by Cassie Cole
“And your neighbor’s shed? And the other families with dogs?”
The frenzy in his eyes didn’t scare me. Neither did the anger he felt for his company. I could relate to those emotions, could see myself reacting that way in certain circumstances.
But the expression that he showed next truly terrified me: boredom. “They annoyed me. So I made them pay.”
“They annoyed you?” I said. “You tried to kill people—and their animals!—because they annoyed you? You’re not just some misunderstood father trying to do right by his family. You’re a monster looking for an excuse.”
“Shut up!” he said, leaning forward.
“You’re not going to succeed here. You think splashing some gasoline will send the entire building up in flames? This building is new. The fire suppression systems are too good. At most you’ll make your company replace all their office furniture.”
He laughed and turned away. “That’s why I went into the maintenance closets on four floors and disconnected the sprinkler systems. And I’ve got gas cans on the 33rd and 34th floors, stashed away with time delay devices. Soon they’ll explode and the fire will really get going.” He tossed the two gas cans down the aisle. “This gas is just to help speed things up.”
I looked up at the sprinkler systems. Whatever water was already in the pipes would be disbursed, but then nothing more. That wouldn’t be enough to put out a fire with a liquid accelerant.
I was in a lot of danger.
“Ezra, let me go!” I pleaded. “Nobody has to know. I won’t say anything. Just let me go.”
“You’re the one who came here,” he said. “You did this to yourself.”
“Fuck you!” I shouted. “You’re a monster!”
“Shut up.”
“You’re a terrible husband!”
“I said shut up!”
“You’re a terrible father! What kind of girl do you think an arsonist would raise?”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up.”
He rounded on me, marching back down the aisle. As he stepped into my cubicle his foot slipped on the plastic divider that was covered in gasoline, his head struck the edge of the cube wall with a sickening THUD, and he crumpled to the ground.
“Ezra?” I asked. All I could see were his legs in the aisle. His upper body was blocked by the cubicle wall.
“Ezra? Are you alright?”
I wiggled my office chair forward until more of him came into view. His arms were at his side and he wasn’t moving.
“Ezra, no, damnit…”
I was aware of the faint smell of smoke. It was drifting out of the vents above, following along the ceiling like upside-down fog. Why hadn’t the fire alarms gone off yet? Had he turned those off too?
I tried wiggling my hands behind me. It felt like he’d tied my hands with a computer cable, but it was tight. Maybe I could get out of it eventually, with enough wiggling.
The explosion rocked the entire building and nearly knocked me over in the chair. The vibrations traveled through the floor and up my legs, and the air pressure changed in my ears. The far wall of the office was all windows showing the sky, which was now marred by debris and smoke falling.
Now the fire alarm went off, a blaring sound accompanied by flashing lights around the outside of the room. How long until the first responders arrived? Maybe the fire would be contained to the upper floors before then.
Except I was surrounded by gasoline waiting to go off. And the temperature was rising. I knew first-hand how quickly a fire could spread even without the aid of an accelerant.
Knowing that my time was dwindling, I rushed to try and free my hands from their bonds.
36
Angel
We roared toward downtown Miami on the back of someone else’s fire engine. Nobody had stopped us from grabbing turnout gear and joining them. Which was good, because nobody could have stopped us.
Amy was in trouble.
The thought held layers of despair. A unit mate. A friend. A lover. Someone more than all of that was in trouble, and possibly dead.
No, not dead. I wouldn’t accept that until I saw a body.
“Goddamnit,” Sparks said next to me. “I was just down there. I was three fucking blocks away!”
There was no way for him to have known she was at the Panorama Tower, but I didn’t say anything. Nothing I said could comfort him unless we found her. It was best for me to just let him vent.
“Goddamnit. I should have known.”
I nodded along as we made the drive. Some of the other firefighters started shouting, and I stood up on the back of my bucket seat to see. The downtown Miami skyline, normally beautiful and picturesque, was now marred by the flames and black smoke of an inferno. The tall Panorama Tower had a ring of fire around its midsection like an orange belt, spanning two or three floors.
The sight took my breath away. I was literally speechless.
Amy might be in there.
The final five minutes of the drive were excruciating. Finally we rounded the block toward the tower, where eight engines were already hooked up and shooting water from the tips of extended ladders. Like the claws of a righteous being trying to fight the evil.
“Who just arrived?” someone asked on the helmet radio. “Station 33, that you?”
“Yes sir. Seven of us on this engine, and two more engines right behind.”
“Good, we need the manpower. Get your hoses set up on the east side entrance. Suppress what you can there. There’s a lot of wreckage and we need to make sure none of it starts secondary fires on the ground.”
“Sir,” asked a familiar voice. Christian. “What’s the occupancy like?”
“Already confirmed with the building manager. All residents in condos have been evacuated that we’re aware of. Offices were mostly empty thanks to the holiday, thank Christ.”
“Was anyone on the 32nd floor? From Marketing Resources?”
There was a soft mumble as the site Captain spoke with someone in person.
“Manager said they closed up last night. Nobody there today.”
“Yeah,” Sparks cut in, “but has anybody done a walk-through to be safe?”
“I’ve got a team working their way up. Now get your hoses to the east side!”
We parked on a side all to ourselves. It was sort of a back alley for industrial vehicles and staff, with a line of dumpsters and shipping bays. Sure enough, one of the dumpsters had its lid smashed in and a fire was spreading within. Other wreckage was scattered on the ground, already extinguished on their own.
“I see a flame over that fence!” Rogers shouted. “It’s against the wall of that building! Get the hoses on it!”
While their team quickly got to work, Sparks and I circled around the engine until we found Christian. “What do you want to do?” I asked.
He had a determined look on his face. I knew that look well. So it was no surprise when he said, “I’m going in.”
“Good. We’ll come too,” Sparks said.
“They need your help on the hoses,” he said, grabbing a fire ax.
“You can’t go inside by yourself,” I said.
“It’ll be quick. Up and down, checking for Amy. I’ve got my PASS system on me in case I get in trouble. Stay here!”
I rushed toward the side door, which had already been propped open. Sparks looked at me. “We’re not letting him do that, right?”
“Guys!” Rogers shouted. “Grab the second hose! We have to keep this other warehouse from going up!”
The building next to the Panorama Tower was already covered in flames along one wall, and was spreading fast. “Come on,” I said to Sparks, jumping onto the back of the engine to get the spare hose.
Bring her out alive, I prayed to Christian.
37
Christian
I rushed into the building, pausing just inside the doorway to make sure my partners weren’t following me.
I was always a little bit afraid when I entered a bui
lding that was on fire. Everyone was afraid, even though some pretended not to be. It was a normal reaction for anyone who didn’t have a death wish.
But I wasn’t afraid now. At least, not for myself. The only thing I felt was the powerful, overwhelming desire to reach Amy.
Amy was the only thing that mattered.
I knew she was in the building. There might as well have been a beacon attached to her chest, broadcasting her location for everyone to see. She was on the 32nd floor and I had to find her.
I followed the hallway until it exited into the main building lobby, beautiful with tall ceilings and marble floors. A pair of firefighters was already over by the water system control panel. One of them looked over.
“You the expert the Captain sent?”
“No,” I said without slowing. “He’s got me going up.”
I ignored them as they stared, confused. “Hold on a sec. We already sent Minaj and Alberts up. Hey! Hey, wait!”
I pushed into the stairwell and started climbing.
The climb reminded me of training at my first station. Our Captain used to send the entire station to the Miami Dolphins stadium (I refused to call it the Hard Rock Stadium) in full turnout gear and make us climb every step. Up one flight to the upper deck, down another, then up the next one. It took hours. Longer than a marathon, and hot with all that gear in the Florida sun. Men and women passed out. Others got cramps no matter how much gatorade they drank. It was the kind of training exercise that was meant to be failed. To give a firefighter perspective on what they could and could not do.
Although this reminded me of that, I had more motivation now than I ever did while training. Tonight I had a real purpose. A life to save.
Up and up and up the stairs circled, one cement rectangle after another. I counted the floors each time I passed them, shouting, “Five!” and “Six!” loudly to motivate myself, but by 15 I was barely mumbling it.
My legs were tired, but I told them to shut up and keep moving.
Soon I smelled smoke. Not thick or even visible, but it was in the air. I put on my respirator mask even though it made everything hot an sweltering. It was tough to get a proper seal with my wet hair plastered against my face, but the air tasted cool and clean.
I breathed in and out as I climbed, sounding like an exhausted Darth Vader.
I mostly ignored the chatter on the radio until the Captain cut in. “Who the hell went up? We don’t have enough manpower to stand by if anything happens to you!”
“I think he came in with the 33rd station,” someone else said.
“Not one of ours,” Angel said. “We’re all accounted for.”
“Then whose PASS system is registering on the 18th goddamn floor?”
I turned my radio off. It would only distract me, or fill me with doubts. The last thing I wanted was something chipping away at my resolve.
I climbed, and climbed, and climbed, propelled onward by thoughts of Amy unconscious on the floor.
Finally I reached a door with a big 32 in red letters. The smoke was thicker here. I put a gloved hand on the door and pushed it inward.
I was greeted by a hellscape. The smoke immediately limited my vision to two feet, but I could make out the orange glow of fires through the blackness. Even through all my protective layers the heat was overwhelming. Oppressive.
I had to pause for three seconds to gather my nerve.
I couldn’t call her name while wearing my mask, so I would need to find her. One foot in front of the other I moved deeper into the room. I had no idea if it was 10 feet deep or 100, and had to move slowly while swinging the butt of my ax like a blind man.
As I walked, I reached pockets of clearer air where the fires were thinnest. I was in an aisle with rows of cubicles on either side. Computer monitors were melted like Picasso clocks, and one office chair smoldered with a thin yellow flame, eating whatever chemicals coated the plastic. A ficus in the aisle caught fire and went up immediately, its outline glowing orange for a brief moment before it fell over. I swung my limited view back and forth, checking each cubicle in passing. Where would she be?
A gust of air hit the smoke, suddenly giving me a clear view across the room. Hundreds of cubicles, row after row in all directions.
There was no way I could search this entire room.
I’ll do it anyways. I’ll die before I leave her here.
But that’s exactly what would happen if I had to search the entire room. I had to do something.
There was a room with tile up ahead. A break room with lines of vending machines full of charred aluminum foil bags. I turned the ax over and then banged the handle on the ground three times, hard enough that I felt the vibration in my boots.
I paused, waiting. Nothing.
Nothing.
I did it again. Three hard slams of the ax against the ground, waiting for a response.
The fire was like a supernatural hand squeezing me from all sides. I knew the odds of someone surviving in this for long without protection were slim. The smoke alone would asphyxiate someone within seconds. But I couldn’t leave.
BANG BANG BANG, came a response. Somewhere to my left.
Someone was alive! And near!
I marched in that direction with my ax held out protectively. I went down two aisles before banging again. It was softer on the carpet but made enough noise that I got a response a moment later, this time a little to my right. I followed blindly through smoke, getting closer to who I hoped was Amy…
I never heard the ceiling collapse above me. One moment I was walking along and the next something heavy punched down into my shoulders, knocking me to the ground and pinning me there. My ax went flying.
I laid on the ground, my mask pressed against the ground and my cheek against the mask. The weight was twisting the mask seam so that there wasn’t a perfect seal, and some smoke was seeping in even though it was a positive-pressure system. I slid my hands underneath me and tried to do a push-up but the weight on my back was too much. I groaned and my muscles burned but I couldn’t get it off.
The fire was bad in this area, with flames licking along the carpet like they were covered in gasoline. In my exhausted, panicked state I could almost smell the liquid in my imagination.
I was screwed. This was it. This was how it all ended.
The weight on my back shifted. More debris falling? I covered my head with my hands and closed my eyes, waiting for the blow that would end it. But the weight got heavier in some areas and lighter in others, and then lighter everywhere. I tried doing a push-up and this time the debris sloughed off me like water on a raincoat.
I twisted and saw her.
Amy stood there like a hellfire demon, my ax in her hand and a respirator on her face. The kind of respirator that was stored behind emergency glass in buildings like this. Her clothes and skin were filthy black, and she wore a cocktail dress as if this was all some grand affair.
Her eyes widened behind her mask, probably with recognition. She handed me the ax, then disappeared one cubicle over. She returned with a man slung over her shoulder, a hilarious sight for a woman in a cocktail dress—even one as strong as Amy. He had a respirator on, too.
I gestured to take the weight from her, but she waved me off and pointed for me to lead the way out.
Amy is alive. Amy is safe.
So long as I can keep her safe.
I went back the way we came, smashing debris with my ax with renewed purpose.
38
Amy
By the time I escaped from my bindings the 32nd floor was on fire and quickly spreading toward the gasoline. I ran to the emergency fire box on the wall, put on a respirator, and then turned to flee.
Ezra. I couldn’t leave him. Nobody, not even an arsonist like him, deserved this fate.
I grabbed the spare respirator and returned to him just as the gasoline caught fire. I watched with horror as the yellow death raced across the floor in between the cubicles, coating everything in a blanket of he
at and pain.
By the time I put the respirator on Ezra the fire had us surrounded. Ezra was breathing, but was firmly unconscious and had a small wound bleeding on his temple. “Good thing you’re so small,” I said, grunting into my mask as I hefted his weight over one shoulder. If he were any larger we would have a problem.
Still in the shoes I’d worn to dance at the salsa club, I carried Ezra a safe distance from the gasoline fire before dropping him into a chair. I needed to get my bearings. I couldn’t go back the way I’d come because of the fire, but there was another fire escape back the other way. Yet as I turned toward it I saw fire spreading between the space, cutting off my route there.
If I were in my turnout gear I could have suffered through it for a few seconds. Wearing a short cocktail dress? No chance.
“Fuck,” I said, which sounded like a muffled duck noise in my mask.
Then came a familiar and unexpected sound. Someone pounding on the ground three times with some sort of tool: a means of communication when your other senses were overwhelmed by the sight and sound of endless fire. As the person needing rescue, it was my job to respond in kind to let the rescuer know where I was, so I searched the nearest cubicle for something to bang on the ground in return. Staplers, keyboard, chairs. In the end I ripped a widescreen monitor off the desk and slammed its corner into the carpet, which created just enough noise and vibration.
The other person banged three times in response.
I kept banging three times every few seconds, hoping we had enough time. These emergency respirators had small air tanks. Usually just 15 minutes’ worth of air. I had no idea how long it had been. It felt like an eternity.
I saw the figure through the smoke and fire. Wide with gear, it was clearly a firefighter with an ax in hand. Before I could move the ceiling collapsed, knocking him to the ground.
“No!” I screamed into my mask.
The firefighter’s ax slid along the carpet toward me. I picked it up and winced at the heat, but I could still hold it.
