Working fire reported at 1300 West 9th Street, Noah blearily read when his phone went off with the pre-programmed shriek of a major incident.
Sleep forgotten, he sat straight up on the couch. That wasn’t just any fire. That address was Downtown Cleveland, right in the center of the high-rise buildings. Smoke reported 25th floor. First alarm being called.
Noah sprang into action. He had a file on all the high-rise buildings in the municipal area at home. The Chief SUV, aka the Chief Car, had electronic wireless access to the pre-plan blueprints, but it still didn’t beat the dependability and portability of paper.
The building appeared to be primarily apartments, nineteen on each floor. The intent was to have a Lobby Sector Command Post and an outside staging area to direct resources. The building had sprinklers, but those often only slowed well-entrenched fires.
Second, third, and fourth alarm. His phone informed him.
Whoever was in command of the scene had done a very serious risk assessment. The fire had to be legit.
He shrugged into his black jacket, grabbed his keys, and sprinted down the hall to his garage. His turnouts were in the back with his SCBA since they weren’t easy to wear behind the wheel. Even with the sirens on, it still took him fifteen minutes from his home on the West Side to get to the heart of Downtown.
When he got there, the scene was in progress with the staging area and triage set up outside the building. Assistant Chief Eric Cordova was directing resources from the outside with the Incident Commander headset attached to his Chief Car and his aide and safety officer monitoring all radio traffic.
“You come to relieve me?” Cordova asked with an edge of frustration. Noah knew that was partially due to the seriousness of the scene and partially his unease with handing the scene to his superior, who was over twenty years his junior. Their relationship was uneasy since Cordova had been Chief Pegg’s heir apparent before being circumnavigated.
“No. This is your scene. You stay Incident Commander. I’ll assist. Give me a brief rundown,” Noah answered while reviewing the tactical board. It contained Cordova’s organization of the different floors (Sectors), firefighting companies, and chiefs with his aide and safety officer monitoring each resource’s utilization. Noah was already marked on the board as FC1 for Fire Chief 1.
“Fire floor is Sector 25 of 30. We’re in Battalion 2’s service area, so the whole battalion is roused, and help is coming from Battalions 1 and 3. Teams from 9, 10, and 11 are on Sector 25 and Engine 12 is their back-up. BC8 Haskell has Lobby Control with teams from 7 and 8. BC3 Leary’s on Rehab at Sector 22 with the supply team, and BC2 McClunis is up on Operations at Sector 24 with teams from 15 and 16.” Cordova sounded annoyed about McClunis’s presence.
“Can’t keep her away, even when she’s not on call,” Noah observed wryly, donning his turnout jacket and white fire helmet. She had the largest and busiest battalion in the city, and she naturally showed up to command her own people. “Stairways?”
“Clear so far. Stairwell A’s designated for attack and Stairwell B’s for evacuations. Civilian evac is ongoing for the fire floor on Sector 25 and the floor above. Not sure the status yet, but I should know soon. Firehouses 1 through 6 are being assigned to civilian evac instruction on different floors as they arrive.”
Cordova turned his radio to Command Channel to contact Haskell. “Where are we with containment?”
A voice sounded far away. “I’ve got a buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz…”
Noah keyed on his radio. “Lobby Sector, FC1 Baker to BC8 Haskell?” Unlike Cordova, he got through. Heat and building materials often made radio contact inconsistent, and each radio received and boosted the signal individually.
“Lobby sector BC8 Haskell copy FC1 Baker.” Haskell sounded slightly breathless. “High-rise protocols initiated. Ventilation fans are in the stairways, AC is off, elevators controlled and limited to sector twenty-two travel.”
On the surface, Haskell had things in hand. He was playing it safe to stop the elevators at Rehab on Sector 22 instead of Sector 23. However, control could be an illusion. A steady stream of civilians exited the building and were directed to the flashing lights of numerous ambulances at the triage area. Noah did a brief resource count and didn’t like his numbers. “How many fatalities?”
“Don’t know yet. Lots of burns and smoke inhalation on the civies. It was burning for a while before the call came in.” Cordova’s voice dropped a pitch. “We had at least one jumper.”
That informed Noah of the severity of the fire. It was hot enough that people would rather jump out of a window to their deaths rather than face the fire.
“Who’s coordinating triage?” Triage had six ambulances waiting.
“Your new ER doctor-paramedic from Firehouse 15. He went up with the team, but McClunis sent him back down.”
“Wise choice,” Noah agreed. “She knows her people. How can I can help?”
“I’d feel more comfortable with eyes on the inside. Haskell’s doing a good job, but I can’t move from this command post. He said they were on offensive operations, but that was too many burned civilians.” No chief liked being outside of the scene. Cordova needed more information to decide if they should transition to defensive tactics. Then they’d have to pull out their teams, let the fire burn itself out, and focus on preventing its spread.
“I’ll check on Haskell and liaise between each floor,” Noah volunteered. While he had a higher rank than Cordova, they would lose precious time by trying to hand-off a scene already well in hand.
Noah crossed the 200-foot protective zone and entered the lobby. Haskell was there with a similar-looking tactical whiteboard and worksheet. His aide was hard at work, scribbling down assignments.
“Chief, I’ve got confirmation of both my first in and back-up crew engaging in active fire extinguishment on Sector 25. Cordova sent you?”
“Just here to lend a hand. Looks like you’re doing well, but how is containment?”
“Not great. We got the hoses connected to the standpipes in the stairwells, but we only have ten percent containment at best,” Haskell confirmed regretfully.
Baker doubted their control of the situation with only ten percent containment. “McClunis hasn’t asked to switch to defensive?”
“Communication isn’t the best. We’re using fire phones on each floor because the radios keep failing at this distance. I’m having trouble hearing from McClunis in Sector 24, but the teams of four I posted to direct civilians down Stairway B report no fire extension to their floors.”
Noah did some quick math and figured there were an additional fifty firefighters in the building. No wonder they were up to three battalions.
“Firefighters on TAC-1?”
“Yep.” Haskell pointed to a group of radios sitting out next to him. “TAC-1 for firefighters and TAC-2 for Maydays. Command Channel is open.”
“I’ll pick up a SCBA and met McClunis on 24,” Noah decided.
In Sector 25, unbeknownst to all, trouble was brewing. The fire had started in one of the center apartments right across from the elevators—someone smoking in their bedroom. As this particular occupant was also a hoarder, the fire had slowly smoldered all evening through the piles of newspapers, magazines, and clothing collected all over the room.
When the smoke alarm went off, the fire was too entrenched for the sprinklers. The occupant woke up the other members of their household and evacuated. They didn’t want to wake their neighbors, so they went downstairs and called 911. Unfortunately, they left the apartment door open.
The fresh oxygen fed the fire, allowing it to reach beyond the apartment quickly, using bags of clothing as fuel. The fire had gotten into the ceiling, spreading laterally through the void space between the ceiling and floor of the levels above and below them.
By the time firefighting crews arrived, the original apartment and the neighboring four apartments were fully engulfed. The crews managed to evacuate some of the other apartments, but it was too late for the neighbors who had jumped off their balconies when they found themselves cut off from an exit. The firefighting teams couldn’t get to the third apartment, let alone to the original source of the fire. They couldn’t see the flames slowly and inexorably eating through the ceiling and floor joists. The door of the original apartment had burned up, and other windows had been left open by the jumpers. It would only take one more window failure to reach a full wind-born fire event.
Still, the worst was yet to come. The firefighters couldn’t see it, but beyond the hoarder’s material, one of the other residents fancied himself the next Michelangelo. Unfortunately, his art room of oil paints and turpentine shared a wall with an elderly resident’s oxygen tank storage closet.
Oxygen itself does not burn, but it’s a potent accelerate. The presence of pure oxygen can increase fire to explosive levels. Oil paint and turpentine are extremely flammable, burning the liquid and vapor in the air. Since they were inside personal apartments, they were not part of the building inspections or Baker’s pre-plans. The firewalls between apartments would be a minimal deterrent.
The sixteen firefighters on Sector 25 had two hoses on the fire, and two teams went up Stairwell B to start an evac on the opposite side. Less than two minutes from ignition of the paint.
With Haskell’s relieved blessing, Noah took the elevator to the Sector 22 Rehab Area. Chief Leary was using the second elevator to evac some of the less robust civilians. Noah grabbed an extra SCBA and climbed up Stairwell A, noting its relative smoke-free status. Haskell’s fans were working by pushing the smoke upward and away from the evac routes.
As expected, the hoses connected the standpipes in Sector 24 and extended upward to past his line of sight to 25. This was a development in the past thirty years because having the water access on the fire floor was dangerous. Better to establish water below and take the hoses upward. It gave the firefighters somewhere with water to retreat to if it went badly.
He could hear voices above him, but he wasn’t going to interrupt. Getting off Stairway A at Sector 24, Noah found Leslie McClunis and her aide near the elevators with two companies of four firefighters each. They were the two Rapid Intervention Teams, designated for rescues. During any fire, everyone had a specific role. One firefighter couldn’t simultaneously run a hose and perform rescues. The sector commander had to know where each of the people under his or her command were at any given time.
“Chief,” she greeted him briefly. “I hate these little apartments.”
She had a blueprint turned to the corridors in her immediate area. The building was long with nineteen apartments per floor. Elevator banks took up one center apartment space and then the two end stairwells. She snapped her head up and pointed to one of her RIT teams. “You four do a recheck and confirm this floor has evacuated. I don’t want people hanging out on their balconies for selfies. Sector 25 is damn hot, and if their balconies come down, it’s going to hit the one below it. Gravity never takes a day off.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The team in turnouts marked ‘16’ split to either end of the hallway per her command.
“Status update,” Noah requested. Skyscraper fires were complicated with an infinite number of moving parts. The commanders would often have to sacrifice property over lives and sometimes civilian lives over survival for the firefighters.
“Radio’s been spotty. I’ve got hose lines on Sector 25 clearly marked with rescue lines. We’re doing a PAR every fiveminutes or so.” ‘Personal Accountability Reporting,’ or PAR, allowed the commander to keep constant contact for the whereabouts of her teams. Essentially, it was a roll call. Lines and hoses were well marked because if visibility severely deteriorated, the firefighters on 25 would follow their hoses to the stairwell and relative safety.
“Still have 9, 10, 11, and 12 on the fire floor?” He pointed to her blueprints. “Who’s on the floor above—Sector 26?”
“Firehouse 15 is evacuating the floor above. We haven’t evacuated the civilians on the upper floors yet. Haskell doesn’t have the manpower yet.”
“How many are upstairs with Firehouse 15?” he asked.
“Six, the Ladder and Engine. I sent Carver downstairs because he’s better used there, and I wanted my teams even. I know they’re stretched thin, but they still have a great response time. Hell of a time for a fire when everyone is asleep. They’re searching room by room now.”
One of her radios crackled on TAC-1. “L115 to BC2. More civilians in 2607. Initiating evac.” L115 designated the officer of Ladder 15—according to the tactical board—which was Aiden Clarke.
Then the lights flickered, and McClunis disappeared.
In Sector 26, Firehouse 15 was hard at work. Lobby Command had turned off the fire alarm because its blaring made it difficult to hear commands or communicate. The hallway was quiet, punctuated by their calls and knocks on each door. They were on their SCBA air, each of them with the timer counting down in the back of their minds. It was supposed to last forty to forty-five minutes with normal breathing, but usually only lasted about twenty to twenty-five minutes during exertion.
The seconds were ticking down as the team searched, armed with Halligan tool pry bars, axes, and fire extinguishers. Luna and Kevin searched even number apartments while Vanessa and Aiden searched the odds. Any civilians were sent down to Erin and Theo waiting by Stairwell B. Surprisingly, a number of people slept through the alarm and needed to be woken. They were instructed to evac in an orderly manner to Sector 22 at Rehab where Chief Leary would direct them further.
The procedure was the same at every apartment: knock on the door, wait to see if anyone opened. If no one did, they used their Halligan bar to open the door and initiated a search room by room. Even with Erin and Theo clearing the two apartments by Stairwell B, it still felt too slow.
The radio was crackling with updates on TAC-1 from McClunis. Sector 25 seemed to be struggling to get the fire under control. That made the search even tenser. They had the stopwatch of how much the floor could take from the fire below. The hallway was brightly lit, and the smoke wasn’t visible here, but the scent permeated the hallways.
Luna’s team was up to 2608. Aiden was about to enter 2607 before the elevators. They’d cleared out fifteen people in the first seven apartments, which left twelve to go.
“Cleveland Fire Department!” Luna called, knocking on the door. No one answered, so Kevin opened it with the Halligan and started sounding the floor by tapping on it. A soft, spongy floor warned them if the fire was weakening it and they needed to leave ASAP.
Several sleepy civilians emerged from the bedrooms. The blueprints had indicated a mix of mainly one to two bedrooms, but the one by the elevator banks would have three bedrooms.
“I count six! Is this everyone?” Luna shook the first man and directed them to Erin and Theo.
Inside apartment 2607, Aiden moved immediately toward the outer bedroom because he heard screams. He found a teenage girl and her parents crowded up against a wall. Vanessa was left behind, securing the apartment door for an exit.
“Cleveland Fire Department; we’re here to evacuate you. Follow me out to the stairs.” Aiden dipped his head to his left shoulder radio. “L115 to BC2. More civilians in 2607. Initiating evac.”
Even through the SCBA gear, the team could hear an odd rumbling sound, and the lights flickered for a second. “What’s that?” Erin’s voice echoed through their shared radios.
An explosion rocked the floor, plunging them into darkness for a split second, followed by a blinding flood of fire.