to dive back into action in spite of the fact that they were already exhausted.
“By the way, what are you and your buddies doing inside the building?” I asked. “The place is on fire in case you didn’t notice.”
“Making sure you’re okay, believe it or not. When I heard you were trapped on the ledge, I had a feeling you’d come scampering back down the elevator shaft.”
“Scampering?”
“I thought I’d spare your feelings.”
Shoulder to shoulder, we sloshed through the puddles of inky water pooling on the marble floor and made our way into the courtyard, mindful of cinders from above. My fingers itched to untwist the collar of Gretchen’s shirt and wipe a smudge of jelly donut filling from the front of her uniform. Every dry cleaner in town adores Gretchen. How not? Her monthly bill guarantees that all their kids will be able to afford college. The only time you can’t use the stains to tell what Centerport’s police chief had for breakfast that morning is when she skips meals because she’s too busy working on a case, and the crumbs are left over from the day before.
While I was inside, the paramedics and firefighters had been busy. The last of the victims were being loaded into ambulances, and streams of water arched through the air to drench the lower floors. The fire on five was still merrily ablaze but, even as we watched, a hovering helicopter dropped half a lake’s worth of water onto the roof.
“Wow!” I couldn’t keep the admiration out of my voice. “I thought they only used those things for forest fires.”
“Normally, yeah. But Greene Genes has a lot of money.”
We walked toward the barricades.
“I’d like to take credit for helping save more people,” she shrugged, “but you know how well Jackson Greene takes care of his employees. Great salaries, great benefits and, thank God, a great evacuation plan. They hold fire drills every few months and give prizes to whichever department gets all their people out quickest. As soon as they realized the fire was on five, everyone above it went straight to the roof for evacuation.” She frowned and shook her head. “Even so, how many got left behind? A half dozen? More? Shows no matter how well you prepare, something always manages to screw the pooch.”
