Page 50 of On Fire

Then I catch a transmission. “West side of house, compromised.”

That means no one can enter or exit.

“Unit B east side, possible victim. Child.”

I slog my way through the kitchen, water leaks from the ceiling and turns to steam—not a good sign.

I’m looking for the servants’ access to the kitchen, then realize, if the place was remodeled and the kitchen moved, I need to look for what used to be called the summer kitchen.

There. A pantry. And at the back of the walk-in pantry, there’s a door.

Closing the one behind me, I open the second one, shutting that firmly behind me as well. Miraculously, there is no visible smoke here or at least very little. Climbing the stairs two at a time is so hard because the blasted things are so shallow. Worse than my own.

There’s no handrailing and only the wall to guide me. I reach the top and find myself on a small landing, probably where some servant slept a hundred and fifty years ago.

I duck so I don’t scrape my helmet on the ceiling and make my way to another door that empties into a bedroom. Smoke swirls and as I open that door, I realize I’m at the other end of that hallway where I first saw McKinley. Huge, wide flames, blue at their base, lick the walls of the staircase. There’s another stairwell immediately to my right, laying the way to the third floor.

The fire is crackling, howling, creating its own backdrafts and yet above all of it, I hear something and glance to the stairwell again. Just above, on the landing is a small girl. Bounding up the stairs, I rip the respirator off my face.

“I’m a fireman. I will help you,” I shout, and then smoke fills my lungs. She’s coughing hard, and I snatch her up, retreat to the bedroom, and then clamp the respirator over her face for twenty seconds.

It’s an adult mask so I must kneel and hold it tight to her face. She struggles for a moment and then realizes she can breathe easier if she relaxes.

“That’s right, deep breaths. We’re going to have to make a run for it,” I say. “What’s your name?”

“Ellie,” she says.

“Ellie, I’m Dave. Can you hold this?”

She nods, reaching for the mask with thin and small fingers. She’s just a waif. She pushes the mask off for a moment. “My brother—”

I replace it over her mouth and nose. “He’s outside,” I say hoping he’s still alive. “If anything happens, run to any other firefighter. If you see a place to run outside, you go for it. Okay?”

“Okay. Ready?”

She nods. I pull on the respirator again. With us both unable to speak to each other, she has to trust me. When I go to schools to talk to kids, I dress in full paraphernalia—little kids are scared of firefighters in gear. We look like monsters. But she’s keeping it together.

I swing her under my arm, and football her out like I did her brother. This time I keep my other hand over her crown, protecting her skull. I hurry to the bottom of the stairs, press my cheek to the door. No heat. Rip it open. Stand inside the pantry which is now filled with smoke.

“Ready?” I shout at her.

Her head bobs. She’s heard me.

I open the door.

The fire makes a leap toward the new channel for oxygen, and I dodge hard to the left, smashing my hand and shoulder into the wall. There’s a screaming sound as a timber falls in front of the front door. Black smoke has turned to flames and heat waves and. The kitchen is an inferno. The only way is over that timber and out the front.

“Close your eyes,” I shout, swinging her into my arms. Cradling her, I make a leap over the timber, land hard, and my boot breaks through the threshold.

For a moment I’m trapped.

Trapped long enough for a flaming beam to strike my helmet and back. I stagger forward, careful to twist with the push so my ankle doesn’t snap.

Suddenly Matt appears and as I start to pass her off to him, my foot breaks free.

I still have her, and I run.

In seconds I’m over by the ambulance and am relieved to see her brother conscious.