She couldn’t breathe.

Grace Addison gasped for breath inside her mask. The explosion hit them so hard they were thrown across the room, slamming into an already unsteady staircase that had collapsed under their weight. They lay in the belly of the fire; smoke so thick Grace could barely see her surroundings.
Her mind screamed at her to do something. It demanded her action uncompromisingly like some cruel, unfeeling boss. Richard was dead. Grace knew it just by looking at him. Her paramedic training shouted at her to go to him, but she couldn’t move.

Mind reeling, she turned her eyes away from the scene, trying to keep herself from weeping in horror. She focused on one thing. Sara was still alive. She needed her.

From where Grace lay, she could see Sara’s pleading eyes peering through the clear, plexi mask. Her best friend and fellow firefighter stared at Grace, beseeching her to help. She tried to make her body move, but she recognized the signs of shock. She cursed her weakness, her heart twisting with fresh pain, the oath she took as a firefighter going sour like wine left too long to ferment.

The smoke was a dark, oppressive thing, weighing her down as if it had density. Mass.

Her lungs felt scorched. Orange and crimson flames crawled down the brown paneling towards them, its unrelenting journey consuming everything in its path.

She wanted to cry out. To scream for help, shout curses, anything. The clothes on Richard’s body were starting to smoke. Grace struggled against panic. Her slightest movement brought a searing pain across her back. She froze, immobilized by the fierce sensations that wracked her with shocking intensity.

Richard was burning!

The couch and shag carpet nearby were broiling up smoke. A wall tapestry was wreathed in flames and hissed audibly as it melted away. She coughed, tears flowing freely from eyes that stung excruciatingly.

They lay there as the fire encroached. Grace could hear the sound of movement above her. She tried to call out, to scream for their rescue. But her throat was parched. She could barely get a sound beyond the smothering mask.

A short audible beep emitted from her Personal Alert Safety System. The device was warning her that she’d been immobile for more than 30 seconds. She was relieved at the warning and the 95 decibel tone that started shortly afterwards. Every part of her was riveted to Sara’s eyes, giving her friend that small amount of comfort as she slowly suffocated.

The scorching heat on her back and shoulders intensified, telling Grace the barrier of her turnout coat had been breached, but again, she couldn’t focus on it. Just on Sara. Her world had narrowed down to Sara.

Frantically Sara pulled off the mask, gasping in the tainted basement air. She reached out for Grace’s hand and Grace grasped it tightly, their gazes locked. Grace squeezed and Sara’s eyes welled with tears. It was almost like Sarah was trying to say something. Her hand contorted and jerked, then her eyes went fixed and still, her mouth going slack.

A flood of genuine tears washed away some of the sting of the smoke as her vision began to dim. Her lungs felt compressed with agony as she struggled for oxygen. The red hot pain increased along her back and shoulders, the smell of charred skin thick in her nostrils.

She was going to die.