Through The Fire. Sharon Mignerey
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the X-ray lab. A quick peek through the door showed an X-ray machine painted to look like an elephant. He didn’t see many people, and even here, where he expected the noise level would be higher because of the children, there was instead the overall hush that seemed to permeate hospitals.
Ahead he saw the sign for the chapel, and when he peeked through the window in the door he saw that it too was designed with children in mind. Instead of formal pews, there were a couple of comfortable-looking sofas and several beanbag chairs covered in plush fabric. A couple of children were sitting together on one of the giant beanbags.
Rafe watched them a moment, knowing too well how they felt if they were waiting for news of a sick family member. Not wanting to intrude, he made his way to the end of the hallway, where a large window looked down on a park. In the distance, he could see the spire of the Good Shepherd Church.
Hands in the pockets of his jacket, Rafe made his way back down the hallway, which continued to be mostly deserted, a thought that made him smile since the parking lot had been packed when he arrived. About halfway back to the chapel door, he suddenly smelled smoke.
Between the chapel and the nurse’s station he saw a door discreetly labeled Janitor’s Closet. From beneath the door, smoke curled across the spotless tiled floor. He ran those last few feet to the door.
He pressed a hand against the door, which felt warm. Too warm.
His thoughts raced as he hurried on to the nurse’s station. Was this the reason the lights had flickered a few minutes ago? How could the door be that warm? And in a brand-new facility, why hadn’t the sprinklers come on? Why hadn’t some computer-generated warning notified someone?
Only one nurse was at the station. She raised her head when she saw him coming, gave him an automatic smile, then bent her head down once again.
“Miss,” Rafe said, “there’s smoke coming from under a door down the hall.”
She gave him another smile, the sort that indicated he was about to be dismissed even before she spoke. “I’ll check on that in just a minute. Thanks for letting me know.”
“I’m not just letting you know,” Rafe said, coming around the tall counter and reaching for the phone. “I’m calling for help.”
“Sir, you can’t be back here.”
Rafe thrust the receiver into her hand. “You have a fire. Call 9–1-1.”
“Sir, if you’ll just calm down—”
“I’m calm.” He stepped back into the hallway and reached into the pocket of his jacket for his cell phone. “Take a look for yourself.”
“Your child couldn’t be safer here, even though we’ve had quite a few false alarms over the last few days,” she said, finally standing. “We have all the latest monitors.” She waved toward a computer monitor. “I’d know if there was a problem.” She came around the counter toward the hallway. “But I will look…” Her gaze lit on the smoke. “Oh, no!”
By then, Rafe had dialed 9–1-1, and the instant the dispatcher answered, he said, “There’s a fire in the children’s wing of Vance Memorial Hospital.” He looked up and down the hallway for the ever-present fire extinguisher that should have been somewhere close by.
The nurse was back inside the nurse’s station, finally calling for help.
Over the cell phone, the dispatcher said, “We should have received an automatic call if there was a problem—”
“The fire started in the janitor’s closet,” Rafe interrupted, running up the hallway, searching for an extinguisher. “The sprinklers haven’t come on and—”
“What’s your location, sir?”
Rafe relayed that information as best he could, noticing that the nurse had called whomever she needed to because he heard a summons over the intercom. “Dr. Firestone to the pediatric wing.”
Just then, he saw another nurse notice the smoke coming from beneath the door. She punched a code on the keypad next to the door.
Rafe raced back toward her. “Don’t open the door!”
But he was too late. The latch clicked and she pushed the door open. Acrid black smoke billowed out of the room, accompanied by the unmistakable whish of air being sucked into the room. Rafe pulled the nurse from her frozen position in front of the door. In the next instant, flames licked into the hallway, flicking like a snake’s tongue.
“Are you okay?” he asked her, urging her away from the open door.
Her eyes wide and frightened, she nodded, then ran toward the nurse’s station. Suddenly, there were people everywhere, while someone shouted orders.
Rafe ran back toward the entrance to the wing, wishing he remembered where he had seen the fire extinguisher. Finally, he found it near the entrance where the doors were now closed. He grabbed the canister and rushed back to the fire, where black smoke continued to pour out of the closet.
He lost track of time after that, something that always happened when he was fighting a fire. Prayer and intense concentration on the task at hand occupied his mind. The only things he knew for sure were that the sprinklers weren’t coming on and the canister didn’t contain nearly enough volume to put out the fire. The best he could hope for was to contain it until the fire department arrived.
Lucia Vance arrived at the hospital with her fellow firefighters a scant six minutes later. Since their station was the closest, they arrived before the four other engines that had also been called out, just as they had when they had responded to a false alarm an hour earlier. During her last shift, they had answered four false alarms here, and this was the second call today. Just as she had the previous times they had responded, she carried a roll of hose over one shoulder and an ax in her hand. She and the other four firefighters followed the incident commander, Neil O’Brien, into the building. Each time they had responded to a call, the alarm had come from somewhere in the remodeled section of the hospital. This time, the emergency panel indicated the fire was on the second floor of the brand-new pediatric wing. Each time, the panel had showed a suspected fire in different areas—no two calls had been the same.
“It’s gotta be another false alarm,” said Lucia’s partner, Luke Donovan. “No way would there be a fire there. Not with all the sprinklers and sensors.”
“You’re probably right,” O’Brien said, leading the way. “Meyers and Jackson, secure the elevators. The rest of you come with me.”
They entered the stairwell and made their way to the second floor. As soon as they came through the door, Lucia smelled smoke.
This was no false alarm.
The floor was bustling with activity, and a nurse rushed toward them, pointing toward one of the adjoining hallways. “Down there.”
“Vance and Donovan, make an assessment and report back,” O’Brien ordered.
Lucia followed her partner down the hall, the smell of smoke stronger with each step they took. They turned a corner, and the smoke hung from the ceiling like an ugly black blanket billowing in a breeze.
The silhouette of a man kneeling on one knee suddenly became visible. He was clearly a civilian since he wasn’t in turnout gear, but he expertly wielded the extinguisher.
He violently started when Lucia touched his back. “We’ve got it, sir,” she said through her mask. He looked up, his face streaked with smoke, his eyes the most vivid green she ever remembered seeing.
“The stairwell is that way,” she said when he stared blankly at her. “You can go.”
He nodded, his eyes somehow boring right through her, then handed her the canister, the athletic grace of his stride catching her attention while she and Luke briefly assessed the fire. All around them, hospital personnel were busy evacuating patients, but despite the fire, everything seemed calm. Eerily so, Lucia thought as the