That informed Noah of the severity of the fire. It was hot enough that people would rather jump out of a window to their deaths rather than face the fire.
“Who’s coordinating triage?” Triage had six ambulances waiting.
“Your new ER doctor-paramedic from Firehouse 15. He went up with the team, but McClunis sent him back down.”
“Wise choice,” Noah agreed. “She knows her people. How can I can help?”
“I’d feel more comfortable with eyes on the inside. Haskell’s doing a good job, but I can’t move from this command post. He said they were on offensive operations, but that was too many burned civilians.” No chief liked being outside of the scene. Cordova needed more information to decide if they should transition to defensive tactics. Then they’d have to pull out their teams, let the fire burn itself out, and focus on preventing its spread.
“I’ll check on Haskell and liaise between each floor,” Noah volunteered. While he had a higher rank than Cordova, they would lose precious time by trying to hand-off a scene already well in hand.
Noah crossed the 200-foot protective zone and entered the lobby. Haskell was there with a similar-looking tactical whiteboard and worksheet. His aide was hard at work, scribbling down assignments.
“Chief, I’ve got confirmation of both my first in and back-up crew engaging in active fire extinguishment on Sector 25. Cordova sent you?”
“Just here to lend a hand. Looks like you’re doing well, but how is containment?”
“Not great. We got the hoses connected to the standpipes in the stairwells, but we only have ten percent containment at best,” Haskell confirmed regretfully.
Baker doubted their control of the situation with only ten percent containment. “McClunis hasn’t asked to switch to defensive?”
“Communication isn’t the best. We’re using fire phones on each floor because the radios keep failing at this distance. I’m having trouble hearing from McClunis in Sector 24, but the teams of four I posted to direct civilians down Stairway B report no fire extension to their floors.”
Noah did some quick math and figured there were an additional fifty firefighters in the building. No wonder they were up to three battalions.
“Firefighters on TAC-1?”
“Yep.” Haskell pointed to a group of radios sitting out next to him. “TAC-1 for firefighters and TAC-2 for Maydays. Command Channel is open.”
“I’ll pick up a SCBA and met McClunis on 24,” Noah decided.
* * *
In Sector 25, unbeknownst to all, trouble was brewing. The fire had started in one of the center apartments right across from the elevators—someone smoking in their bedroom. As this particular occupant was also a hoarder, the fire had slowly smoldered all evening through the piles of newspapers, magazines, and clothing collected all over the room.
When the smoke alarm went off, the fire was too entrenched for the sprinklers. The occupant woke up the other members of their household and evacuated. They didn’t want to wake their neighbors, so they went downstairs and called 911. Unfortunately, they left the apartment door open.
The fresh oxygen fed the fire, allowing it to reach beyond the apartment quickly, using bags of clothing as fuel. The fire had gotten into the ceiling, spreading laterally through the void space between the ceiling and floor of the levels above and below them.
By the time firefighting crews arrived, the original apartment and the neighboring four apartments were fully engulfed. The crews managed to evacuate some of the other apartments, but it was too late for the neighbors who had jumped off their balconies when they found themselves cut off from an exit. The firefighting teams couldn’t get to the third apartment, let alone to the original source of the fire. They couldn’t see the flames slowly and inexorably eating through the ceiling and floor joists. The door of the original apartment had burned up, and other windows had been left open by the jumpers. It would only take one more window failure to reach a full wind-born fire event.
Still, the worst was yet to come. The firefighters couldn’t see it, but beyond the hoarder’s material, one of the other residents fancied himself the next Michelangelo. Unfortunately, his art room of oil paints and turpentine shared a wall with an elderly resident’s oxygen tank storage closet.
Oxygen itself does not burn, but it’s a potent accelerate. The presence of pure oxygen can increase fire to explosive levels. Oil paint and turpentine are extremely flammable, burning the liquid and vapor in the air. Since they were inside personal apartments, they were not part of the building inspections or Baker’s pre-plans. The firewalls between apartments would be a minimal deterrent.
The sixteen firefighters on Sector 25 had two hoses on the fire, and two teams went up Stairwell B to start an evac on the opposite side. Less than two minutes from ignition of the paint.
* * *
With Haskell’s relieved blessing, Noah took the elevator to the Sector 22 Rehab Area. Chief Leary was using the second elevator to evac some of the less robust civilians. Noah grabbed an extra SCBA and climbed up Stairwell A, noting its relative smoke-free status. Haskell’s fans were working by pushing the smoke upward and away from the evac routes.
As expected, the hoses connected the standpipes in Sector 24 and extended upward to past his line of sight to 25. This was a development in the past thirty years because having the water access on the fire floor was dangerous. Better to establish water below and take the hoses upward. It gave the firefighters somewhere with water to retreat to if it went badly.
He could hear voices above him, but he wasn’t going to interrupt. Getting off Stairway A at Sector 24, Noah found Leslie McClunis and her aide near the elevators with two companies of four firefighters each. They were the two Rapid Intervention Teams, designated for rescues. During any fire, everyone had a specific role. One firefighter couldn’t simultaneously run a hose and perform rescues. The sector commander had to know where each of the people under his or her command were at any given time.
“Chief,” she greeted him briefly. “I hate these little apartments.”
She had a blueprint turned to the corridors in her immediate area. The building was long with nineteen apartments per floor. Elevator banks took up one center apartment space and then the two end stairwells. She snapped her head up and pointed to one of her RIT teams. “You four do a recheck and confirm this floor has evacuated. I don’t want people hanging out on their balconies for selfies. Sector 25 is damn hot, and if their balconies come down, it’s going to hit the one below it. Gravity never takes a day off.”
