The Permutation

Apex (Part 3) Christopher

Christopher professed not to know how long a human being could survive in these conditions, but he knew that fires consumed oxygen in order to propagate themselves at a steady rate. He also knew if there was a high smoke density, it would choke block the respiration of alveoli of Gracie and Kate even if they were spared the flames.

"How many of your people are inside, and how many survivors have been retrieved and rushed to the hospital?" Christopher asked.

"None, we're understaffed. It's all we can do to keep this fucker from taking over the whole town let alone being able to send any men in," a woman said, her voice muffled by her mask.

"What are the chances of survival for the residents inside?"

"Anyone on the main floor is DOA, but someone on the top floor could have a chance if the temperatures there are under 200, but if I were a betting gal. I'd say none of em' got a snowball's chance in Hell in there, pardon my French. But I'm just talking out of my ass here. I ain't ever seen a fire like this before. Even before we got here, it hadn't done much spreading. It looks like a steady blaze there in the middle, but it doesn't have much interest in spreading. It's like there's a source in the middle that's maintaining itself without any accelerant."

At another time, Christopher would have been consumed with academic curiosity, but tonight he had to catalogue it with the other unexplainable phenomena of the day.

"I can help," Christopher said.

He saw the woman raise a dark eyebrow that had been drawn on by makeup.

"You ain't certified. I can't be held responsible for the death of a civie," the woman said.

Christopher abhorred lying, but the situation demanded quick and decisive action, "I obtained my CPR and fire certification in Boise, Idaho with the intent to work for the Bureau of Land Management, but my wife and I relocated here on account of a family illness."

She stared at him for a long time, valuable time that shouldn't be wasted, but Christopher knew if he attempted this feat without the proper protection he would suffer first degree burns in his respiratory tract in a matter of moments.

The woman nodded and said, "Get this guy suited up and make it fast!"

Christopher didn't like the how heavy the suit felt on his body, or how constricting the mask felt on his face. In normal circumstances, he would have been paranoid that the mask would suffocate him, or that oxygen deprivation would irreparably damage his brain, but those fates paled in comparison to what Gracie must be experiencing.

"You hold the hose here, Stotts and are gonna mount a rescue operation."

Christopher was no longer at the woman's side. The second his outfit had been put on, he'd dashed the length of the lawn, and shouldered open the front door.

The fragile wood collapsed against the force of his body. The house groaned in protest, and the archway above his head splintered, a crack splitting it down the middle, but the house held. Christopher sprinted up the steps to Gracie's room. He still counted them as he went; the prime numbers gave him an inexplicable amount of comfort.

Christopher heard a sound he construed as coughing, but it was hard to hear anything over the din of the flames. Smoke hung thick in the air, and Christopher hoped beyond hope that Gracie had the instinct to cover her mouth to shield her from the worst of the fumes, preferably a comforter. The thick fabric would block all but the most tenacious smoke particles.

The upstairs was in worse condition than Christopher had anticipated. Each of Christopher's footsteps was followed by a depression in the carpet. The floor could give way at any moment, plunging him into the inferno below.