Chapter 3 - Into the Inferno
The sound of a house fire from the inside is something you never forget. It isn't just the roaring of the flames; it’s a living, breathing beast. The wood groans in agony. The drywall pops and sizzles. The glass shatters with sharp, sudden violence.
Visibility was zero. The smoke was a dense, impenetrable wall. Our flashlights cut useless, narrow beams through the dark gray swirl, illuminating nothing but more smoke.
“Right hand search!” I yelled through my regulator, the sound raspy and metallic.
“Copy!” Jenkins replied.
We stayed low, sweeping the floor with our hands and tools. The first floor was an open-concept nightmare. The fire had originated somewhere in the kitchen or living room, and it was chewing through the expensive hardwood floors and plaster walls with terrifying speed.
I could hear the water hitting the exterior from Miller and Lawson’s line, a hissing roar that briefly fought back the heat, but inside, the fire still had the upper hand.
We moved past a burning sofa, the synthetic fabric melting and dripping like liquid fire. My knee bumped against a fallen lamp.
“Stairs! To your left!” Jenkins shouted, his voice tight.
I felt the wooden banister. It was hot to the touch, blistering through my thick gloves.
“We have to move fast. The floor joists won't hold forever,” I told him.
We scrambled up the stairs, staying close to the wall where the structural integrity was strongest. The heat intensified as we ascended, the smoke banking down lower and lower from the second-floor ceiling. My air gauge read that I had plenty of time, but time in a fire is a deceptive liar.
We reached the landing.
Front bedroom. Above the garage. Brenda’s words echoed in my mind.
“Down the hall! Let's go!” I led the way, practically slithering across the carpet.
We passed a bathroom. Empty. We passed the master bedroom. Empty, the bed perfectly made, untouched by the flames but bathed in toxic smoke.
Finally, we reached the door at the end of the hall. It was closed.
I reached up and touched the back of my gloved hand to the wood. It was warm, but not blistering. That was a good sign. It meant the fire wasn't fully in the room yet. The closed door had acted as a barrier, giving Chloe a chance.
But the smoke would be seeping under the cracks.
I tried the knob. Locked.
“Stand back,” Jenkins muttered. He brought his boot up and kicked the door right near the handle. It splintered open on the first try.
Smoke poured out of the room, meeting the smoke in the hallway.
“Chloe!” I shouted through my mask, knowing she probably couldn't hear me over the roar of the fire and the hiss of my own breathing apparatus. “Chloe! Fire Department! Call out!”
Silence.
No crying. No coughing. Nothing.
My stomach plummeted. We crawled in.
It was a teenager's room. I could feel a soft rug beneath my knees, bumping into a desk chair, a pile of clothes. I swept under the bed. Nothing.
“Check the closet!” I ordered Jenkins.
I moved toward the window. Sometimes they panic and try to get out, passing out right beneath the sill. My hand brushed against something soft on the floor.
I froze.
I patted down further. An arm. A shoulder.
“I got her!” I yelled. “Over here! By the window!”
Jenkins scrambled over to my position.
I aimed my light down. It was Chloe. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt, curled into a fetal position. Her face was pale, smeared with soot, and her eyes were closed. She wasn't moving.
I pulled off my glove for a split second and pressed two fingers to her neck.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
A pulse. Weak, erratic, but there.
“She’s alive, but she’s unresponsive,” I told Jenkins. “We need to get her out. Now.”
Suddenly, the floor beneath us groaned—a deep, structural shudder that vibrated through my kneepads. A massive crash echoed from downstairs. The living room ceiling had just collapsed.
“The stairs might be compromised!” Jenkins yelled.
“We don't have time to find out. We carry her, and we run,” I replied.
May you like
I grabbed Chloe by the shoulders, and Jenkins took her legs. She felt impossibly light, just a fragile kid caught in the middle of a grown-up's arrogant mistake.
We lifted her, turning back toward the nightmare of the hallway, praying the floor would hold our weight.
