DROP OUT

Chapter 1
September 11th 2001
8:46 a.m.

An explosion of sound blasted through the building. It lurched violently to one side. Two people in the express elevator with me gripped the handrail as we continued our ascent. One was a twenty-something woman wearing tan pants, a white blouse, and an embroidered red scarf. I’d seen her many times having lunch at The Odeon on West Broadway where I worked. The other, a man, was tall and broad-shouldered. He looked about sixty, handsome, with a shock of white hair. I had never seen him before but by the looks of his tailored suit I assumed he was someone of importance.

“What the Hell just happened?” the man questioned.

“I don’t know!” I replied.

“Was it a bomb?” the woman asked, her voice high with fear.

A second explosion rocked the elevator followed by severe, earthquake-like shaking. The woman screamed. The elevator shuddered and jolted to a stop. We crouched low and braced against the floor. A cloud of smoke engulfed us.

“We’ve gotta get out of here!” the woman cried and coughed.

She fumbled with her purse and retrieved her cell phone. Instinct told me to act. I hopped to my feet and looked around in exasperation.

“I can’t get a signal!” the woman stated. “There’s no phone signal!”

“C’mon!” I hollered to the businessman, coughed, and wedged my fingertips in the thin space between the elevator doors. “Help me open these!”

The businessman stood and grabbed at the other side. We pulled; heaved; coughed. My muscles swelled. Slowly, the doors pried apart to face a wall of sheetrock stamped with the identification: 102nd floor.

“Oh God!” the young woman sobbed, and started coughing. “It’s blocked!”

I looked down the shaft. Several floors below was all fire.

Panic hit. I kicked at the sheetrock; slammed the heel of my foot with all my might. Over and over. It didn’t make a dent.

“We’re never gonna bust through this!” I stated. Ideas jumped into my brain. “We’re gonna have to dig out!” I turned to the businessman. “You got anything sharp?”

“Dig out!” the young woman cried. “We can’t possibly!”

I coughed. The businessman’s eyes were huge O’s of fear.

“All I have is my car keys,” he said.

“Give them to me!”

Smoke thickened. The young woman tried to use her cell phone again. A series of coughs overtook her.

“Get some cloth!” I stated, and pulled off my white Perry Ellis button down shirt. “Spit into the fabric and then wrap it around your mouth. It’ll help you breath!”

The businessman removed his shirt. The young woman used her scarf.

Driven by panic, I gouged the keys into the sheetrock. My hands moved fast but made little progress. The businessman climbed up on the handrail and tried to push out the ceiling. He hammered with his palms to no avail. The panels were made of steel and screwed in tight.

Heat intensified. Smoke stung my eyes and scratched my throat, smothering my ability to think clearly. Sweat ran down my forehead and soaked my T-shirt. I puffed and wheezed, poking and jabbing with the keys until my arms and shoulders ached. Pieces of sheetrock chipped off. Two of the keys bent. My fingers cramped. Breathing came in lung-pinching, hot gasps. My eyes went unfocused. Faintness swept over; light headed and winded.

I thought about dropping the keys, closing my eyes, and giving up.

Suddenly, the key poked through to the other side. The hole was no larger than what a worm bores, but it was enough. Fresh air drooled in.

“I’ve done it!” I stated.

I put my lips to the hole and breathed oxygen that was free of ash and smoke, but tasted of fuel. We took turns gulping fast breaths. Then I quickly sawed and made the opening about the diameter of a quarter.

Infused with energy, the businessman and I started kicking at the hole, kicking for our lives. Chunks of sheetrock broke off. And then bigger chunks. Finally, his foot punched out a huge, chair-size opening. A drafty inrush propelled the smoke in the elevator to the ceiling.

“We’re free!” the young woman gushed, nearly overcome with emotion.

“Go clear the way ahead!” I said to the businessman. “I’ll kick the hole big enough for me.”

He nodded, squat down, and wiggled through the space, then knocked out a thin sheet of drywall on the other side and disappeared. The young woman crawled out next. I kicked at the sheetrock until I could fit my large frame and then squeezed through both holes, emerging through the wall and into a deserted conference area. Except for the lack of activity and the strong odors of combustion and gasoline, everything appeared strangely ordinary: desks, computers, cluttered stacks of paper, a copy machine in the corner.

The young woman’s hands trembled as she attempted to dial her cell phone again.

I stepped toward the window.

Below us, flames rolled upward in massive orange turrets as thick, black smoke gushed into the sky. My eye caught a flaming object free-falling to the ground. And then another flaming object jumped from a broken window. And then another. My mind reeled with horror as I realized they were people leaping from the building.

I whipped out my cell phone and tried for a signal. Amazingly, one bar came up.

“We’ve got phones!” I announced.

Shaking and reeling, I pressed Amber’s number. She answered on the second ring.

“Amber!” I said. “Are you alright? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” she replied, her voice cracking as it often did when she was nervous. “We’re all fine! Where are you? I was so worried about you!”

“I’m on the 102nd floor.” I swallowed hard, trying to keep the adrenaline staccato and tension from my voice.

“What are you doing there?”

“It’s a long story. I stopped on ninety-seven to surprise Rick at Cantor Fitgerald. But he’s late, so I—”

“Someone said the lower floors are on fire!” She cut me off. “Did you feel the building shake? What happened? All I can see out the windows is smoke.”

My mind battled to recapture its sanity and jerk my senses back to some semblance of normalcy.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “Maybe a gas explosion. Maybe a bomb.”

“Oh, dear God!”

“I’m certain the fire and police departments are on their way,” I assured her. “They’ll have the situation under control soon enough. What’s important is that we’re all safe. How are you feeling? How’s the baby?”

“I’m okay. The baby’s kicking a bit, but I’m good. No nausea so far.”

“How about everyone else?”

“They’re fine. We’re all fine up here.”

“I’m heading to the stairs now,” I said. “I’ll see you in a few.”

“No, don’t come up! Someone said Emergency Services wants everyone to stay where they are. They don’t want people clogging the stairwells in a panic. The safest thing for us to do is to wait for the fire department to get here.”

“I don’t care what Emergency Services said!”

“Nathan, no! You’ll only worry me. Stay where you are until the building is safe. Please! I’ll see you at home when this is over. Don’t worry, it’s totally normal up here. I’ll be fine.”

I gripped my phone, frazzled with indecision.

“Guess I should have picked a different place for breakfast?” I said, trying to lighten the situation. “I’m sorry. This was supposed to be such a special day.”

“Like any of this is your fault,” she replied, trying her best to sound uplifted. “We’ll celebrate next week. Someplace street level. We… then— ”

The signal cut.

“Amber! Amber!”

I looked over at the young woman. She was putting down her cell phone.

“My mom told me the city is sending every fire precinct in Manhattan over here,” the young woman said, her voice shaking. “My mom said I should stay put until they get the situation under control. That the whole middle of the building is on fire.”

We all looked at each other. Stony silence ensued.

“I think we should get out of here,” I said, after a few moments.

“I think we should stay,” the businessman countered. His face was still pale but he looked immensely relieved to be out of the elevator. He wiped sweat from his forehead and smoothed his hair. “It’s what they want us to do. It’s safer.”

“I don’t feel safer,” I said. “The fire’s only a few floors below. Fire burns up. If they can’t get this out quickly it’s going to burn its way here.”

“I doubt that,” he replied. “The building has fire retardant systems. Sprinklers and such. For all we know the fire may be out.” He crossed his arms. “I’m staying.”

“We don’t know what’s going on down there!” I stated. “The systems may be knocked out! It could be total chaos!”

The young woman shifted uneasily.

“I’m staying!” the businessman affirmed. “You can do whatever you want.”

“I… I agree,” the young woman said, her mind in an obvious state of uncertainty. “I… I think we should stay.”

I looked at them both and thought perhaps that I was the one making a mistake. Surely, the building was equipped to contain this type of emergency. Surely, the New York Fire Department, the best in the world, could quickly remedy this situation. We were out of the elevator and safe. Why put myself in more danger by trying to evacuate? But something deep inside me said to get Amber and our families and get out. This was no ordinary accident. I sensed something extraordinarily horrible had happened.

“I’m leaving!” I affirmed, and started toward the emergency stairwell. “I’m not going to sit around here and hope to be rescued.”

“Wait!” the young woman called, her voice quavering. She looked about in alarm and then nervously licked her lips. “I… I changed my mind. I’m coming with you. I don’t want to stay here! I want to get out of this building!”

I nodded, and turned to the businessman. “How about it?”

“I’ll take my chances,” the businessman concluded.

The businessman sat down in a leather executive chair, leaned back, and rested his hands across his lap as if none of this was really happening.

“Okay then,” I replied. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too.” He paused, and looked at me in an ethereal, brotherly way. “Thanks for that quick thinking back there. You really came through.”

I nodded, and forced a thin smile, then turned to the young woman. “Ready?”

We headed past a maze of identical cubicles toward the emergency stairwell located in the core of the building. I pushed open the thick steel door and held it for the young woman. Phosphorescent lights glowed feebly in the tunnel-like stairwell. The door closed with the solid, echoing click of engaging metal.

“I’ll see you on the street,” I said, and turned to head up the steps.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To get my fiancé.”

“You’re leaving me?”

“I have to!”

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Neil Ostroff