Free Tin City Tinder by David Macinnis Gill Page B

fucking Spanish?”
    Every second he wasted, the fire got worse. By opening the door, I had let in a massive pipeline of oxygen. But Loach was having none of it. He hooked my left arm. Ronnie grabbed my breathing tank and lifted it, trying to rock me off my feet.
    I brought the hooligan down on Loach’s arm. “Back off!”  
    “Goddamn!” Loach howled. “You about broke my arm!”
    Bent at the waist, I lifted Ronnie off the ground and dumped him unceremoniously on his ass. Before they could stop me, I leapt inside, ducking the mass of heat above me.
    The stairwell was functioning as a chimney. It drew smoke from the first floor to the second. There were still no visible hotspots, but I knew that the fresh oxygen from the front door was sucked upstairs, too.  
    It would only feed the fire.
    Lamar had repeatedly warned me about second stories. You had to worry about the ceiling and the floor. Both could give way without notice, and you’d be sandwiched between a ton of superheated material.
    “Childress!” Loach yelled.
    The three men squatted beside the back door. They beckoned for me to come back. Their coats were still unbuttoned. Proof they had no intention of rendering aid.
    “This is suicide!” Loach yelled. “Don’t be a hero!”
    “It’s not being a hero! It’s doing what’s right!”  
      With the end of the hooligan, I jabbed the steps. The sharp tip found solid wood, so I took each step before stopping to check the next until I reached the second floor.
    Inside the turnouts, I felt my sweat sizzling against the fireproof fabric. I had to get out fast. The suit could protect me from flash hits, but the material itself could scald my flesh.
    Inside the foyer, smoke bloomed across the ceiling and flowed down the walls to the floor, where it formed a stew of toxic fumes. One breath of that stuff, and I’d be a dead man.  
    “Don’t be dead.” I stayed low, turning my head to the right and left, trying to hear the screams again. But what if it really was another possum? What if I hadn’t heard anything at all?  
    Three doors ahead.  
    One was open. In the room, I could make out the clawed feet of an antique bathtub. The other two doors, on either side of the foyer, were closed. One of them had to lead to the attic. That’s where I’d heard the voice because there was no sound until the doghouse window blew out.
    But which way? Opening a door in a fire was like throwing lighter fluid on a lit charcoal grill. If I chose wrong and opened a unburned room, it could result in flashover, causing the whole area to simultaneously combust.  
    Both doors looked exactly the same in the thickening cloud of smoke. The visibility was only a few feet now.  
    I couldn’t afford to wait.
    Crack !
    A chunk of plaster longer than me fell from the lathing. It slammed onto the floor.  
    “Shit!”
    A second, deeper crack opened. A beam ripped loose from the ceiling and collapsed on the landing, scattering fiery debris. Sparks shot through the smoke and coated my turnouts in embers.
    The floorboards shuddered under my weight. The floor was going to collapse and swallow me whole.
    Crack !
    A second joist collapsed, and the lathing broke free. The mass swung down like a pendulum, smacking my head before I could react.  
    My helmet flew off.
    My mask was knocked aside.
    Noxious gas filled my lungs.
    Gasping, I clawed at the mask and took a step back into space. My foot searched in vain for solid ground, and I felt myself teeter. Spit and panic flew out of my mouth, and my arms lashed about like a pinwheel twirling in the wind.
    “Oh fuck.”
    The stairs welcomed my fall.

    4

    I heard a beeping sound from far away. I thought it was the alarm clock, and I lifted my hand to smack the snooze bar. The hand wouldn’t move. My eyes wouldn’t open, either. The paralysis should have bothered me, but I didn’t have a care in the world. My head felt fuzzy and soft, and there was a warmth in my belly that made me want