Chapter 3-Tessa
“Call 911!” I shout at nobody in particular and at everyone and anyone who can hear me as I make a dash to the room that’s in flames. “And get the kids out of here.”
Seeming to appear much calmer than I feel, the life coaches instruct their kids to form a
single file line and head in the direction opposite the fire, just like we practiced during the drills.
I’ve jumped into the “fight” part of flight or fight mode.
Once I hear Liza, another life coach, phone the fire department, telling them our school is on fire and that students and teachers are trapped in an engulfed room, I spring into action.
I run down the hallway and break a fire axe from its glass encasement. Then I hurry around the perimeter of the facility to get to the windows of the classroom in danger. The windows are protected by metal bars, though the only thing they’re protecting the children and Devyn from at the moment is safety.
I could hear Devyn instruct her students to get near the windows and onto the floor. Thank goodness she’s remembered her training. I can’t wait for the firefighters to arrive. There’s no time.
These kids aren’t good at understanding or following directions, and they are only moments away from suffocating. The scared cries and sobs are breaking my heart.
I jam the blade of the axe under two of the metal bars over the window and use every bit of strength I have to pry them off.
I’ve heard of people using superhuman strength due to adrenaline in a time of distress or panic, but this is the first time it’s happened to me. My muscles strain and complain, but I keep going.
After releasing an unintended roar, I manage to bust three bars from their place on the building’s wall. This only leaves enough room for one person to jump through at a time.
Devyn opens the window and guides each of her kids out, and they all make a surprisingly time-efficient escape.
“I have to get Jamie,” Devyn calls, disappearing from view.
“Jamie’s still in there,” some of the kids cry out between coughs. “Is he going to die?”
Jamie is one of our children who needs the most help and attention. It doesn’t surprise me he wouldn’t have the same urgency to get out of the room as most of the other kids. And it also doesn’t surprise me that Devyn would stay behind with him, risking her own life in the process.
I instruct the children to move away from the fire and towards the sidewalk where the children from the other classrooms are gathered. I jump into the smoke-filled room.
I crawl across the floor, and through the thick, black smoke, I find Devyn passed out on top of a child. Her hand seems to cover Jamie’s face, surely an attempt to ensure that he inhales as little smoke as possible.
The smoke stings my eyes and catches in my chest. With regret, I push Devyn off Jamie and carry him out into safety first.
Before I have a chance to run back inside and save Devyn, the firefighters arrive and forcefully keep me from going back in to save my friend. Guilt gnaws my insides, and I’m worried about whether Devyn will be okay.
The heat coming from the room is intense, and the fire is fast taking over, spreading to the hallways and janitor closet.
Only seconds after the arrival of two more firetrucks, an explosion goes off inside the building. All the chemicals comprising the cleaning supplies we have stored in the supply closet make the perfect ingredients for an impromptu bomb.
Behind me, the students and faculty scream, and parents are now rushing to the scene. Room by room, the building collapses in on itself. All I can think is: I left Devyn in there. What kind of friend am I? I should have gone back in and dragged her out.
Out of all the silly things to have felt guilty about over the years, here is one that actually counts. I’m determined not to let her down. Even though a giant fireball erupts from the roof of the building, I push through the crowd and cry out Devyn’s name.
“Go back. Let us do our job.” A firefighter pulls me away from the destruction, but I keep my eyes trained on the hellfire the entire time.
The fire rages, throwing more black smoke into the air and spitting out bits of burnt building.
From the billowing pillars of black smoke, a pair of firefighters run away from the flames carrying Devyn, who is still unconscious but thankfully—it looks like they are signaling to each other—also still alive. They carry her into an ambulance, and I can’t see her anymore.
A crowd forms around the children, including a crew from the local news. Reporters shout things at us, wanting answers we can’t give.
“How did the fire start?”
“Is anyone still trapped inside?”
“Was anyone hurt?”
These are questions I have myself, but I can’t even think of whom I’d ask them.
The ambulance holding Devyn rushes away. If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself. Without her, I have no one.
My grandpa Maynes took care of me due to my parents’ debilitating diseases, but he passed away some time ago.
Due to my lack of a love life or even much of a social life, Devyn has been my confidante and my rock for so long that I have no idea what my life will be like if she doesn’t make it through this.
I know that’s a selfish thought for me to have right now—of course, I want Devyn to live for her own sake, too, and for the sake of other people who love her—but I can’t help but think it, anyway.
Noises from all around drown out my thoughts—police sirens, shouting firefighters, the children’s cries. So much commotion. If I could, I would sit down and cover my ears and wait for it all to be over.
I’m really good at talking to myself—talking myself into and out of things, talking myself up and mostly talking myself down, talking myself all around the many questions I always ask myself. But now, there are only two things I keep saying to myself as I watch my dream burn to a crisp.
I’m not as lucky as I had previously thought I was.
Life ain’t easy.
Grandpa Maynes got that right.