was a bathroom empty of inhabitants. As the smoke hadn’t filled the room just yet, Nick took the opportunity to exchange the air in his lungs, the effort burning his throat and filling his mouth with a foul, metallic taste.
Nick bent low again to get a bearing on the next entryway. As he attempted to stand, he became dizzy for a moment. I’ve got to get out of this hell , he thought. The fumes are getting to me.
Heat wasn’t helping Nick’s body either. Even away from direct contact with the flames, the ambient temperature upstairs was approaching 150 degrees. Sweat streamed from every pore of his body, instantly evaporated by the super-heated atmosphere. He was being boiled alive.
He hit pay dirt inside the third room. Lying on the floor was a woman in a nightgown, her body acting as a shield while covering a small boy. Nick didn’t check to see if either was breathing – there just wasn’t time. Already his stomach was churning, and he had a headache unlike anything he’d ever felt. Throwing off the now dry, worthless blanket, he lifted the woman off the child and then managed to get both to his shoulders.
The trip out of the building was accomplished from memory without benefit of sight. Every cell of Nick’s body screamed with protest as he lunged down the stairs. Pain racked his chest and head, his muscles protesting the lack of clean, usable oxygen. The heat was overwhelming. The loss of vision reminded Nick of swimming under water in the dark. The roar of flames and blinding smoke deprived him of sensory input; the only thing registering in his brain was pain and heat.
When he reached the bottom step, he didn’t pause, but just kept moving. The flames had actually died down in the kitchen, and Nick moved that direction thinking of the back door. Without the rolling billows of smoke, moving to the rear of the home was like entering the dark world of a blackened forest, simmering ripples of heat radiating from every direction. Nick’s mind conjured up visions of wolves with smoldering red eyes and fur of toxic fumes – the ferocious animals nipping at his heals with white-hot fangs. Like so many nightmares, he couldn’t outrun the beasts while carrying his heavy cargo.
A vision of the back door suddenly appeared in front of him, the threshold to life and cool air just a few feet away - but the path was blocked. Part of the second floor had collapsed, heaps of smoldering boards and drywall hanging at odd angles.
Nick didn’t care anymore - he couldn’t. He wasn’t going to die in this place. After all of the battles… all of the firefights… wounds and wars, there was no way he was going to burn alive. Dig deep, you son of a bitch , he thought. Go down deep inside and live. Bring it all out and live. Leave any of it here - and die.
One boot lashed out against the blockage…and then another. Despite the two bodies on his shoulders, he threw everything he had left into the strikes. Timbers cracked with the impact, embers swirled around his legs. Another landed… and then another… and then he arrived at the door. It was too late. Nick felt his knees buckling, the weight on his shoulders too much for his severely dehydrated frame. The poisonous smoke ached in his stomach, and his chest felt like it was in a vise.
Nick felt the hot floor on his knees, and realized his legs had given out. He sensed his upper body swaying and made a determined effort to fall backwards so his face wouldn’t burn on the floor.
And then hands were reaching for him - many hands, seemingly coming from every direction. They’re angels , he imagined. Angels coming to pull me from the burning pits of Hades.
The first sensation Nick noticed was of cold grass on the back of his neck. His next recognizable impression was the strong smell of rubber, competing with the odor of noxious smoke. The smoldering stench reminded his brain where he was, or at least where he’d been, and he attempted to sit up. Voices echoed in
Nick bent low again to get a bearing on the next entryway. As he attempted to stand, he became dizzy for a moment. I’ve got to get out of this hell , he thought. The fumes are getting to me.
Heat wasn’t helping Nick’s body either. Even away from direct contact with the flames, the ambient temperature upstairs was approaching 150 degrees. Sweat streamed from every pore of his body, instantly evaporated by the super-heated atmosphere. He was being boiled alive.
He hit pay dirt inside the third room. Lying on the floor was a woman in a nightgown, her body acting as a shield while covering a small boy. Nick didn’t check to see if either was breathing – there just wasn’t time. Already his stomach was churning, and he had a headache unlike anything he’d ever felt. Throwing off the now dry, worthless blanket, he lifted the woman off the child and then managed to get both to his shoulders.
The trip out of the building was accomplished from memory without benefit of sight. Every cell of Nick’s body screamed with protest as he lunged down the stairs. Pain racked his chest and head, his muscles protesting the lack of clean, usable oxygen. The heat was overwhelming. The loss of vision reminded Nick of swimming under water in the dark. The roar of flames and blinding smoke deprived him of sensory input; the only thing registering in his brain was pain and heat.
When he reached the bottom step, he didn’t pause, but just kept moving. The flames had actually died down in the kitchen, and Nick moved that direction thinking of the back door. Without the rolling billows of smoke, moving to the rear of the home was like entering the dark world of a blackened forest, simmering ripples of heat radiating from every direction. Nick’s mind conjured up visions of wolves with smoldering red eyes and fur of toxic fumes – the ferocious animals nipping at his heals with white-hot fangs. Like so many nightmares, he couldn’t outrun the beasts while carrying his heavy cargo.
A vision of the back door suddenly appeared in front of him, the threshold to life and cool air just a few feet away - but the path was blocked. Part of the second floor had collapsed, heaps of smoldering boards and drywall hanging at odd angles.
Nick didn’t care anymore - he couldn’t. He wasn’t going to die in this place. After all of the battles… all of the firefights… wounds and wars, there was no way he was going to burn alive. Dig deep, you son of a bitch , he thought. Go down deep inside and live. Bring it all out and live. Leave any of it here - and die.
One boot lashed out against the blockage…and then another. Despite the two bodies on his shoulders, he threw everything he had left into the strikes. Timbers cracked with the impact, embers swirled around his legs. Another landed… and then another… and then he arrived at the door. It was too late. Nick felt his knees buckling, the weight on his shoulders too much for his severely dehydrated frame. The poisonous smoke ached in his stomach, and his chest felt like it was in a vise.
Nick felt the hot floor on his knees, and realized his legs had given out. He sensed his upper body swaying and made a determined effort to fall backwards so his face wouldn’t burn on the floor.
And then hands were reaching for him - many hands, seemingly coming from every direction. They’re angels , he imagined. Angels coming to pull me from the burning pits of Hades.
The first sensation Nick noticed was of cold grass on the back of his neck. His next recognizable impression was the strong smell of rubber, competing with the odor of noxious smoke. The smoldering stench reminded his brain where he was, or at least where he’d been, and he attempted to sit up. Voices echoed in
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