The Glass Inferno

CHAPTER 54

It was a longer, harder climb to the sixteenth floor than Chief Fuchs had anticipated. The smell of seared metal and burned wood was heavy on the air and the concrete steps were slippery with water. The stairway itself was ordered confusion, with hosemen and salvage crews pushing past him in -the dimly lit shaft. Nobody noticed his rank in the semidarkness. Once he stepped aside as two men, supporting a thud stumbled down the steps. The face of the man in the middle had that beet-red look that told Fuchs more than he wanted to know. He must have been caught in the steam explosion, Fuchs thought, and wondered just how badly he was burned. One thing for sure: He would be making trips to the plastic surgeon for years to come.

He didn’t let himself dwell upon it but in the back of his mind was the thought that Mark might be in the same fix. Or worse.

He got to the landing at sixteen and glanced quickly around.

Just inside the smoke-filled corridor, Captain Miller was giving instruction to a hose crew about to go into action. Fuchs waited until he was through, then walked over. Miller recognized him and said, “I’m sorry about Mark, Chief. We’ve got a rescue crew in there searching for him now. It’s tough going.”

“Where’d it happen?”

“The last feeder corridor off the main one, by the utility core.

We think-the explosion may have blown him quite a distance down it.”

“Think I’ll take a look,” Fuchs said calmly.

Miller suddenly stood in the way. “You’re being foolish, Chief, and you know it. You’re the head of the department and you, of all people, know you can’t let your emotions get in the way. You can’t do anything more than is being done right now.

If you were no more valuable here than a backup hoseman that’s what you’d be. But you’re not and in there is not your place.”

“Nice speech,” Fuchs said. “Thanks. As far as this fire goes, Division Chief Infantino is in charge, you know that. I’m not very valuable looking over his shoulder.” Miller hesitated. “If it were my son, especially without a backup man, would you let me through?”

Fuchs shook his head. “No. But if you were me and it were your son, you’d go.” He pushed past the protesting Miller and strode into the smoky corridor, turning on his lantern a few feet in. It didn’t help much in cutting through the smoke. He had borrowed a respirator, one of the newer ones with an automatic demand regulator that would deliver all the air he needed even under -heavy work conditions. He slipped on the mask, adjusted the tank on his back, and started down the charred corridor toward the fire. Once he paused as part of the false ceiling in the corridor ahead gave way and tumbled to the floor in a shower of sparks.

The smoke was getting heavier now and it was more difficult to see.

Then he rounded a corner and the smoky flames were a few dozen feet ahead. A backup team was spraying the primary crew that was battling the fire.

The smoke billowed down the corridor and sought the natural vent of the elevator shaft on his left. The elevator doors were open to one of the cages; the interior was blackened and charred, the flocked paper that had covered its walls hanging in soggy, scorched strips.

The corridor dead-ended just ahead -and he backtracked. Miller had said the last feeder corridor… . He went back a few yards, found it, and walked down it, trying not to stumble over debris that littered the floor.

The smoke was thicker than in the main corridor and visibility was almost zero. The corridor seemed deserted and he could sense the smoke closing in behind him, hiding him from view of anybody in the main hallway.

The mask felt warm on his face and Fuchs suddenly realized he wasn’t getting enough air. He could smell the smoke penetrating the outlet valve of the mask as well. He felt down at his side for the main-line valve.

Demand regulator, my ass, he thought. Then he felt for the mask itself. The outlet valve wasn’t functioning properly. He heard it pop as it bowed under the pressure of his exhaled breath but the valve itself wasn’t opening.

Instead, the pressure was building up inside the mask and his exhaled breath was escaping about the seal on the sides of his face.

He struggled with the mask but couldn’t open the valve.

Don’t panic, he thought dispassionately. You’ve been through this before. Hold your breath and take the goddamned thing off. Now.

Thirty to sixty seconds to free the valve.

. Only it wouldn’t free.. He jiggled the valve, his breath pushing against his lungs. He used to be able to hold his breath for several minutes, but that was a long time ago.

He was feeling panic now and could hear a ringing in his ears.

The respirator was a dead loss; he’d have to make it back to the main corridor and the landing in a hurry. He turned, stumbled over a piece of fallen tile, and fell forward. He broke the fall with his arms but the effort drove the air from his lungs and he involuntarily inhaled.

The next instant, his lungs filled with a thick oily smoke.

He coughed and pulled in more air, then desperately tried to hold his breath. It was too late; convulsive coughing seized him again and he took in more lungfuls of the corridor air-a thick, resinous smoke with far too little oxygen and far too much carbon dioxide and carbon monoxide. He struggled to his feet, still coughing, took a step, and was suddenly too weak to continue.

It was too much for him; he was too old and too tired.

He should have listened to Miller. He sank back down to the floor, hoping that the rescue team would find Mark before it was too late.

Before-he lost consciousness, he thought: What a stupid way to go.