Leapholes (2006)

by James Grippando

  "Sorry, Ryan!"

  He recognized the voice. It was Kaylee's.

  "Come on, Ryan! There's a fire!" She was running toward the cafeteria, leading four other ER patients straight toward disaster.

  "Stop, you're running the wrong way!" He was shouting, but she didn't hear him.

  Ryan knew the way to safety, and he was only minutes away from saving himself. But if someone didn't catch up with Kaylee, she and the others could be trapped by the flames. Ryan couldn't let that happen. On impulse, he turned and ran after them, but it was like running through a rainstorm-- blindfolded. The sprinklers continued to soak him. The smoke was thick and black. He could barely breathe, and with the alarm blaring, he could scarcely think. In a matter of seconds, he completely lost sight of his new friend.

  "Kaylee, where are you?" he called into the darkness.

  Chapter 6

  A hand emerged through heavy smoke, snatched Ryan by the collar, and yanked him into a side hallway. Ryan found himself running alongside a complete stranger. Oddly, a cool breeze was flowing toward them, as if the air conditioning were running full blast. It was blowing the cloud of smoke away from them, back toward the main corridor. No smoke meant no sprinklers. The floors were dry, the air was breathable, and the fire alarm was audible only in the distance.

  "I'm over here," said Kay lee.

  She was standing in an alcove where the hallway jogged to the right. Ryan didn't recognize the four other people in her group. Two of them were wearing hospital gowns. One was an old man with his arm in a sling. The other, a woman, had a bandage wrapped partially around her head. The rest of it trailed behind her like a fifteen-foot-long streamer. A second woman was wearing a business suit, and she looked nauseous, probably with the flu. She was carrying a plastic bucket.

  Ryan said, "You don't expect to put out this fire by throwing a bucket of water on it, do you?

  Her skin turned a pale shade of green, then she made a retching sound and deposited the rest of her lunch into the bucket. "It's not that kind of bucket," she said weakly.

  "Sorry, my bad," said Ryan.

  The fourth patient--the one who had grabbed Ryan--was a younger man. He wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a red football jacket from Central-City High School. A white name tag with green lettering was sewn onto the front of his jacket. It read, "Coach Jenkins." He had a patch over one eye, as if someone had forgotten to say Hey, Coach, catch! before tossing him the football.

  Ryan dried his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. The emergency sprinklers had yet to activate in this stretch of hallway, but everyone was already soaked from the run through the main corridor.

  Kaylee said, "Why were you calling my name, Ryan?"

  "You were going the wrong way," he said. "I had to stop you."

  "You mean you came back to get me?"

  "Well, yeah. All of you."

  "You were trying to save me?" she said. " That's so sweet."

  Coach Jenkins groaned. "Okay, okay, Romeo and Juliet. Balcony scene's over. If we don't get moving pretty quick, we'll all be toast."

  "I know the way out," said Ryan. "We have to go back past the ER, toward the hospital's main entrance."

  The woman with the flu stood up straight, though it seemed to take all her strength just to talk. "That might have been a great plan about five minutes ago. But not now."

  Ryan glanced back toward the main hallway. The smoke was thicker than ever.

  "We'll go the other way," said the coach.

  "But it could be blocked off," said Ryan. "Then we'll be trapped."

  The coach shook his head. "Can't you feel that fresh air blowing toward us? It's coming from straight ahead. I'm no firefighter, but if I want to get out of a burning building, I know enough to head toward the fresh air, not toward the smoke. Come on, everyone. Follow me."

  The coach had a firm manner of speaking. He obviously was accustomed to giving out orders,. And Ryan didn't want to waste time arguing. "Okay, lead on."

  "What's your name, kid?"

  "Ryan." He left off the last name.

  "L'new," added Kaylee. "His name's Ryan L'new."

  "I'm Coach Jenkins. This here is Mr. Bronson, Ms. Rodriguez, and Mrs. Levine."

  The names washed over Ryan, and he seemed to remember them only as Sling Man, Flu Lady, and Head Case, respectively.

  The coach said, "You bring up the rear, Ryan. Make sure no one falls behind."

  The coach went first, followed by Sling Man and Head Case. Kaylee was next, then the Flu Lady, and finally Ryan. They were walking at a brisk pace, but the coach kept them in single file. He was determined not to let them scatter in a panic. Still, Ryan had the feeling they were headed in the wrong direction.

  "Coach, check that out," said Ryan.

  The sign on the wall read, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

  "That doesn't apply when there's a fire," said the coach. "Just keep going."

  The pace quickened. Sling Man and Head Case--the old man and woman--were breathing heavily. Flu Lady was sweating more than any of them, probably from fever. The coach kept them moving, repeatedly shouting words of encouragement like Almost there, or Just a little bit farther, gang! They walked for several minutes, and Ryan had yet to see a single door or window--nothing that even resembled a way out of the building. The walls were painted cinder blocks, solid, like a tunnel. The floor had a slight slope to it, like a downward ramp.

  Another sign on the wall read, "RESTRICTED AREA, DO NOT ENTER."

  Ryan said, "This doesn't feel like the right way."

  "Zip it," said the coach. "Don't you feel that breeze getting stronger against your face? The wind doesn't blow like that in a normal hallway. There's obviously an open door or window just ahead of us. It's pulling in fresh air. We can get out this way."

  "But I don't think--"

  Ryan was in mid-sentence when the ceiling behind them came crashing to the floor. The tangle of metal, wood, and wires landed with a thundering crash. Smoke was pouring through the gaping hole. Then came a burst of heat and flames from the floor above them.

  "Run for it!" shouted Kaylee.

  Behind them the hallway was choked with smoke and debris. Scorching hot flames were the only source of light. They had to move forward, and the coach led the charge. The breeze in their faces strengthened, which kept the smoke from catching up with them. Ryan hoped the coach was right. Just ahead, there had to be a window or an opening to the outdoors that would account for the flow of fresh air. But Ryan could see only the end of the hallway--a solid brick wall.

  "An elevator!" said Kaylee. The door was wide open, and she was about to jump inside.

  "Don't get on it!" Ryan cried, but he was almost too late. At the last moment, the coach grabbed her and pulled her back to safety.

  "You don't ride the elevators in a fire," the coach said sternly. "Especially when the elevator is missing."

  Kaylee stepped to the edge and peered into the opening. Although the door was open, no elevator car was waiting. She was staring down a dark, open shaft. 'Tikes," she said. "It must be at least ten stories to the bottom."

  "You mean it goes down?" said Sling Man. "How can that be down? We're on the first floor."

  "It must be an underground facility," said Coach.

  "With its own ventilation system," said Ryan. "That's where our breeze is coming from. Fresh air is being sucked up the elevator shaft, out this open door, and down the hallway."

  "That means there's no open window at the end of this hallway," said Head Case.

  "No door to the outside," said Flu Lady.

  "No way out," said Kaylee.

  Another section of the ceiling collapsed behind them. Flames roared into the hallway from above. The sprinklers should have activated, but ruptured water pipes were dangling from a huge hole in the ceiling. Water spilled uselessly to the floor, not a drop of it reaching the sprinkler heads. The raging fire continued to spread, and it was creating more smoke than the breeze from the elevator shaft could
disperse. Ryan's eyes were watering.

  "Everybody get down!" said Ryan. He remembered from his fire drills that smoke rises, so it was safest on the floor. They all hit the deck.

  "We have to get out of here!" said Kaylee.

  "There must be a stairwell" said Ryan. "There are always emergency stairs near an elevator."

  "And they're right over here!" shouted Coach. He ran to the door, but the handle wouldn't turn. "What kind of place locks the emergency stairwell?"

  "This kind of place," said Ryan as he pointed to another sign on the wall. Though barely visible in the smoke, it read:

  DANGER: NO ADMITTANCE, LEVEL ONE CLEARANCE ONLY.

  The coach's expression soured. "All that restricted area nonsense goes out the window when there's a fire. Out of my way." He backed up, then ran toward the door at full speed, putting his shoulder into it. On impact, he cried out in pain, but the door didn't budge.

  "That's not going to work," said Kaylee.

  The coach grimaced. "No kidding, Einstein."

  "I have an idea," said Ryan. "All I need is a rope."

  "I got an idea, too," said Coach. "All I need is a fire truck."

  "I can find a rope," said Kaylee. She went to Head Case-- the old woman who had that fifteen-foot streamer of extra bandage trailing behind her. "You don't need that, do you?"

  "No. They were bandaging my head when the alarm went off. I was still attached to the roll when I ran out of the ER."

  "Good." Kaylee tore off the extra bandage, then ripped it into thirds, long ways, from end to end. She was left with three skinny bandage strips, and she started braiding them together. "Ryan, you start at the other end, and do exactly what I'm doing."

  Quickly, they twisted the three lengths together until they had a rope. Kaylee knotted both ends, and Ryan gave it a tug. It was much stronger than a single bandage strip. "This should work," he said. "Now, Coach, you're going to take this rope and lower me down the elevator shaft to the floor below us. Hopefully, the door to the stairwell will be unlocked down there. If it is, I'll run up and unlock this one from the other side."

  "That's way too dangerous," said Kaylee.

  "Do you have a better idea?" said Coach.

  The old lady coughed from the thickening smoke. "Whatever you're going to do, make it quick!"

  Kaylee said, "Why can't someone else go?"

  "I weigh less than anyone here," said Ryan. "I should be the one who goes."

  The others were like a chorus: That's right. Yes, yes. Definitely, Ryan should go.

  Kaylee seemed a bit put off by their lack of concern for Ryan's safety, but his mind was made up. "It's just one floor," he said. "It's not like I'm going bungee jumping."

  Ryan felt his way through the smoke to the open elevator door and lowered the makeshift rope down the shaft. It was just long enough to reach to the floor below. The coach tied one end around his wrist and braced himself against the wall for leverage. Ryan took the other end in both hands.

  "Ready?" asked the coach.

  "Ready," said Ryan.

  Feet first, Ryan slid past the half-opened elevator door. It was breezy inside the shaft, and darker than he'd expected. Dangling at the end of his rope, swaying side to side, he finally grabbed a cable to steady himself. But he could find nothing to stand on. He was hanging in midair, the rope in one hand, the greasy elevator cable in the other.

  "Okay, lower me!" said Ryan.

  The coach let out too much rope, too quickly. Ryan plunged several feet and nearly lost his grip. "Slower!" shouted Ryan.

  Coach reeled back, and Ryan inched his way down the shaft.

  "I'm there!" shouted Ryan.

  Coach stopped feeding him rope. Inside the dark shaft, Ryan was suspended before the closed elevator door that served the floor below. It was a typical elevator door that slid from left to right. A vertical strip of light at the far edge told him that lights were burning in the hallway, just on the other side of the door. Ryan quickly formed a plan. It was like the rock climbing wall at a carnival. All he had to do was rappel. He put his feet on the panel and braced his back against the wall. Then he pushed. Slowly, the door started to slide open.

  "How's it going, Ryan?" the coach shouted.

  "It's going!" he said through clenched teeth..

  "I can't hold on too much longer. You're heavier than you think!"

  Ryan glanced at the gaping hole below him. It was ten stories, maybe more, straight down. That couldn't be a pleasant way to die. "Just hang on, Coach!"

  Ryan pushed one last time with all his leg strength. The door slid open. Ryan swung on the rope like Tarzan on a vine. Then he let go. For a moment, it seemed as if he were flying in slow motion. He could smell the smoke above him. Beyond the opening, he saw the clean, tile floor stretching out before him. Mostly, however, he saw the dark, seemingly bottomless shaft below. He was falling, not flying. He had nowhere near enough liftoff to soar all the way to safety. He was going down the shaft.

  "Ryan!" the coach shouted.

  Ryan was dropping fast, but the rope was beyond his reach. Thankfully, the elevator door was still open. Somehow, he managed to reach up and grab the very edge of the floor. Ryan was hanging by his fingertips at the threshold. He stayed there just long enough to regain his strength. His elbow was a throbbing reminder of his bicycle accident, but he worked through the pain. His Phys-Ed teacher would have been proud. It was the fastest pull-up in the history of the universe. Ryan shot through the opening and rolled onto the tile floor.

  He looked back through the open doorway. All he could say was, "Whoa."

  He quickly got his bearings. This floor, one-story below his friends, appeared to have been untouched by the fire. It was definitely the safest way out. He spotted the emergency stairwell near the elevator. He ran to it and turned the door handle. It opened.

  "Yesssss!" he said aloud.

  He sprinted up the stairwell, gobbling up two and three steps at a time. In no time, he reached the door to the higher floor. He turned the deadbolt and pushed the door open.

  Smoke immediately hit him in the face. The fire had reached a new level of intensity. He coughed and said, "Come on, everyone! This is the only way out!"

  They came in a rush--Coach, Sling Man, Head Case, and Flu Lady, who was still toting her bucket. "Where's Kaylee?" said Ryan, holding the door.

  "Right here." She emerged through the smoke, then gave him a wink and said, "Nice of you to worry."

  It made him blush. "I wasn't--oh, never mind. Follow me."

  Ryan led them down the stairwell. The smoke followed them. When he reached the bottom, he tugged on the door handle. It wouldn't turn. "It's locked!" said Ryan.

  "It must have locked automatically from the other side," said Coach.

  The stairwell was sucking in smoke like a chimney. They rushed down another flight of stairs and found another door. "This one's locked, too!" said Kaylee.

  "Stand aside," said Coach.

  The door was made of metal, but it had glass on the top half. The coach stepped back, then leaped and delivered a martial-arts kick. The glass shattered and fell to the floor. An alarm sounded, but they didn't care. Coach reached through the opening and unlocked the door. It opened, and the six hurried inside.

  "We made it!" said Kaylee.

  "Stop right there!" a stranger shouted.

  Ryan spotted a man at the end of the hallway. He was dressed in what looked to be a spacesuit. The alarm suddenly stopped. Two other men in identical strange suits ran to the broken door. They quickly sealed the opening with heavy tape and thick plastic sheeting.

  "Sorry about the door," said Ryan. "We're just trying to get to safety."

  "It isn't safe here," the man said. His voice had a mechanical sound. He was speaking through a microphone in the glass helmet that encased his head.

  "Please," said Kaylee, "this is the only way out."

  The man's tone turned even harsher. "You have no idea how much danger you're in."

 
; "Where are we?" asked Coach.

  Ryan's gaze drifted toward the broken glass on the floor. He hadn't noticed earlier, but now he saw the red-painted lettering. The glass was shattered, so it was a bit like a jigsaw puzzle. The jagged shards were just large enough for him to piece together the warning.

  It read: INFECTIOUS DISEASE CONTROL CENTER: QUARANTINED.

  At that moment, Ryan realized that these men weren't wearing spacesuits. These were hazmat suits. They wore them as protection from contagious diseases.

  "Oh, boy," was all Ryan could say.

  "You can say that again," the man said through his hazmat helmet.

  Chapter 7

  Ryan and his five new friends were seated at a table in a brightly lit conference room. It was easily the cleanest place Ryan had ever seen, so spick-and-span that it could have made a dentist's office look like the inside of his friend "Sweaty" Colletti's gym locker--and that was a very dirty place indeed. The floor and walls were a glossy white, not a speck of dust anywhere. The table and chairs were highly-polished chrome. There were no pictures on the walls, no potted plants in the corners, and no clutter of any kind on the table. There were no windows, of course, and two men in yellow hazmat suits stood guard at the only door.

  Ryan saw no easy way out.

  The door opened, and another man entered the room. He also wore a hazmat suit, but his was bright orange. The men in yellow showed him a level of respect; he was obviously their leader. He positioned himself at the head of the long rectangular table. He remained standing, looking down on his uninvited guests. "My name is Dr. Watkins," he said through the speaker in his helmet. "It is my duty to inform you that no one will leave this room until I say so."

  "We can't stay here," said Ryan. "This building is going up in flames. We'll all die."

  "The fire can't reach us here," Dr. Watkins said. "This is an insulated, self-contained, underground bunker. You six are the first ever to breach our security. Congratulations."