1
THERE'S SOMETHING SINISTER about black smoke—the way it creeps up, closes in, and chokes the life right out of you. Jack Fogerty had to conquer it head on. He jammed the steel Halligan between the knob and frame and yanked sideways. The wooden door splintered and popped open. Smoke billowed from the Senegalese Market and enveloped him. Jack twisted his regulator and went on air. Fire alarms blared.
Please God help me save them. Tell me where they are. The woman and boy lived upstairs above the store. Jack and his partner, Andy, plowed through the dense smoke, hugging the wall and staying low. Where was the stairwell up? Should be in front. Save them. It was his calling in life, a driving force passed down by generations of firemen—his father, grandfather, great-grandfather.
Orange flames engulfed a shelf in the back and spread upward. Glass jars shattered. Not much time before the fire burned a hole through the ceiling, reached the second floor, and banked back down.
Jack studied his thermal imaging camera to navigate through the smoke. He pointed the screen from side to side and scanned the wall crammed to the ceiling with shelving and products. No way up. Could the stairs be to the left? Where was the engine company with the lines? White indicated heat, and the image of white flame off to his left had doubled. God help me save them.
Jack tripped and fell sideways into a wall of glass jars. Pain tore through his elbow. Andy pulled him to his feet, and they moved along the right-hand wall. He scoured up and down with his camera. Nothing. An explosion. A battery of cans pounded the floor. Find the stairs or they will die. Jack stumbled again. Sweat trickled down his back.
A gap appeared between the shelving, and the image of a doorknob came up on screen. Locked. Andy squeezed beside him and wedged the Halligan into the wood frame. The door flew open. Smoke poured into a steep stairwell leading up. Jack slammed the door and bounded up the stairs with Andy at his side.
They entered the hallway of an apartment. Did he hear footsteps? A white image appeared on the thermal screen. It looked like someone moving away.
"Hey!" Jack yelled as loudly as he could through his air mask, but the figure kept running until it disappeared off screen.
Jack swung the camera to the right, revealing dark images of a couch, desk, chairs … a living room? A figure appeared near the corner diagonally across from them. He saw scurrying, lots of movement. Another white blur. Were there three altogether?
Andy leaned into him. "You grab that one. I'll take the camera and do a left-hand search down the hall. Meet you back here."
Jack nodded and handed off the camera. The yellow flashlight clipped to his waist provided little illumination. He entered the living room with his right hand on the wall.A flash. Something exploded in his stomach, knocking him to the floor. Glass shattered.
Jack's head felt dizzy, and his insides contracted in excruciating pain as he sat up. Had he been shot? A hot, sticky liquid plastered his stomach. Get them out of here and ignore the pain. He bit down and discerned movement a few feet away. Jack sprang from a squatting position and grabbed hold of an arm.
"My son! He ran that way." The woman doubled over, coughing.
"Get down on your hands and knees. Now!" he shouted. An explosion thundered close by and shook the building. Dishes smashed onto the floor. The fire had made its way up. The hot, sticky liquid oozed over his hip and down both legs. Blood. Where was Andy?
"Malick!" the woman screamed.
A body crashed into Jack's side. He felt searing pain. The son. He clenched his teeth and grabbed the boy. "Where's the other one?"
"Nobody else." The woman wheezed and coughed.
"Sure?"
She nodded and hacked again.
"Is there another way out up here?" They couldn't go back down; that exit would be blocked by fire and smoke.
The woman gagged and exploded into another coughing fit. He couldn't tell if she nodded or shook her head. She pointed toward the hallway, and Jack saw the orange glow. Fire. Where the hell was Andy?
"Down!" Jack made them crawl along the living room wall. Get them to a window. He prayed they'd be there with a ladder or the rescue box. Where the hell was the engine with the lines? Flames crackled in another room. Windows shattered. They had less than a minute to get out. Hot as hell. Jack vomited a thick, bloody-tasting sludge into his air mask, nearly blocking the regulator. Had to get them out and find Andy. God help me save them.
The boy collapsed. Jack dropped his Halligan and scooped him up in both arms. He was heavy. Give me strength. The woman smacked her forehead against the floor as she gasped for air. Couldn't carry them both. Jack heaved the boy over his shoulder, tore off his glove, and held the woman's hand in his. He willed himself forward as his eyesight faded in shades of red and army green. Somebody help us.
"Jack!" Andy appeared like a blurred apparition crawling toward them along the wall.
"I found the son. Passed out." Jack rolled the limp boy into Andy's arms and released the woman's hand. He motioned toward the window. Andy hesitated. Jack pushed him away.
He vomited more sludge and blood, blocking his regulator. Jack fought the urge to tear the useless air mask from his face. His eyelids curled shut. Please God lead them out.
The pulsating beep of an alarm hammered into his head. A fireman's PASS device had activated. Someone wasn't moving. Not Andy. Please not Andy. The beeping reached a crescendo and then faded.
Jack was lost and swimming through the black smoke as hard as he could. Heat radiated through his gear, roasting his flesh. In his mind he willed the woman, boy, and Andy out the window and onto a ladder. Please God help them. Please … please … please.
An invisible force pulled him up like a swirling funnel cloud. Maureen, John, Brian, Steve,… the baby on the way. He knew right then she would be a girl. The last words of the Fireman's Prayer flowed through his mind:
And if according to my fate
I am to lose my life,
bless with your protective hand
my children and my wife.
Copyright © 2011 by Margaret McLean
