The Wright Way

Chapter 10 - The Wright Thing

By the time we reach 'Golden Leaf', the sky is almost dark, but the street is well lit. The roof of the two-story building is already engulfed in flames, as well as the whole of the second floor. Yellow tongues of fire burst out of the windows.

On the first floor, black smoke pours out of the front door into which two men are disappearing—one carrying a fire hose, the other straightening it behind his back. They must have come from the fire engine already parked by the building.

Hamilton brings us smoothly to a halt next to it, after rolling dangerously close to the crowd of spectators who stand with their phones out, filming the flames and taking selfies with us in the background.

We get out, unloading the equipment. Mike runs over to the other crew to get updates and coordinate our efforts. I unroll the hose, pulling it towards the building. My bunker gear makes the already hot air almost suffocating. My heart is pounding, which is normal, but the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach is new. I don't let myself dwell on it, though, and just pull the hose towards the house, trying not to think that someone could still be trapped inside.

I stop in front of the building, the heat already considerable, and watch the two men run out the front door, dragging their hose after them. One of them looks around and walks to me.

"Back away, back away." He has to yell to overcome the noises of the fire. I can only see his eyes and the upper part of his cheeks above his mask, the skin red and swollen. "Evacuation order, get back."

"What?" someone else shouts. A few more guys join us, some from our company, some from the other one. Mike comes over, running.

"Evacuation," he says, gesturing for me to move back. "It's about to collapse."

"You can't just leave!" shouts someone, and I turn to find Michael Brooks striding towards us, his face gleaming with sweat.

"Your club's a total loss, dude," someone says.

"At least keep pouring water over it, if you don't go inside." He makes a vague gesture at the building with his cell phone. "And what about Josh? He still doesn't answer the phone."

"He's inside?" My voice sounds barely audible to me, but everybody turn to stare, so perhaps I was actually yelling. Brooks squints at me, but with all the gear and the poor lighting, he doesn't seem to recognize me.

"Joshua Hill," he says. "Our performer–"

"I know, is he inside?"

"He might be." He gestures with his phone. "He...sleeps in the utility room sometimes. I can't reach him."

"The bar is on fire, and the whole of the top floor. We can't get to the utility rooms," says the guy who told me about the evacuation order. "With such smoke, nobody could be alive there by now."

Everybody's moving around me, and my head spins as I look at the burning building. Surely not. He's not in there. If he is, he's dead, and I'll never have an opportunity to apologize for what I said to him.

"Can't you look for him?" Brooks shouts, but people move past him, paying no attention. Their focus is shifting to preventive actions to assure the safety of the nearby buildings. The air is full of flying ambers and sparks just waiting to start a new fire.

Brooks turns to me. "Can't you look for him?"

I lower the hose to the ground. The retreating men have left the door ajar and now clouds of smoke come out freely, rising, merging with the smoke and the flames from the upper windows. How long until the building collapses? They don't order evacuation without a good reason. It must be really bad inside.

I trace the route in my mind—the entrance, the front of the house with its tall tables, then the dance floor and the stage and the DJ booth. Past the side of the long n-shaped bar, through the doorway leading to the steps down, to the toilets and the utility rooms corridor. A long way in zero visibility of a burning space. There will be less heat and smoke down the stairs, but what if it's on fire already? I remember the room with the flammable cleaning supplies and wonder if Brooks put them in a fireproof closet as Kendra had told him. I glance at his sweaty, panicked face. He probably hasn't.

Joshua may not even be there. It's not too late in the evening, so he may be running errands, or visiting friends, or making some late purchases at Quannell's. It'll be crazy to go there just to check, especially after the others have been inside and decided the building had to be abandoned.

Yet even as I'm thinking that, my feet already carry me towards the entrance. I walk slowly at first, but when a couple of preventive shouts reach my ears, the feeling of moving under water suddenly drops off, and I'm all present, my feet hitting the ground, running. I reach the door, and the smoke engulfs me, and the noise of the fire cuts off all the other sounds.

The fire's not crackling, it's roaring, which is bad. Yet the sounds seem to be coming mostly from my right, where the kitchen is, while the utility rooms lie to my left. Around me, everything in dark grey, but the area to my right is glowing vaguely yellow. The heat is bad, so I get to the floor, where the air is cooler. Water is dripping on me – the guys who have been here before must have soaked the ceiling. I look up, fearing to see yellow glow above me—that would be really, really bad—but I see nothing. I find the wall with my left hand. Without the hose to lead me back, I might get lost easily. Going into a burning building alone is something that's just not done.

I move as fast as a person crawling on his fours in a bulky, stifling gear possibly can. The tank on my back presses me down, and catches on the invisible objects around, but it also supplies air for my jerky breaths, so I welcome its weight. I keep tracing the wall with my hand. The white light from my helmet penetrates the clouds of grey in front of me only enough to prevent me from running face first into objects.

I push out of the way an overturned bar stool, and my fingers find a corner—the beginning of the stage. Good. I need the entryway to the other side of it. I continue along its perimeter, my left hand running along its side, my knees hurting already. The yellow glow is getting brighter, and I remember that guy who said the bar was on fire. It's close, then. I can feel the heat growing as I press on. The stage is made of wood, too. If the fire gets behind me, if it jumps to the stage from the bar, I won't be able to trace my way back.

I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry. I might die here. The thought hits me surprisingly hard. Until now, I guess I was operating under the assumption that I'm just checking if it's feasible and could turn back any moment. Now I'm in deep. I've gone too far to turn around.

I turn left with the stage. The burning bar is to my right now. The heat's almost unbearable even on the floor, the yellow light bright enough to penetrate the gloomy grey. I can make out a dark rectangular of a doorway ahead of me. Moving towards it, I check the ceiling again, and find that the grey above me glowing vaguely yellow.

Shit.

I burst through the doorway and it's suddenly cooler and darker. Nothing's on fire here yet, but everything's filled with smoke. To my left, I locate the doorway leading to the corridor with the utility rooms. Still on my fours, I feel around for the first step, and then my hand lands on something soft, and my gloved fingers feel something that can only be a human face.