Attention Residents
Lex
I open my eyes and register the smell of smoke and smile.
He’s here.
I remove my earplugs, and when I sit up, I hear the alarm blaring, registering a strange, metallic taste in my mouth.
What?
This isn’t right. It has to be a false alarm. My brain feels sluggish, like mud. I’m so confused, and I lower my feet to the floor, looking around. The air feels different. The building’s power is out; the only light comes from the emergency lighting system. I reach for my phone when the automated voice comes over the building intercom.
“Attention residents. A fire has been detected in the building. If you have not already evacuated, please shelter in place. Stay inside your unit, close doors, and seal gaps with wet towels or tape to prevent smoke entry. Fire crews are on site. Await further instructions.”
I look at my phone and have three missed calls from a number I don’t recognize. My head spins and throbs. I stand, and my body sways as if I’m on a boat in the middle of the ocean, feeling light-headed. I open my bedroom door and see the black smoke. At the same time, my phone rings again—that number. I swipe to answer it.
“Hello?”
I’m so confused.
“Lex, are you outside?” the voice is insistent and low.
“Who is this?”
“Lex—are you outside of the building?”
Warmth rushes me.
“Adrian?”
He’s calling. That’s nice.
“Lex!”
“There’s smoke. I think there’s a fire. My head hurts.”
I press my hand to my forehead and stumble, dropping my phone to the floor.
Millie. Where is Millie?
I pull the carrier out from under the bed, then locate her curled under the blankets. She protests when I lift her into the carrier and seal it. I tug on some yoga pants, and the first cough rips through me. My lungs burn. I pull a sweatshirt over my head and drape my arm across my nose and mouth, moving toward my door. The automated voice repeats its message, but my brain is too foggy to understand.
The voice drones on, tinny and distant.
“…stay inside your unit… keep doors closed… wet towels…”
I gotta get out of here.
Millie cries from the carrier, low, scared.
“I know, baby—” I cough hard.
I need to protect her.
I reach for the door slowly, touching it to see if it’s hot. We learned that in grade school: check for hot handles. It’s cool to the touch, so I unlock it and pull it open. The hallway is thick with smoke that curls around me like dark fingers, stinging my eyes and nose and forcing hot tears to spill. The emergency lights flicker above, casting strange and demented shadows in the smoky hall. With the power out, the elevators are out of the question, so I head toward the stairs, but the hallway seems impossibly long. It feels so much longer than usual. Each breath is thick with acrid bitterness and feels like razor blades.
God, I’m so tired.
I lean into the wall, allowing it to support my heavy body as I walk toward the stairs.
Maybe I’ll rest for a minute here.
My body feels like it weighs a ton, and my knees give way as I sink to the floor, pulling Millie’s carrier onto my lap and resting my forehead against the cool plastic. The air here feels clearer and thinner, and I breathe rapidly, my chest heaving with each inhale. My heart pounds against my chest, and my fingers feel numb. I could close my eyes for a few minutes and continue once I’ve rested a bit…
I let my eyes fall closed.
Just for a minute.
Then I’ll get to the stairs.
Strong hands grip my arms, pulling me from my nightmare.
I was dreaming of fire.
I open my eyes as I’m lifted, staring into a firefighter’s mask. My chest feels like fire is erupting from within me. He’s saying something I can’t comprehend. His strong hands, clad in rough gloves, dig into my arms, grimy and covered in soot. He lifts me to cradle me in his arms, and I realize my hands are empty. I try to catch his attention and tell him he’s leaving her behind. When he doesn’t stop or turn back, I fight. Kicking and punching with every ounce of strength I have, I strive to break free.
My feet hit the ground. I stagger, my legs barely holding me up. But then I lurch forward, running—back to where I was, where she was.
But it’s empty.
My head spins back and forth, searching the smoke-filled hall for Mildred. She’s gone.
nononono.
The strong hands grab me again; the tears spring from my eyes as I look at the stranger.
“My cat. Where’s my cat?” I sob.
He says something I can’t understand and pulls me.
I can’t leave her.
She must be in my condo.
I pull my arm from his and run. My legs pump, lungs burn. I scream her name in a voice that’s unrecognizable—hoarse and desperate. I reach my door and frantically search for her. Did I dream of putting her in the carrier? I check under the couch and under my bed. She’s not here. I push past the firefighter again, running out my door and back into the smokey hall.
She’s gotta be here.
I stumble and fall, coughs overtaking my body and— oh god, my lungs.
I try to stand and fail.
I can’t breathe.
Footsteps behind me. A shadow moves in the smoke. I spin—and see the firefighter.
Coming for me again.
No, no, no.
Why is he chasing me?
My adrenaline drives me up, and I use the last energy in my tired body to run for the stairs. I’m no longer trying to escape the fire; I’m trying to escape the monster chasing me. As I reach them, the door flings open, and I collide with a wall. Not a wall, another firefighter.
Warm brown eyes, wild with fear, meet mine.
I know those eyes.
Adrian.
My mouth moves, but no sound comes out. My tongue feels thick and heavy, and my throat feels raw and charred. His lips are moving, but I can’t hear him over the ringing in my ears. The world tilts and my legs give out. His arms are the only thing keeping me upright.
I feel like I’m sinking.
His eyes are the last thing I see as my head slips under the black water.
Adrian
The crew is inside by the time I run for the doors. She’s still in her unit. I secure my mask and head straight to the stairs. McCoy went up first. I’m passing the fourth floor when I hear him come across the radio.
“I have one female—who was passed out in the hall. Woke up and kicked the shit out of me and took off running.” He sounds winded.
If I weren’t so fucking scared, I’d love this. Love that she fought.
The rest of the crew provides status updates.
“Floor 6, clean.”
“Floor 7, clean.”
“Floor 8, dirty.”
I continue, passing the fire on the eighth floor, the smoke so thick in the stairwell that I can’t see anything beyond me. I count the doors as I pass, nearly missing the door to the ninth floor.
“She’s running, man!” McCoy shouts through the radio.
I reach for the handle, preparing to run to her. I pull so hard that I’m shocked it doesn’t come off the hinges. She’s there—she barrels into me. Her face is blackened by soot, and even without being able to hear clearly, I know her breathing is rough. Her wild eyes meet mine, and her lips lift into a weak smile before she loses consciousness.
No.
I pull my mask off my face and put it over hers. Right away, noticing the heavy smoke and fighting back a cough. Once the mask is secured, I pull her into my arms, and she feels so light and weightless and too fucking still. I turn and run for the first floor. I move like a machine. Each step is precise and methodical, and her head lolls against my chest.
Seven. Six. Five.
I cough, my lungs tearing apart.
I shouldn’t have let her go. I shouldn’t have given her space. I thought she just needed time to come around and make her want me the way I want her.
Four. Three.
Fuck, move. MOVE.
I should have protected her.
Two. Do. Not. Stop. One.
I burst through the exit—fresh air, crisp and cold. The pain it brings takes me by surprise. I was expecting relief, but instead, it stabs at my airway, and my head spins from the sudden rush of oxygen; I struggle against my body not to double over, pushing myself forward toward the medics. Sweat drips down my back, inside my gear, and it feels like spiders crawling on me.
“Here! I need a fucking medic!” I boom.
Every head within earshot turns my way, and two medics grab their kits and sprint toward me. I return my attention to her face—to her chest. I can’t tell if she’s breathing. I stoop and lay her flat on the ground; all movement from her has stopped. Dropping to my knees, I lean my face next to her mouth and nose, focusing to see if I can feel anything. There’s nothing. I rip my gloves off and press two trembling fingers to her neck, looking for her pulse.
No. No. No. No. No.
I can’t find her fucking pulse. I press harder, so hard she’ll have a bruise. If her heart still beats. I pop my thumb into my mouth, wetting it, and use it to wipe the blackened soot off her lips.
Her lips—
Jesus, they’re blue.
FUCK. No. Not her.
Please, God. Not her.
“Oxygen. Get her oxygen, now!” My voice is hoarse.
Paramedics reach us, shoving me out of the way. I stumble backward, landing on my ass on the pavement, and for a moment, I’m transported back to that day in TD Gardens and paralyzed and unable to help my dad, cold pavement rushing up to meet me.
“Step back, man. We got her.”
I need more time.
My gaze falls upon my hands, and I notice how they shake. I look back at her, and I see them working on her. They speak calmly to each other, and I strain to hear what they say.
“What’s going on? What the fuck is happening?”
They’re too slow. I move to take over, to do something—anything—but a firm hand slams into my chest, holding me back.
“Give them space,” Harrington says. His voice is calm. Mine is breaking apart.
His grip is firm, but he doesn’t make me walk away.
They call for a stretcher, and I watch as they push a tube down her airway.
Fuck.
I was too late.
Within minutes, she’s on a stretcher, hooked up to oxygen, not moving. Eyes closed.
She looks dead.
The medic looks at me.
“You’re staying here.”
It’s a statement, not a question, and I know I can’t leave. I nod, and they take off toward the ambulances. My stomach flips, my heart shatters. I haven’t earned the right to be with her.
I wasted so much time.
Turning back to the building, I put on my mask again before running back into the fire.
She can’t be gone.
Please, god, I need more time.