her progress. The door seemed far
away, a pinpoint on the horizon. She staggered close enough to reach out and
turn the brass knob. The stench of fumes and intolerable heat knocked her back.
The roar of fire travelled up the stairs. She looked at her husband’s picture
next to the bed.
The sounds of voices from the street led her to the window. She picked up a
vase from a side table and bashed out the glass.
“Jump,” Isaac and Howard shouted to her in unison. “We’ll catch you.”
“I’ll get Mrs. Lamb to the window first.” She roused her roommate from a deep
sleep.
“W-what’s the matter ?” the blind woman asked, groggy, disoriented. “Is that
smoke I smell ?”
Mrs. Duggan’s voice trembled. “The Home’s on fire.”
Mrs. Lamb folded wrinkled hands under her chin. “Our Father Who Art in Heaven,”
she prayed.
“Come with me, Mrs. Lamb. We have to go out the window.”
“Hallowed be Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come,” the frail voice continued.
Mrs. Duggan tugged on her arm. “Please, Mrs. Lamb, come on.”
Heat from the fire pressed against the door. It rattled, held strong for a few
seconds, then burst open. Thick, black smoke rolled over the two women, and Mrs.
Duggan’s throat constricted. She gasped for breath and slumped over Mrs. Lamb’s
lifeless body.
In the next room, Joan Parsons, a woman of fifty, heard a cry for help and
bolted out of bed. Smoke curled around her head. She gagged. Flames rose up
outside the window. She woke the three other patients and ran across the hall to
the room at the front of the Home. Firemen below beckoned toher. She ran back to her room. “The window in the other room is clear of fire.
We can get out that way.”
“No,” one woman wept. “I’m afraid.”
“We’re better off waiting here,” another said.
Joan glanced at the flames licking the window. “Don’t be so stunned. We’ll die
in here.” The three women clutched each other and wouldn’t budge. Joan hurried
back across the hall and threw up the window.
“Jump,” the crowd yelled. She crawled onto the ledge and looked toward the sky.
“Sweet Jesus, protect me,” she said, and let herself go. Three young lads broke
her fall. One set of young hands broke loose from Joan’s weight and her left hip
smacked the sidewalk with a sound like the crack of a whip.
Another window exploded on the third floor. A man jumped. People slipped on the
ice and tripped over each other in an attempt to catch him. The thud when he hit
the ground stilled the crowd. Even the wind seemed to quiet down in respect for
the crumpled body of the old gentleman on the cold, hard sidewalk, a look of
terror in his wide, sea-green eyes. One of the several Salvation Army members
who had come with hot tea and blankets gently placed a soft white quilt over
him.
A mattress emerged from a second-storey window, followed by a wail sharper than
the cold. No one appeared in the window.
“Captain,” a fireman said to Baker, “the smoke and heat’s keeping us from going
in through the windows.”
“Come with me,” Baker said, and went to the back of the building with
Superintendent Vivian in tow. Two women lay side by side on the ground, both
wrapped in blankets. One moved. One didn’t. Baker knew the latter was dead
before he touched her. He smiled at the woman who looked up at him,her cheeks stained with soot, her eyes wide with fear. “Don’t
worry, ma’am, we’ll get you to the hospital.” He faced his crew. “Inside, men,”
he roared. “We can’t allow any more of these good people to die.”
They broke in the door and bounded up the stairs through smoke as black as
night and heat intense enough to scorch the hairs on their hands. The lead man
tripped over a stout woman half sitting against the wall. He felt for a pulse.
“She’s alive,” he said. The superintendent and Baker slung her over the
fireman’s
away, a pinpoint on the horizon. She staggered close enough to reach out and
turn the brass knob. The stench of fumes and intolerable heat knocked her back.
The roar of fire travelled up the stairs. She looked at her husband’s picture
next to the bed.
The sounds of voices from the street led her to the window. She picked up a
vase from a side table and bashed out the glass.
“Jump,” Isaac and Howard shouted to her in unison. “We’ll catch you.”
“I’ll get Mrs. Lamb to the window first.” She roused her roommate from a deep
sleep.
“W-what’s the matter ?” the blind woman asked, groggy, disoriented. “Is that
smoke I smell ?”
Mrs. Duggan’s voice trembled. “The Home’s on fire.”
Mrs. Lamb folded wrinkled hands under her chin. “Our Father Who Art in Heaven,”
she prayed.
“Come with me, Mrs. Lamb. We have to go out the window.”
“Hallowed be Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come,” the frail voice continued.
Mrs. Duggan tugged on her arm. “Please, Mrs. Lamb, come on.”
Heat from the fire pressed against the door. It rattled, held strong for a few
seconds, then burst open. Thick, black smoke rolled over the two women, and Mrs.
Duggan’s throat constricted. She gasped for breath and slumped over Mrs. Lamb’s
lifeless body.
In the next room, Joan Parsons, a woman of fifty, heard a cry for help and
bolted out of bed. Smoke curled around her head. She gagged. Flames rose up
outside the window. She woke the three other patients and ran across the hall to
the room at the front of the Home. Firemen below beckoned toher. She ran back to her room. “The window in the other room is clear of fire.
We can get out that way.”
“No,” one woman wept. “I’m afraid.”
“We’re better off waiting here,” another said.
Joan glanced at the flames licking the window. “Don’t be so stunned. We’ll die
in here.” The three women clutched each other and wouldn’t budge. Joan hurried
back across the hall and threw up the window.
“Jump,” the crowd yelled. She crawled onto the ledge and looked toward the sky.
“Sweet Jesus, protect me,” she said, and let herself go. Three young lads broke
her fall. One set of young hands broke loose from Joan’s weight and her left hip
smacked the sidewalk with a sound like the crack of a whip.
Another window exploded on the third floor. A man jumped. People slipped on the
ice and tripped over each other in an attempt to catch him. The thud when he hit
the ground stilled the crowd. Even the wind seemed to quiet down in respect for
the crumpled body of the old gentleman on the cold, hard sidewalk, a look of
terror in his wide, sea-green eyes. One of the several Salvation Army members
who had come with hot tea and blankets gently placed a soft white quilt over
him.
A mattress emerged from a second-storey window, followed by a wail sharper than
the cold. No one appeared in the window.
“Captain,” a fireman said to Baker, “the smoke and heat’s keeping us from going
in through the windows.”
“Come with me,” Baker said, and went to the back of the building with
Superintendent Vivian in tow. Two women lay side by side on the ground, both
wrapped in blankets. One moved. One didn’t. Baker knew the latter was dead
before he touched her. He smiled at the woman who looked up at him,her cheeks stained with soot, her eyes wide with fear. “Don’t
worry, ma’am, we’ll get you to the hospital.” He faced his crew. “Inside, men,”
he roared. “We can’t allow any more of these good people to die.”
They broke in the door and bounded up the stairs through smoke as black as
night and heat intense enough to scorch the hairs on their hands. The lead man
tripped over a stout woman half sitting against the wall. He felt for a pulse.
“She’s alive,” he said. The superintendent and Baker slung her over the
fireman’s
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