The lights, red and blue, flash upon the hushed crowd, bathing people in strange brightness in the darkest time of the year. Sirens blare loud enough for the entire block to hear, the sound waking many from their slumber. More and more people gather on the street to point and stare, most only covered in their night clothes. Only a select few take the time to pull on a jacket to fight off the too-early-in-the-morning chill.
One man pushes to the front of the crowd, trying to get a better view of the scene laid out in front of this miserable town. He hopes that he is wrong about the realness of the situation. He prays that it is but a dream created by lack of sleep and too much caffeine, a workaholics hallucination. He had always been a good, church-going man, always praying, always having faith. He had thought Hell’s fire couldn’t reach him or is family.
Tears fill his eyes when he sees that he was not mistaken. This event was very much real, no matter how surreal it seemed. Maybe he wasn’t quite good enough. Maybe he didn’t pray enough. Maybe he shouldn’t have left that morning to get another coffee, the only thing keeping him from crashing on his all-nighter. Maybe he should have listened to his wife before she left him, and given up on his silly obsession with becoming a published author. Yet as much as he wanted to fall to his knees and throw his hands to the sky to wallow in his self pity, this wasn’t about him.
I must save them.
The man rushes past the barricades, shoving his way into the burning building, the screams of the police and random citizens falling upon his deaf ears. No God-fearing man would have ran inside, but nothing could hold this man back. They were the only things he loved more than God. Inside there is only thick gray smoke, blinding him, choking him. It rushes into his lungs, grabbing his esophagus, ripping out his oxygen. He pushes forward anyway, farther away from his only chance of survival.
I must save them.
Debris falls in his path from the ceiling above him and he steps over it. Smoke fills his lungs, killing him from the inside out, filling his body with despair, but he ignores it. He makes his way to the stairs, the smoke too thick to see anything past his nose.
I must save them.
Up the stairs, to the left, last door at the end of the hall. Up the stairs, to the left, last door at the end of the hall. His mantra.
I must save them.
He takes the stairs two at a time, jumping over fallen chunks of building and people before he trips, and falls all the way back down. He goes up again, two stairs at a time, over people and debris. He is weightless, as if ascending into his afterlife, yet he knows by the throbbing ache in his bones that he still lives. Up the stairs, to the left, last door at the end of the hall.
I must save them.
He reaches the top of the stairs and collapses, the smoke taking his vision away once more. When it returns he gets up and takes a left. The floor starts to crumble in front of him, but he doesn’t care. Just a simple jump, no fear for death, only thoughts of them.
I must save them.
He inches forward carefully, but swiftly, over the cracks, around the fallen and the deceased. He stops for no one, not when people are clearly alive, when he could be their savior. He is the last person they will see.
I must save them.
Sweat covers his body. His heart races, but he remains steady in his progress. The door is in his sight, just out of reach. His face burns at the heat coming from all around him, but he is numb to all but his thoughts of safety, not for him but for them.
I must save them.
He coughs, lungs exploding, attempting to expel the smoke from his body. He covers his mouth but doesn’t stop moving. He reaches the door and grabs the knob, twisting it. The waves coming from the door don’t faze him, but the room does. Locked. He kicks the door. Once. Twice.
I must save them.
It breaks. Flames shoot out, burning his face and chest as they wrap around him, trying to pull him to the other side. He screams in pain but after only a second he falls silent. He sees them. There, in the middle of the floor, huddled together, wrapped around each other. The reason he is here is for them. The pain is but an obstacle for him to surpass so that he can get them to safety. He can still reach them, save them. He walks into the flames, unafraid of the consequences.
I. Must. Save. Them.
Fire fills his vision but he ceases to notice. His vision tunnels in on the mass in the center of the room. He suddenly falls to his knees, too weak to support himself, but he must keep going. He crawls, hands and knees, through the flames. His hands stick to the floor, his flesh melting off his bones and ripping off with every inch, but he keeps going.
I must save them.
His skin blackens, vision following suit. He can’t see, can’t hear, can’t breathe.
I must save them.
He falls onto his stomach, yet he keeps going. Through the inferno, he pulls himself forward, struggling to stay conscious enough to move. His strength abandons him, and he can no longer pull himself.
I must save them.
He reaches out his charred hand, stretching out as far as he can in order to find them. His hand lightly brushes burning cloth and he grabs hold. It’s them. He pulls the empty husks closer, all that remains of them, and wraps them in one last embrace. He sobs, and as the fire finally consumes him and his children, he whispers.
“I saved them.”
