The Glass Inferno

CHAPTER 42

For Ian Douglas the world had become an infinity of stairs that led steadily upward. Scramble up a dozen steps; rest for a moment on the concrete landing; then climb another dozen. Occasionally he would try a doorknob, hoping that one of them might not have closed completely, and they could gain entry to a floor. After a dozen attempts, he gave up trying.

And there was always the smoke-first the odor, then the slight haze in the air. The haze was building, and it was getting increasingly difficult to breathe. To add to his difficulties, Albina’s twisted ankle had worsened on the thirtieth floor, and he had been forced to half carry her up the succeeding flights. He felt that he had long since passed the limits of his physical endurance; he stopped to rest more frequently. He would begin to climb ;again when he started coughing and saw that the smoke was getting thicker, slowly filling the stairwell.

They were on the forty-fifth floor when he realized he couldn’t go much farther with the burden of Albina and with his increasing difficulty in breathing. Albina was coughing steadily now, and it was obvious that it was all Jesus could do to drag himself up the steps.

Fortunately, he seemed to have shaken the withdrawal symptoms; the realization of personal danger must have flooded his system with enough adrenalin to overcome them. But they had to rest, Douglas thought, even at the risk of letting the smoke build up even more. He sat down on the landing steps and for a moment yielded to a fit of coughing.

“You go on,” Albina said quietly. “Send firemen down for me when you get to the top. Take Jesus with you and go on.”

He considered it, then rejected it. She was already weakened; she couldn’t take much more smoke. And there was something else. For the first time Douglas was in a life-and-death struggle and he desperately wanted to win.

All of his life the world had considered him weak, despite his muscle and bulk. He wanted to prove it wrong, but nobody would think it unusual if a man saved himself he would have to see to it that all three of them survived.

Jesus and Albina were both coughing now and starting to gag when suddenly Douglas remembered something he had once , read. “You two have handkerchiefs?” Jesus nodded and produced a dirty white piece of cotton. Albina fumbled in her smock and drew out a startlingly red bandanna. Douglas had a crisp linen handkerchief in his suit-coat pocket, carefully folded into the appropriate triangle.

“What are we supposed to do with these?” Jesus asked, curious.

“Piss on it,” Douglas said. Jesus looked at him, obviously not believing what Douglas had said. “Piss on it,” Douglas repeated.

“Then tie it over your nose and mouth; it will help cut the smoke.”

Jesus looked shocked. “Man, you gotta be kidding!”

“I’m dead serious,” Douglas said sharply. “Now do as you’re told!”

“Who’s telling me, man? You?”

The contempt in his voice was too much for Douglas.

He slammed Jesus against the wall, then grabbed him by the collar and slapped him twice with the flat of his hand.

The anger was bile in His throat.

“I don’t give a crap what you think of me; you’re going to do as I say! We’ve got another twenty floors to go and we’re not going to make it if we can’t breathe.

You got a better-idea? Now’s the time to tell me. Otherwise, do as I say or I’ll knock your teeth right down your throat!” He drew his fist back.

Jesus managed to straighten up even though Douglas had a heavy hand on his shirt. “You’re taking it out on me, man.” There was no fear in his voice but neither was there any contempt.

“Taking what out on you?”

“What you are.” Jesus’ eyes were steady. “I don’t give a shit, man-I probably never really did. Junkie …

queer … who gives a damn. Another ten minutes and nobody’s gonna care one way or the other.”

Douglas reddened and lowered his fist. For a moment, Jesus was the world, the sum of all the taunts and sneers and whispers that had piled up over the years. He felt ashamed of himself. “Piss on the handkerchief,” he muttered. “It’s the only thing that I can think of that might help.”

“Do as he say,” Albina said sharply. “Is he the only man here?”

Jesus turned without a word, the handkerchief in his hand.

Douglas did the same thing, while on the stairs Albina turned and with remarkable grace repeated the action. Douglas helped her adjust the kerchief around her face. Then he hooked her arm over his shoulder and continued up the steps. Jesus followed.

They managed another two flights before Douglas realized the wet handkerchiefs were more a psychological help than real. The cloth was too thin to screen the small smoke particles and it was little help in filtering out the gases themselves. Douglas started to cough again as did Albina. Jesus tore his handkerchief off and dropped it on, the steps. He said nothing and neither did Douglas.

At the next landing, Douglas noticed the fire hose behind the glass case. Suddenly he ‘ thought he saw an answer.

He stopped while the others watched, untied a shoe and took it off.

He halted it, then brought the heel down sharply against the glass, shattering it. He picked shards of glass out of the frame, then reached in and tugged the hose out of the case.

When he had about twenty feet out, he turned to the landing window behind them. “Okay, stand back away from the window.” Douglas lifted the body of the hose over his head so about ten feet of it, including the heavy brass nozzle itself, was behind him. Then he swung it Late Evening forward and down, like a whip. The brass nozzle f over his head and smashed against the window. There was a shatter of glass and a sudden blast of cold air. He did it twice more to clear the frame of large pieces of glass.

The cold air poured in from the north now and spilled down the stairwell, effectively capping the g smoke.

He had created his own inversion layer, Douglas thought, by venting the stairwell. It might work They began to climb again.

Another flight up and he shivered; the temperature of the stairwell air was dropping fast. But at the same time, it was getting considerably easier to breathe.

“I’m sorry about the handkerchief idea,” he said suddenly. “I had read about it someplace; I honestly thought it would work.”

Jesus laughed. “Don’t sweat it, man. At least you thought of something. I-didn’t think of anything.”

There was a sense of equality in his, voice, of acceptance, and for a moment Douglas hated himself for responding to it. Who the hell did he think he was? But there had been no condescension. He suddenly wondered what Jesus thought of himself as an addict. Did he despise himself? Did he accept himself?

He looked at Jesus, thinking: It was hard but they both had learned to live in their own skins and accept it.