“I’ll get it taken care of,” Becca said. “Fresh crews are coming. I’ll be up on fifteen.”
“Got it,” Putnam acknowledged. “Be careful.”
“You too. Watch yourself!”
Just then, a crash was heard behind them. Turning, Becca and Putnam witnessed a large portion of the ceiling collapsing onto a group of firefighters!
“Men trapped!” Becca shouted. “Men trapped! Bring a line!” She was already running towards them. Reaching the debris pile, some of which was burning, Becca started pulling what she could from off the firefighters beneath it. Fortunately, it was all lightweight material—ceiling tiles, aluminum support struts and similar construction items. She felt water spraying her. Putnam had pulled the firemen who were tackling the conference room fire over to where their fallen comrades were and they were trying to put out the burning debris.
Other firefighters arrived to help Becca pull the trapped men out. It took a few tense moments but eventually they succeeded. The ones who had been buried were conscious and able to move. Nonetheless, Becca ordered them downstairs to be evaluated by paramedics.
“I’m good, Chief,” one of them pleaded earnestly. “I swear to God I can stay!”
The three others on whom the ceiling had collapsed also entreated her to let them remain.
Normally, Becca would have ripped them each a new one for daring to question her orders. But this was not a normal fire. To kill this Burning Beast they’d need every person who could hold a hose, spit or even piss on the flames.
She looked each of them in the eyes. She saw lucidity. She saw courage. Most of all, she saw determination. One of them was a woman. A tiny thing. She must barely meet the department’s minimum height requirements, Becca considered. Yet, her eyes were flashing with as much, if not more, determination than the others.
Becca felt an immense amount of pride swell in her at all of these firefighters.
“Get back to work,” she ordered.
She tapped Putnam’s shoulder.
“I’m heading topside,” she told him.
***
Fifteen was better than eleven. How long that would last was anyone’s guess.
It looked to her like several individual blazes were going here. The crews working them were doing their best but it wasn’t going to be enough.
“Cappy,” she radioed to Herc, “more men on fifteen. Over.”
“Copy.” A pause. Then, “They’re on their way. Over.”
Becca quickly assessed the situation up here.
This floor was laid out differently than eleven. She figured it must be where the executive offices of the company were. It had a more posh feel to it—a lot of wood and brass fittings, expensive furnishings, even a chandelier hanging over what was evidently the reception area.
She spotted the north staircase Cappy had told her about. It was blocked by fire. Until that blaze was brought under more control there was no way a bunch of civilians were going to get to that exit.
Speaking of…
“Where are the civilians?” she asked the nearest firefighter.
He pointed.
“Down that way, Chief. Some kind of large meeting room.”
Becca found it easily enough. It was a room about the size of a high school gymnasium. They must use it for all-hands meetings and shindigs like this, she figured. There were decorations on the walls, including a huge banner which read “Congratulations on $200 Million in Sales!” A buffet table with food lined one wall. There was even a DJ station set up, though no music was playing now. There were well over a hundred obviously frightened people gathered, coughing because of the smoke.
An older man who projected an I’m-in-charge-here vibe approached her.
“I’m Bob Dunston,” he said. “What’s the situation, Captain?” He asked the question as coolly as if he was merely asking about the weather.
“Chief,” Becca corrected.