Page 2 of Choke

“McCoy, report!” I bellow.

Silence greets me over the radio as I hit the first door. I slam into it with my shoulder, forcing it open. The apartment is empty and untouched by the fire. Fire needs access and oxygen, and with the doors closed, the unit stands in stark contrast to the hallway. I notice the dishes left on the counter and the toys scattered across the floor, with the only sign of disturbance being the small white teddy bear—its left side blackened by smoke. I pause momentarily, overwhelmed by the destructive power of fire—how swiftly it takes over. Smoke pours in around me, and I force myself to keep moving. I walk to the other side of the hall, searching for the next unit. The door is unlocked, and as I push it open, a small cat darts into the bedroom. I quickly retreat into the hall and close the door, hoping to keep the frightened animal safe until its owner can send someone for it. I realize that people probably thought it was a fire drill. They left everything behind when the alarms sounded.

“McCoy! Answer me! Where the hell are you?”

I slam through another door into another empty, untouched apartment.

“Command, conditions up here are shit. I can’t reach McCoy. Send additional units.”

The air is thick like mud; it’s impossible to see through, and I trip, landing flat on my stomach. I check behind me to see what I’ve tripped over and find regulation boots sticking out of the garbage chute area. Staying low, I crawl to McCoy. His eyes are closed, his blonde hair is plastered to his forehead, and soot lines his nostrils. I’ve worked a handful of shifts with him, and the kid has never sat still untilnow. His mask is on the floor beside him—I’ve seen it before. The smoke thickens, making you feel as if you’re being suffocated, and inexperienced guys pull their masks off, desperate for air.

This area is a bit lighter on smoke; he must have crawled here to find some relief from the heat and overwhelming darkness. I push him up to grab his tank; the needle is buried; he’s out of air. I reach for my gauge and realize I’m also dangerously low. Moving, I glance left and right down the hall. The stairs I came up are about twenty feet away, and I know they’re clear of flames.

I need to move.

His PASS alarm hasn’t gone off, so he can’t have been down too long. I grab his boots and drag him out of the alcove, struggling to maneuver behind him. Wrapping my arms under his, I steady myself—he’s deadweight, heavier than he should be with all his gear. When we reach the stairs, I rip off my mask, secure it on his face, and hoist him over my shoulder. My lungs burn with the effort, the thick, sludge-like smoke coating my throat like ash. I swallow hard and push myself to keep moving.

Get to the ground floor.

My head spins, and my lungs beg for oxygen.

It feels like I’m choking.

Tears stream down my face due to the toxic environment surrounding me. Even without the smoke blurring my vision, my eyes remain too hazy. I navigated with my free hand along the railing, counting each platform to determine my location and remaining distance. I think I’m on the third floor when I notice the smoke is lighter, but it does nothing to clear my mind, and I begin to sway.

Get him out.

Stormy blue eyes flash in my mind. My head throbs, pressure mounting at the front of my skull.

“Keep going, Adrian.”A sweet ghost-like voice urges me forward.

My heart rate slows; that voice sounds like home. I push toward it, toward those eyes.

“Come home, Adrian.”

The radio crackles in my ear.

I’m trying.

“Liberty—this is Command. Where the hell are you? Do you have visuals on McCoy?”

Nothing comes out when I try to respond. The fire’s heat sears my throat. I know I’m losing the battle against the time I have to get us out. The weight of the rookie on my shoulder suddenly becomes unbearable, and McCoy slips off my shoulder, hitting the concrete landing we’re on. I reach for him, unable to tell if my movement is purposeful or if I’m just falling.

Pain explodes through my shoulder as I slam into the concrete next to McCoy.

“Adrian…”the voice beckons softly, curling around me like smoke.

My mind screams at me.

Get. Up.

McCoy’s PASS device kicks on, a high-pitched, wailing alarm designed to alert others when a firefighter goes down. The sound echoes through the stairwell, bouncing off the concrete and confirming what I already know.

We’re in trouble.

A few seconds later, mine joins it; the sound is unbearable, drowning out the building alarms, the distant sound of the fire, and that voice. I close my eyes, desperate to relieve the burning sensation.

There’s so much I haven’t done, and so much I haven’t said to so many people. I focus on steadying my breathing and slowing my heart rate. Each inhale feels like razor blades in my throat and lungs. A calmness washes over me, followed by silence, and I am weightless. My mind flashes with glimpses of moments throughout my life: hockey games with my dad, learning to ride my bike, graduating college. These pivotal moments shaped who and where I am. The flashes turn to long, dark hair and stormy blue eyes while that sweet vanilla scent masks the foul odor of burning synthetics.

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