Burning for More

I couldn’t breathe. 

The basic human function that kept people alive was my body’s downfall. Confined to a hospital bed, I was vaguely aware of the beeping of machines to my left. The nasal cannula had been on for so long, it’d rubbed my nose raw. My chest felt like it was being crushed. It was as though, every few hours, someone would come and drop another brick on top of me, forcing my already compromised lungs to strain for oxygen. 

Breathe, Autumn. Just breathe. I repeated what had become my mantra over and over again. The television was on, but I couldn’t tell what was playing. I couldn’t focus on anything other than the lack of oxygen in my body. I was too weak to function. They fed me through a tube because garnering the energy to eat was impossible. Oh, how I longed for a single bite of my grandmother’s lasagna.

I was dying. Or rather, my body was dying. My soul, on the other hand, was determined to just—keep—breathing. Why? I couldn’t tell you.

I was certain I still had a whole life ahead of me to live, but I wasn’t sure where I got that notion from. I was alone, and I was a burden. How could someone as fragile as I was ever amount to anything?

Maybe I should stop fighting it. Clearly, my body was ready to throw in the towel, so why resist? The doctors had talked about putting me on a machine to breathe for me, but that seemed wretched. I could've put myself out of my misery if I just stopped breathing.

It’d be quick, or so I heard. There’d be a brief moment of panic followed by resounding peace. And peace sounded darn good. Another metaphorical brick fell onto my chest. Screw it. I was done fighting. If I had the energy, I would've pulled the oxygen tube out of my nose, but that much movement was so impossible, it was laughable. Laughing—yet another thing I couldn’t bring myself to do—and let me tell you, life was vastly more miserable without laughter.

It took hardly any energy at all to stop breathing. Given how difficult the act of breathing was for me, I was surprised at how simple not breathing was. I was actually relaxed for the first time in years—and it was heavenly. The beeping of the machines was getting louder, but I pushed the noise away, not wanting to ruin the moment.

My lungs screamed in my chest, and my heart raced, but my mind was still. And it was magical. Not having to live every moment, counting my respirations, directing my body to inhale oxygen, was a much-welcomed break from what had been my reality for so long. The beeping sounds were shrill in my ears. That must have meant I was close to the end. Finally.

The beeping penetrated my blissful moment of peace, and agitation flared up inside me. The frustration forced me to take a breath, but this was no ordinary breath. This air burned. My tongue, my throat, my lungs—they all screamed in agony as my body forced this toxic air out of my system. My moment of peace was gone, and that darn beeping was only getting louder.

My attempt at another breath failed just as miserably as the last one, and my eyes flew open as I hocked up dirty air. My eyes burned just as much as my lungs, and I suddenly realized I wasn’t dreaming anymore. I wasn’t in a hospital bed, I was on the couch, and my lungs were working just fine. I reminded myself that I was good now. I was healthy. 

It had all been a twisted nightmare. It’d been a long time since I’d had one of those. I thought I’d moved on from those re-occurring dreams, where I was forced to re-live my past reality, but evidently they still lurked in my subconscious.

If it had just been a nightmare though, why was I actually coughing and struggling to breathe? And why was I still hearing obnoxious beeping?

That’s when I realized the apartment was on fire. And not a small fire either. The smoke was thick enough to blind me, and it was unfathomably hot. The beeping came from the smoke detectors screaming overhead. I shook my head in disbelief. Leave it to me to have a dream so close to reality, I couldn’t decipher between what was really happening, and what was merely a figment of my imagination. It’s like when you’re sleeping and you have to pee, you dream about having to pee. Except this was worse. Much worse.

I sprang up off the couch as I pulled my sweatshirt up to cover my nose and mouth. I needed to get out of there. Fast. I couldn’t see the door as I propelled my body forward, but I was blocked by a chair. Wait, I didn’t have a chair there. 

I gasped when I remembered I was in my neighbor’s apartment, not my own. The rush of smoke down my throat made me gag. Eli. I had to get Eli. 

Ignoring the pain, I forced myself to cough out a scream. "Eli! Where are you?”

I dashed toward his bedroom, but my lungs rebelled against the movement. This was not how I was going to die. I tried to lunge toward his bedroom again, but I became lightheaded and stumbled into a table. If I didn’t get out in the next few seconds, I was fairly confident I’d lose consciousness and then I’d be no help to Eli at all. My gut wrenched as I turned away from the boy’s bedroom and propelled myself toward the exit. If I could just get some air, I could go back for him. 

I cursed myself for not registering the smoke alarm sound sooner. I flung the door open and made it into the hallway, which was even smokier. Someone brushed past me, knocking me into the wall, but I forced myself to push forward toward the stairwell. 

My lungs screamed for air. After what felt like an eternity, I pushed open the stairwell door, and as it slammed behind me, the air mostly cleared. I took a satisfying breath as I bolted down the steps. The lack of oxygen had made my vision fuzzy, and I wobbled on my feet. I would need cleaner air in my lungs if I were going to make it back up for Eli. 

Being that we lived on the tenth floor, I had no doubt that I’d faint before I could get him out safely, but I was determined. If I could just make it down a couple of floors, I could inhale fresher air to clear out the smoke and stop myself from feeling so woozy. I made it to the eighth floor, pressed my back against the cool wall, and relished in the clean air. I told myself I’d take a few more breaths before heading back for Eli...

Before I could move, three giant men in fire gear barreled up the stairs toward me. One of them stopped upon seeing me. "Are you all right, miss? Do you need help getting out?”

I shook my head, as words were difficult, but relief flooded over me at the sight of him. Truthfully, I probably could’ve used help getting out of there, but it was more important to me that the men went up for Eli instead. 

“Get yourself out of here then. Go!” He continued his quest up the stairs and I called after him, “There’s a boy. Apartment 1005.”  

I prayed that he’d heard me and I told myself that they’d find Eli. I knew they would. They had to. That was their job, right? My legs carried me downward before I could even process the movement. I needed to get outside.

The cold air slapped me in the face and while the chill in my lungs had never felt so good before, I was fairly certain that I was on the verge of fainting. I was still struggling to see and my legs threatened to give out at any second. There were two fire trucks and an ambulance in front of my building, and I could hear more off in the distance, getting louder. 

A man in a medic’s uniform grabbed hold of my shoulders. "Ma’am. It’s all right. You’re okay now. You’re safe.”

Tears stung my eyes. I was going to survive.

Whoosh. Whish. Whoosh. Whish. I took a moment to remind myself to control my breathing. I’d just ascended nine floors of a Manhattan apartment building and my self-controlled breathing apparatus (SCBA) had to last long enough to get me through the fire floor and back, at least. Smoke started to fill the stairwell. The most recent status update had reported that the fire was on the tenth floor, and residents who had made it out claimed it'd already consumed at least three of the ten apartment units. 

My company, Ladder 64, was the second truck company on scene, and we had orders to conduct a primary search of the five apartment units on the right side of the fire floor. Ladder 171 was currently conducting their search of the two apartments on the left side of the building. 

“You ready?” I turned back to my squadmate, Frisco, who was at my heels carrying a hook and water can.

“Let's do this!”

With a set of irons—an ax and a Halligan—in my hand, we breached the stairwell door to the tenth floor. As of yet, there was no water on the fire, which made for some gnarly conditions. The thick, black smoke was banked down to about three feet off the floor, and there was the unmistakable sound of flames crackling in the distance.

Frisco and I dropped to our knees to increase visibility and get out of the worst of the heat, which was trapped toward the ceiling. The hallway cut straight through to the rear of the building, and as we reached the door to the first unit, the crew from Ladder 171 exited the second unit across the hall, the body of a limp civilian in tow. Shit just got real. 

Fighting fires certainly wasn’t an easy job, but I fucking loved it. Running into a burning building elicited an adrenaline rush like none other. Though it was easier to get the job done when you focused on the task at hand instead of thinking about the destruction to life and property. However, when reality was thrust into your face as I’d just witnessed, it’d make anyone’s eyes go wide and heart rate spike.

Frisco smacked me twice on the calf, indicating he was ready to breach the first door. I rose to my knees and jammed the Halligan between the door and its frame before handing the ax off to Frisco. After two swift hits from the back of the ax, the door gave way, and we crawled into the room. 

With one hand on the right wall, we began our search, swiftly navigating around furniture, taking care to check under and on top of each piece. We sped through the apartment, looking for any signs of life, relieved to find it uninhabited. The goal of a primary search was to efficiently but quickly search each room for the fire and victims. After the initial search, we’d retrace our steps in a more thorough secondary search. 

As we exited the first unit, the engine company came on the radio. "The standpipe is frozen shut. It’s inoperable.” A circumstance we ran into more often than not in the January cold. 

Frisco and I looked at each other. Fuck. We would be without water for a little while. Since the crew from Ladder 171 had to leave with the victim, we truly were on our own up there.

The familiar voice of Lt. Kyle Hogan, who was the officer-in-charge for Engine 11 this evening, came over the radio in response. "Well, then hurry the hell up and get your asses up that stairwell with a hose!” 

He had a reputation for being a straight shooter with a bedside manner that could use some improvement. I didn’t envy the men of Engine 11. Kyle was my older brother, and I’d been on the receiving end of his aggression more times than I could count. 

Kyle’s voice came over the radio again. "Ladder 64: Update on the fire floor.” 

Being the more senior man in the pair, I hit the transmission button on my radio while Frisco and I cleared the second apartment unit. "Two of the five units on the right side are clear in our initial search. No sign of the fire yet, but feels like we’re getting close.” 

We breached the third door in the hall as Kyle’s voice permeated the air. "Ten-four, Ladder 64. We’ll have water up to you soon.”

As soon as the door to the unit opened and we crawled inside, there was the distinctive sound of the fire breathing. “Close the door!” I shouted at Frisco, who slammed the door shut behind him. Fire fed on oxygen, and introducing more into the fire room could be disastrous. I looked up at the ceiling, but didn’t see any of the telltale signs of a rollover or flashover, so I deemed it safe to proceed with the search. 

I’d come to the realization that the apartments mirrored each other, meaning this unit should be identical in layout to the first one. If the fire had indeed made its way into three units, it was likely for the fire to be on the left side of this unit—where the master bedroom was—and in the two remaining units on this side of the hall. 

“Frisco, let’s start the search on the left.”

Upon entering the first bedroom, the heat hit me, like we’d run into a wall. There was definitely fire in that room. The scariest part was the thickness of the smoke. Blackness surrounded us and I couldn’t see my own hand, let alone the fire, so it was entirely possible we were inches from the flames without knowing it. Having no water and no visual, we retreated into the living room, shutting the door to the master bedroom behind us, hoping to contain it. 

I hit the transmit button on my radio. "Fire located in the third unit from the stairwell on the right side. Contained in the master bedroom on the left. Continuing search of the unit now.” 

We crawled our way through the kitchen and over to the second bedroom in the back-right corner. Being it was shortly after midnight, the bedrooms were a priority for our primary search as it was highly probable any victims would be in bed. 

Our radios squealed. "Ten-four. Engine 11 is three floors below, making our way up to you."

 

Looked like we’d be on our own a little while longer. If my logic was correct, we wouldn’t be able to enter the remaining two units on this side of the hall until we had water. As we made our way into the second bedroom, a muffle sound made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Do you hear that?”

“Yeah, is that a baby?” Frisco replied, tension flooding his voice. 

I did a quick scan of the room. There was no crib, only what seemed to be a full-size bed in one corner and a desk in the opposite corner, so it was weird to hear a baby crying. I held my breath in order to hear better without the sound of the SCBA clouding my ears. 

“Sounds like it’s coming from the closet.” I rushed over to the door, which was slightly ajar, and I found a kitten visibly shaking with terror. 

Thank God. 

“False alarm, it’s just a cat.” 

Frisco and I both sighed in relief. The worst thing as a firefighter was to find a kid in peril. I didn’t have the heart to leave the animal, so I scooped the kitten up and put it in the pocket of my bunker coat. I said a silent prayer that it’d be okay there for a little while because I couldn’t leave the building just yet. We completed the search of that apartment and attempted to make our way to the next unit. Overhead, flames ominously licked the molding along the hallway as it searched for fuel, blocking our path to the four apartments in the rear.

I got on the radio once more. "Fire located in the back of the hallway. Access to four apartments is not possible at this time. Continuing search with the remaining unit on the left side.” 

My captain, John Andrews, came over the radio. "Ten-four, Hogan. Be advised, there’s a woman down here saying there’s an eight-year-old boy still inside.”

Oh, fuck. A new sense of urgency filled me as we scrambled into the apartment across the hall, cautious that the fire could've easily jumped into that unit but mobilized by the knowledge that there was a trapped kid somewhere. I prayed the boy wasn’t in one of the apartments blocked by the flames. The smoke was thick, making visibility near zero. I closed my eyes to heighten my other senses. Based on what I’d seen in the other units, I visualized the layout of the apartment in my mind’s eye. Keeping my foot on the wall, I swung my Halligan into the middle of the room, feeling for any victims. A major rule of truck operations was to never let a part of your body leave the wall, especially during a primary search when visibility was typically poor, so you didn’t get disoriented and lost in a room. 

"Hogan, look up!” Frisco shouted behind me.

There was a faint orange glow above us shining through the darkness. Fuck. I cursed under my breath. The fire had jumped the damn hallway, and we were directly below the flames.

I hit the transmitter on my radio, “Be advised, fire confirmed in at least six of the units on the tenth. 

We'd already cleared most of the apartment, save for one bedroom. At that moment, I heard one of the most terrifying sounds in firefighting—the distinctive hiss of fire breathing. My ass puckered as the flames crept along the molding on the ceiling in search of more oxygen. It was unmistakable, there was a rollover, meaning all of the gases on the ceiling had ignited, and the room we were in would be engulfed in flames within minutes if we didn’t get water on it.

My training told me we should immediately exit the unit before we found ourselves trapped inside the fire with a mere water can to protect us. If the fire reached the door, we might not be able to get out, and because the engine company would attack the flames from the side of the hallway containing the exit, the fire would push toward us, and the department would be planning two funerals.

Except there was a boy still inside, and I didn’t need another death on my conscience. 

“Ready with water,” came a voice over the radio. Fucking finally. The engine company was on the fire floor with the hose.

“Let’s go!” Frisco shouted as he turned around to exit the unit, but something in my gut told me to risk it and check the bedroom. I couldn’t ask him to break protocol and do the same, also putting his life in jeopardy, so I pushed further into the apartment, alone. That was the only accessible apartment left on the floor that hadn’t been searched by us or Ladder 171, so I hoped the boy was in there. 

I bolted into the second bedroom and immediately checked on top of the bed and under it, finding nothing. The engine came over the radio. "Water!” 

My heart rate skyrocketed, and I forced myself to swallow the panic that was rising to the surface. I had to get out, or I’d risk being boiled alive. Just as I was about to exit the room, I thought about the kitten in my pocket and a voice inside my head told me to check the closet. I thrust open the door, and felt a foot.

My heart jumped into my throat as I leaned down and wrapped my arms around the child, hoisting him up. I tried to stand since running was faster than crawling, but the fire laughed at that idea and the heat forced me back to the floor. Frisco came over the radio. "Hogan, where are you?” 

I heard the fear in his voice, but I wasn’t able to grab my radio while trying to crawl and hold onto the kid, so I didn’t respond. As I scurried through the apartment toward the exit, the familiar sound of the hose line operating came from right outside the open door. 

The flames overhead had quadrupled in size and were rapidly climbing down the wall, giving me no more than three feet of clearance. We weren’t going to make it. I hurried into a corner and put the kid down, then settled my body in front of his to shield him as I got on the radio. If I that’s how I was going to go out, I wanted everyone to know that at least I’d done everything in my power to save that kid.  

"Shut down the line! I’m coming out of the third unit on the left with a victim.” 

I clutched the kid and waited to hear the engine company cease operations, praying we still had a few seconds to spare before the room was engulfed with us in it. The kid wasn’t moving, and I feared the worst, but then a faint groan came from underneath me—the sound of hope. Without thinking, I took a deep breath and whipped off my helmet then heaved the mask over my head. I shoved it onto the boy’s face and willed him to breathe. I didn’t know if the smell of burning hair was coming from me or the boy, but the intensity of the heat on my bare head was excruciating. I jerked my hood up to cover my nose and mouth and threw my helmet back on.

Was that reckless? Yeah, but I didn’t want to carry out a dead kid. That meant more to me than my own safety.

“You’re clear, Hogan,” came over the radio, and before the transmission was complete, I’d already grabbed the kid and hauled ass out of the apartment. I pushed past the engine guys in the hallway as I willed my lungs to hold onto the tiny bit of oxygen left in them. 

Just before making it to the stairwell, my body betrayed my mind and tried to take a breath, but all I got was smoke.