Free We All Fall Down: The True Story of the 9/11 Surfer by Pasquale Buzzelli, Joseph M. Bittick, Louise Buzzelli Page B

for a lot of trust—in them and in their rope that could supposedly support twice his weight. Still, he wanted out of there, and if it took trust, that was what they were going to get. He inched the rest of his body over the edge and let go.
    At first, his feet hung in space. He dangled, turning to face the stack of rubble. He pushed at the pile with one hand and held tightly to the rope with his other hand. Slowly, inch by inch, he moved downward.
    Inch by inch he went. He used his fingertips to push his body back, away from the concrete and metal. He dug his toes in wherever he could get a firm enough hold. The pain in his leg and ankle shot through his body, but he couldn’t think about it, other than to wince every once in a while.
    He held on to nothing. He dangled, then fell again—off into space.
    But as the firefighter had promised, he didn’t fall far. The small man above held on. The rope caught and grew taut. Slowly, he let out more rope, until Pasquale hung just above the heads of two more firemen who were waiting below, with their arms up to grab him.
    One of the men held on to his foot. Pain became a red thing behind his eyes. Something was definitely wrong with that foot, but he didn’t have time to think about broken bones. He had to help them save him. He had to concentrate, for that was his only way out of there—the only way to get home.
    He descended a bit further. His arms and hands hurt, his arms were stretched and taut, and his flesh was being mercilessly scraped by the rope. It seemed harder and harder to catch his breath. He thought maybe he’d been holding it. Maybe there’s more wrong with me than I thought…
    The next pair of arms came up to catch him. One of the men got his hands under Pasquale’s arms and pulled his body across the twisted beam, to where the man stood.
    Pasquale settled beside him on that massive beam, pain almost knocking him senseless. He didn’t know how he was going to go on. Something was very wrong. He was too weak, and his head felt light. He worried that he’d black out, that he’d fade out cold again any minute.
    “Can you stand?” a fireman asked, bending over him, wearing a dirty, concerned face. Pasquale nodded. If that’s what it takes… But the pain must have showed.
    “Do you think you’ll be able to walk on that?” the fireman asked, pointing at his leg, swollen to the point of ballooning his pant leg. “We’ve got a lot of climbing to do in order to get you down.”
    “Let me try,” he begged. “I’ve got to call my wife. She doesn’t know I’m alive.” It may not have been what he should have been concerned about right then, but Louise was all that was on his mind, especially now that he knew he was going to live. If she saw the building come down…If she thinks I didn’t have time to escape…My God! Louise! The baby!
    The fireman nodded. One stood in front of Pasquale while the other was behind him. They had tied a rope around just him in case he might fall. The firemen looked concerned, but they began to work their way down, always testing each foothold, finding another when the pile shifted beneath their feet. Pasquale’s body was covered with soot and ground dust and sweat. The place was hot, the pain intense. They moved down another 100 yards, and that was it. That was all he could take.
    I need to keep moving, but I can’t. Rest…I just need to rest, only for a minute… He found a small ledge, sat down, and put his head in his hands. He had to take a break, or he was going to faint. “Just five minutes, okay?” he mumbled to the fireman climbing down with him.
    The man looked worried.
    Pasquale turned to stare hard into the wide, empty abyss below, another yawning chasm. He needed to take deep breaths, to feel the breeze around him. It was still hot with smoke and strange aromas, but at least the air was moving there. He could finally breathe. But…
    The fireman called to the others.
    Voices came back, but Pasquale