The Sh0ut Page 4

  Vicky turned to look back up the stairs. The smoke was almost impenetrable now but there was no glow to indicate flames. ‘I’ll give it a go.’ She turned around and began pulling the casualty up the stairs. It required a huge effort with each pull and by the time she had moved up half a dozen stairs she was exhausted and drenched with sweat under the protective clothing. She forced herself to ignore the pain and concentrated on dragging the unconscious man up the stairs, one stair at a time. When she got to the third floor she laid the man on the floor and edged out into the corridor. ‘I’m in the third-floor corridor,’ she said.

  ‘Good girl,’ said Abbey, and this time she didn’t correct his sexism. ‘Get into a room at the front, we’re getting the ladder in position.’

  Vicky dragged the casualty along the floor until she reached the first door. She laid him down in the middle of the corridor, then grabbed the handle, hoping that it wouldn’t be locked. It was, and she cursed. She had a decision to make, to try to force the door, or to move on and try the next one. She decided to press on. She grabbed the man’s arms and dragged him slowly along the floor to the next door. The corridor was full of smoke now and she knew that every second the man spent in the foul air was putting his life at risk.

  She laid him down and felt her way towards the door, groping for the handle. She grabbed it and twisted and her heart fell when she realised it was also locked.

  She looked back at the stairs. There was a red glow amid the smoke. The fire was moving towards her. The skirting board to her right was smouldering but hadn’t yet ignited. She felt the door. It was warm but not hot. She took a step back and hit it with her shoulder but she was tired and made barely any impact on it. She took a step back and kicked the door, just under the handle. It held but the jamb splintered a little. ‘Come on, you bastard!’ she shouted and kicked it again, this time with her full weight behind it. The door slammed inwards and almost immediately fire flashed from the stairs as the air from the room billowed out. Vicky ducked down and gasped as the fire raged above her head. It passed within seconds and she crawled over to the casualty. She grabbed him and pulled him into the smoke-filled room and then kicked the door shut.

  She pulled the man over to the window, then stood up. She fumbled for the window catch but it wouldn’t budge so she smashed the glass with her gloved fist.

  There was a roar behind her as the fire flashed through the room in search of the fresh air supply and she dropped down and held on to her helmet until it had passed. She stood up and smashed what glass there was left in the frame and looked out.

  Abbey was still on the pavement looking up at her and he waved. ‘Well done, Vicky,’ he said over the radio. ‘Hang on in there, we’ll get a ladder to you.’

  Four men from the Paddington pump ladder were manoeuvring the ladder towards the building.

  The fire was raging in the corridor behind her and the door was smoking and even through her insulated tunic she could feel the heat. Smoke was coming up from between the floorboards and flames were licking around the skirting board, left and right. She wanted to tell Abbey to hurry but she didn’t want him to know how worried she was.

  She bent down and looked at the unconscious man on the floor. His chest was moving, but barely. She crawled over to the bathroom. There was a bathmat on the floor and she grabbed it and held it under the tap. Alexandru had said the water was still connected but she was still surprised when she turned the cold tap and water gushed out. She soaked the mat under the torrent of water then crawled back to the window. She wiped the man’s face with the wet mat then draped it over his body in an attempt to cool him down.

  When she stood up and looked out of the window the ladder was closer, only a few feet away from the side of the building. Two firefighters from Paddington were standing either side of Abbey and they were all looking up at her. Jones and Beech were at the rear of the ambulance and one of the paramedics was examining the man they’d carried down. Jones looked up at her and gave her a thumbs-up.

  ‘Hang on in there, Vicky, we’ll be up there in a minute or two,’ said Abbey.

  Vicky looked over her shoulder. The whole room was ablaze now. She bent down and checked on the unconscious man. He was still breathing, just. She hastily undid her helmet and took it off, then held her breath and removed her mask. She pressed it against the man’s face. It was totally against regulations, but she felt she had to do something to help him. She kept the mask over his face until her lungs began to burn and then she slipped it back over her head and stood up.

  The ladder was close to the window now. It juddered against the wall and moved closer, so close that she could reach out and touch it.

  ‘We’re coming up, Vicky,’ said Abbey.

  Vicky knelt down and grabbed the man under the arms, bent her legs and then hauled him up, grunting with the effort. She pushed him against the windowsill and the top half of his body bent over it. He was a dead weight but his chest was still moving. The ladder was shuddering as one of the Paddington firefighters climbed up. Vicky’s arms were screaming in pain but she blocked it out. Her back was burning from the flames and her face was bathed in sweat under the mask.

  She looked down and saw the yellow helmet of the firefighter moving towards her. She hauled the casualty over the sill as the firefighter reached the top of the ladder. He tilted back his head and she saw his face. It was Mick Mackie, one of the Soho crew managers. Mackie was a former Gordon Highlander with a greying moustache and piercing eyes that always gave Vicky the feeling that he was about to grab a bayonet and charge. She’d been on several shouts with him that year, though none had been as dramatic as this.

  ‘Room service,’ he said, and she laughed despite the seriousness of her situation.

  ‘You took your time,’ she said.

  ‘Better late than never,’ said Mackie. ‘Can you pass him through or do I have to come in and get him myself?’

  ‘Fuck you, Mick,’ she said, grabbing the casualty by the back of his trousers and hauling him up.

  ‘In your dreams, darling,’ laughed Mackie. He reached over and grabbed the man’s arm and Vicky helped him manoeuvre the man over his shoulder. Taking an unconscious man down a ladder was one of the toughest things a firefighter had to do but Mackie was big and strong and made it seem easy. A paramedic pushed a trolley towards the pump ladder, ready to take charge of the casualty. The ladder shook as Mackie headed down.

  The room was totally ablaze now, and sweat was pouring off her. Vicky was just about to grab hold of the window to pull herself through when there was the sound of tearing wood and the floor gave way beneath her. Her arms flailed but there was nothing to grab hold of and she screamed as she fell into the darkness.

  3

  Tony Abbey’s jaw dropped as the ball of flame exploded from the window where Vicky had been standing. ‘What the fuck?’ Abbey turned to John McNally, the Paddington pump crew manager. ‘What the fuck just happened?’

  The question was rhetorical but McNally shrugged. ‘Flashover,’ he said. ‘Then she went down.’

  ‘Vicky, can you hear me?’ Abbey shouted into his transceiver. ‘What’s going on in there?’

  There was no response.

  Mackie was heading down the ladder with the casualty over his shoulder. He was so focused on getting down the ladder that he hadn’t seen the explosion above his head.

  Abbey hurried over to the hotel door where Dave Potter was staring at his control board. The Kilburn crew had gathered around Potter and the firefighters turned to Abbey, concern written all over their faces. A light was flashing and Abbey knew immediately what it was. Vicky’s Automatic Distress Signal Unit.

  ‘Any radio contact?’ asked Abbey, but Potter just shook his head. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ said Abbey.

  He looked over at the two teams directing jets into the bar. As far as he could see there were no flames, just smoke. The emergency BA crew had gone in but were fighting a fire on the stairway between the second and third floors
. Abbey swore again as he stared up at the building. Smoke was pouring out of the window where he’d last seen Vicky. He called over to Carl Hankinson, crew manager on the Paddington pump ladder. He pointed up at the window. ‘Get a jet in there now, Carl! And call control, make pumps ten. And tell them we’ve a man down.’ He looked up at the open window and corrected himself, his voice a hoarse whisper. ‘Woman down.’

  Hankinson radioed in they needed ten pumps, and notified control there was a firefighter in the hazard zone. Calling in a firefighter emergency would automatically trigger a range of extra resources including six extra fire engines, two fire rescue units, three station managers, a group manager, and a deputy assistant commissioner.

  ‘Yes, guv,’ said Hankinson and he ran over to the pump ladder.

  ‘We’re going in,’ said Beech.

  Abbey shook his head. ‘Not until I’ve completed a risk assessment. Otherwise you’ll just be putting more lives in danger.’

  ‘Tony, that’s Vicky in there. Fuck the risk assessment.’ Beech swung his air tank on to his back and buckled the harness. Gary Jones joined him.

  Abbey nodded. ‘Okay. Fine.’ He called over to Frank Westworth. ‘Frank, get your arse in gear. I’m sending in three teams. I need you on entry control.’

  ‘Right, boss,’ said Westworth. He hurried over to the Kilburn pump ladder to retrieve the control board from the cab.

  Abbey nodded at Beech and Jones. Colin Noller ran over but before he could speak, Abbey raised a hand. ‘I know, I know.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Andy Mitchell, coming up behind Abbey.

  ‘Each team takes a hose in with them,’ said Abbey.

  The four firefighters hurried to put on their equipment. ‘How is she?’ Abbey asked Potter.

  Potter grimaced as he looked at the man-down warning. It was still flashing, though he had muted the audible warning. ‘No change,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

  Abbey waved over at McNally and the crew chief hurried over. ‘John, I’ll need another emergency crew. Can you put that together? Get Bob Beveridge to handle the control board.’

  ‘Will do,’ said McNally.

  Abbey went over to the Kilburn pump ladder where the BA team was getting kitted up. Frank Westworth was checking their gear. ‘Frank, I need you overseeing this while Dom handles communications. We’re sending in two two-man teams now with another two men on standby.’

  ‘We’re ready to go now,’ said Jones, buckling his harness.

  ‘I know, but we play this by the book, guys. I know it’s Vicky in there, I know she’s in trouble, but I’m not sending more guys in until we know we can do it safely. There’s fire up there so all three teams are going in with hoses.’

  Jones opened his mouth to protest but Westworth glared at him and shook his head. Jones nodded. ‘Okay, okay,’ he muttered.

  ‘Guys, listen up. I know that the first instinct when we have a man down is to pile in to help them, but that can so easily lead to further casualties. We get water in through the window and when we have an emergency crew set up we’ll put you in with jets. Your safety is paramount, do you understand me? You do not put yourselves at risk.’

  Beech and Jones stared over Abbey’s shoulder and he turned to see what they were looking at. A Paddington firefighter was heading up the ladder with a hose, watched by Carl Hankinson. Two other firefighters were holding the bottom of the ladder and a third was keeping the hose free.

  The two firefighters making up the emergency crew ran over, wearing full BA gear and pulling a hose between them. The Paddington Pump 2 crew chief, Bob Beveridge, was holding the control board. Beveridge and Abbey were old friends and had been best man at each other’s weddings and Abbey was godfather to Beveridge’s elder son. ‘Any news?’ asked Beveridge.

  ‘Radio’s quiet and her ADSU is still flashing,’ said Abbey. ‘She’s not moving.’

  ‘What the fuck happened?’ asked Beveridge. ‘The fire should be confined to the bar, how the fuck did we get a flashover up there?’

  ‘It must have travelled up and across,’ said Abbey. ‘It’s an old building. Edwardian. Wooden joists everywhere, all sorts of crap between the floors.’ He turned to look at the BA team. ‘Bear that in mind, guys. This is an old building, listed, so it’s not got the sort of stairwells and fireproofing that we have these days. Be careful. One step at a time. It’s a potential deathtrap.’

  ‘Can we go?’ asked Jones impatiently.

  Abbey looked up at the hotel. The Paddington firefighter was aiming his jet into the window where Vicky had been. ‘Yes,’ said Abbey. ‘Go!’

  The two firefighters ran to the hotel door and went inside. Abbey went over to Westworth and looked at the control board he was holding. Vicky’s ADSU continued to flash accusingly.

  A command support unit drove slowly through the cordon and parked. The CSU was about the same size as a pump but it had no firefighting capabilities. It was sent to any scene attended by more than four crews and was used as a base from which the senior officers could control the incident. A big man with a neatly trimmed moustache and horn-rimmed spectacles climbed out, then put on his helmet. It was the Kilburn station manager, Rick Blackwell. Like Abbey, his helmet was white, but the black stripe running around it was thicker than the one on Abbey’s helmet and Blackwell had three pips on his shoulder. He walked quickly over to Abbey. ‘What’s happening, Tony?’ he asked. As senior officer Blackwell was now in charge.

  ‘The fire has spread from the bar to the hotel, no idea how that happened because we’ve had jets on it from the get-go,’ he said. ‘Crew Manager Lewis took in a BA team to rescue persons trapped on the top floor. We got all the people out but then the fire turned and her ADSU has been activated. We’ve called in a firefighter emergency.’

  ‘What the fuck was she doing up there on her own, Tony?’

  ‘She was with a BA team. They came down with the casualties.’

  ‘Who was she partnered with?’

  ‘Colin Noller.’

  ‘And Colin came down and left her there?’

  ‘They had a casualty overcome by smoke. Then we had a person trapped in the far corner. Vicky went to get him. That was on the top floor so the ladders wouldn’t reach. Colin brought his casualty down; she was supposed to be right behind him.’

  Blackwell shook his head. ‘They shouldn’t have separated.’

  ‘I told her to stay with Colin,’ said Abbey.

  ‘So she disobeyed an order?’

  Abbey looked pained. ‘She said her radio was playing up. Look, guv, you know what Vicky’s like. She’s a terrific firefighter, one of the best, but she always leads from the front and sometimes …’ He shrugged.

  ‘Doesn’t think ahead?’ Blackwell sighed. ‘I know what you mean. But they’re going to be looking at your risk assessment very carefully after this, Tony. You need to make sure your ducks are in a row.’ He looked up at the third floor where the firefighter was still pouring water through the window. ‘I just hope to God she’s okay.’

  4

  Vicky Lewis wasn’t okay. She was a long way from okay, but at least she was alive. When she fell through the hole in the floor she broke her wrist on a burning floorboard. The blow ripped the glove off her left hand. She fell to the floor below, and landed awkwardly, snapping her left ankle and fracturing her left leg just above the knee. Her leg gave way when she hit the ground and she fell to the left, slamming into the floor. The impact knocked off her mask and she breathed in the choking smoke that filled the room. She was still conscious, just about, and rolled on to her back, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath. She could barely see the gaping hole she’d fallen through and her eyes were streaming with tears. She didn’t know it then but she’d ruptured her spleen and broken two ribs. One of the ribs had speared her left lung and it was slowly filling with blood.

  She tried to get up but pain lanced through her side. As long as she didn’t move the pain was almost bearable, the result of the body flooding itself with nat
ural painkillers. She tried to move her left hand to get to her transceiver but it was trapped under a piece of burning wood. Breathing was getting harder. Every breath was an effort. She looked up at the hole above her head, now a patch of red and orange in the smoke. There was the sound of tearing wood and a roar and she realised that the rest of the floor was collapsing on top of her. She tried to put her gloved right hand up to protect her face but it made little difference and the burning debris hit her hard in a shower of sparks.

  5

  It was Colin Noller who found Vicky first, but Mark Beech was close behind. She was lying under a pile of smouldering debris on the second floor. Pretty much all of the floor above had fallen down during the fire and they had to pull away more than a dozen floorboards to get to her.

  The jet through the window had done its job and the firefighters had fought and beaten the blaze in the stairwell, but it had taken almost twenty minutes until the BA team had been able to reach the second floor.

  The air was still thick with smoke and ash so they had to keep their masks on, but Noller took off his glove and felt for a pulse. As he did he pushed her head to the right and his eyes widened when he saw what the fire had done to her face. He pulled his hand away as if he’d been stung. ‘Bloody hell,’ he muttered. Her flesh had been burned black, through to the bone in places, and the damage continued down her neck into her jacket.

  Beech knelt down next to him. ‘We’ve got her!’ he shouted into his radio.

  Noller carefully moved her head to the left. The right side of her face and neck was nowhere near as damaged and he felt for a pulse. Nothing. He moved his fingers but still couldn’t find any evidence that her heart was still beating. He shook his head, but Beech took off his glove and pushed Noller to the side. Beech pressed his fingers into the side of Vicky’s neck. Nothing. He swore under his breath, then moved his fingers fractionally. His heart leapt when he felt something, a faint beat. Barely there but there nonetheless. ‘She’s alive!’ he said.