novelxo Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY TWO–FIRE ALERT
Jasmine sat cross–legged on the floor of her apartment, a blank canvas propped up before her. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she dabbed her brush into the vibrant shades of cerulean and crimson on her palette.
So lost in the creative trance, she almost didn’t notice the faint smell of something burning at first. Jasmine’s nose crinkled as the acrid scent grew stronger.
“That’s odd…” she muttered, glancing around her studio apartment.
Suddenly, a piercing wail burst through the silence the unmistakable blare of the fire alarm. Jasmine’s heart leapt into her throat.
“Oh god, fire!”
She shot up from the floor, her art supplies clattering in her haste. Think, think! She scanned the apartment, trying to remain calm.
The heavy stench of smoke was rapidly filling the air now. Jasmine snatched up her purse and phone, then rushed to grab the duffel bag she used to carry her most precious art pieces and supplies.
“My paintings! I can’t leave them!” Her eyes welled up at the thought of losing her life’s work.
With trembling hands, she tenderly slid a few of her favorite canvases into the duffel. The wailing alarms were deafening now, echoing through the hallway outside. Jasmine doubled over in a fit of coughing as wisps of smoke began seeping in under her door.
“I have to get out of here!” she gasped, throwing the bag’s strap over her shoulder.
Jasmine yanked open her apartment door and was blasted by a torrent of thick, choking smoke billowing through the corridor. She pulled her shirt up over her nose and squinted through the hazy air.
“Help! Fire!” She heard a feeble cry further down the hall
It was Mrs. Carpenter, her elderly neighbor who lived alone and used a walker to get around. Jasmine’s heart constricted the poor woman would never make it out on her own.
“Mrs. Carpenter!” Jasmine shouted, trying to project her voice above the shrill alarms. “Stay inside, I’m coming!”
She surged down the hallway towards the woman’s open door, the smoke stinging her eyes. Jasmine. found Mrs. Carpenter cowering in her kitchenette, clutching her walker in a withered hand.
“Oh thank heavens!” The old woman wheezed. “I can’t. can’t get out…”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you!” Jasmine looped the trembling woman’s arm over her shoulders, gritting her teeth against Mrs. Carpenter’s weight as they shuffled back towards the door.
“My inhaler…can’t breathe…” Mrs. Carpenter gasped, her free hand clutching her chest.
“Just hold on, we’re almost there!” Jasmine choked out the words, pulling them both along as quickly as she could manage. By some miracle, they emerged into the stairwell, blessedly clear of smoke…for now. Cradling Mrs Carpenter against her, Jasmine carefully began the arduous descent down flight after flight of stairs. Her lungs burned, her legs screaming in protest, but she pushed onwards with grim determination.
At last, they stumbled out a rear exit and into the cool night air. Jasmine gulped down deep, ravenous breaths as she helped Mrs. Carpenter onto a bench in the apartment’s back courtyard. The old woman
Immediately began using her inhaler between rattling coughs.
“You…you saved me,” she wheezed, gnarled hand grasping Jasmine’s arm in gratitude.
“Of course,” Jasmine rasped, giving her a shaky smile. I couldn’t leave you behind.”
Already, the sounds of wailing sirens could be heard in the distance, steadily growing louder. Jasmine stood, every muscle protesting, and hurried around to the front of the building with her duffel.
Residents were rapidly spilling out onto the street in various states of alarm and undress – crying children clutching stuffed animals, men in bathrobes shouting frantically into their phones, elderly folks in hairnets and housecoats being helped along by neighbors.
Thick plumes of smoke poured from several windows high up on the east side of the building. Jasmine watched in stunned horror as bright orange flames began licking at the glass
“Look! Up there!” She turned at the sound of a young man’s shout, his finger pointing skyward.
Peering through the hazy air, Jasmine’s breath caught in her throat. A tiny, hunched figure could just be made out on the fifth floor a frail old man trapped on his balcony, waving a ragged cloth in a feeble attempt to signal for help.
“Oh no…Arturo!” Jasmine clapped a hand over her mouth in dismay, recognizing the elderly who lived on that floor. The poor man must have gotten caught inside when the fire erupted.
“Somebody help that guy!”
“Call 911, call 911!”
Cuban janitor
The crowd’s cries of alarm were swiftly drowned out by the rapid woop–woop–woop of approaching sirens. Seconds later, a huge fire truck came tearing around the corner with lights blazing, followed swiftly by more emergency vehicles.
Firefighters in heavy protective gear came swarming out, their Chief already barking orders.
“Mendez, Garcia- get those hoses hooked up on the double! Ramirez, Kong – primary search team, get those folks to safety! Let’s move, people!”
In a coordinated flurry, the firefighters sprang into action, swiftly extending the thick fire hoses and charging towards the burning building’s entrance. Two burly men in respirator gear began shepherding bewildered residents away from the scene while calling out in reassuring tones.
“Everybody, please stay back and remain calm! We need to form an evacuation area across the street.”
A firm but gentle hand gripped Jasmine’s elbow, guiding her away from the chaos towards a gathering crowd of neighbors. “This way ma’am, we’re clearing the area for the trucks.”
Jasmine allowed the firefighter – his nametag read “Ramirez‘ – to lead her to the sidewalk, her mind a muddled whirl. She clutched her duffel close, watching in mute horror as more firefighters scaled ladders towards the terrified old man trapped on his balcony.
“Is everyone alright over here?” Ramirez raised his voice to address the small crowd of evacuees. “If your need any medical assistance, shout it out!”
I’ve got my inhaler, I’m okay…” Mrs. Carpenter called out in her papery voice from where she sat on the bench, her breathing still labored.
“Yo man, check on my Abuela! She’s diabetic and we had to book it fast…”
The young man’s worried call made Jasmine’s heart clench in sympathy. How many others like Mrs. Carpenter and this “Abuela” lived in the building – vulnerable folks caught unaware by this nightmare? The thought chilled her to the bone
Jasmine watched humbly as an ambulance rolled up to the scene amidst the cacophony of wailing sirens and shouting firefighters. Paramedics swiftly retrieved equipment and stretchers, clearly preparing to triage any injured residents.
–
As she clutched her meager belongings, the gravity of the situation finally hit Jasmine like a punch to the gut. There’s…there’s nothing left. Her home, her art studio – her whole life. Even if the building was salvageable, the priceless paintings she couldn’t grab were surely destroyed.