When had he changed? Had it really been the loss of their tiny daughter? Was that when he began putting all his efforts into work and almost none of them into his life at home? He trudged down another seven steps to the next landing, and suddenly he knew. Of course that was when it had happened. He'd made a decision in the deepest place of his soul never again to depend on God or anyone else. God would let him down and people would die. The only thing he could count on was himself, and that was the way he'd lived every day since.
The air around him grew thicker, more oppressive, and the building was moving so much he could barely keep his balance. He thought about the last conversation he'd had with Laura. For the life of him he couldn't remember whether he'd even told her he loved her.
People all around him were screaming now, pushing more than before and desperate to clear the building. Eric took the stairs as quickly as he could, but still he felt like he was moving in a kind of painful slow motion. One step … another … another …
The building was going to collapse on top of him, and he'd be buried alive … everything he'd done to make a success of himself had been for nothing, because now he was about to die, and Laura and Josh would never know how he really felt, how sorry he was for all he'd denied them.
Another step … another …
The building groaned and lurched, and in that instant Eric had a thought, a notion that seemed to come almost on its own volition. As long as he drew breath he could still pray. A horrific roar sounded from somewhere far above him, but Eric only worked his way down the stairs. And as he did, he begged God for something he never would have asked for prior to the disaster that morning.
A second chance.
****
Jake and Larry and Maxwell jogged up the last thirty floors. They were gasping for breath as they pushed their way onto the sixty-first floor, the site where they'd been told to set up a staging area. There by the elevator bank were twelve other firefighters, each working over victims sprawled out on the floor. Several men—including one Jake had worked with before—were setting up IV bags and giving shots of morphine.
“What can we do?” Maxwell lurched ahead with Jake and Larry behind him.
“They told us the elevators were working.” One of the men looked up, his face weary. “We sent two men and five victims down eight minutes ago. So far nothing's come back.”
“You mean the car stopped?” Jake came up alongside a woman whose arms and torso were burned nearly to the bone. He felt her neck for a pulse, but it was weak and thready. She was a pretty woman, in her mid-twenties with a wedding ring. Somewhere, her husband was probably crazy with worry about her, the same way Jamie was no doubt feeling about him.
“Hey, buddy.” Larry came up beside him. “She's not going to make it.”
“I know.” Futility welled up inside Jake. The disaster that morning was clearly an MCI—the code firefighters used to define a mass casualty incident. Any MCI meant that resources and energy had to be saved for victims who still had a chance. If a person was mortally wounded, firefighters were supposed to move on to the next victim.
Jake stared at the dying woman, sucked in a quick breath, and held it. He had trained for this type of work, but a disaster like the one they were fighting was so much bigger than anything they could've prepared for. After hiking up sixty-one floors, Jake was exhausted, and now that they'd arrived, there was so little they could do.
Maxwell was still asking about the elevator.
“The building's shaking too much to keep an elevator car moving right,” one of the men answered. “My guess is we're waiting for nothing. We'll need to carry these people down.”
“What about the crash site?” Maxwell too had positioned himself near one of the victims and was pulling a morphine kit from his pack.
“Seventy-eight has a crew working it right now. They're talking to us on the radio. It's … it's worse than anything they've ever seen.”
Jake stood and counted the victims. Eighteen, and just fifteen firefighters. “There're more men on the way up. Let's get the ones we can help onto our backs and start down again.”
“He's right.” Larry straightened and stood next to Jake. “By the time we get everyone loaded up, the others will be here.”
A cry came from the burned woman, the one on the floor near Jake. “Please … help me.”
Jake was on his knees at her side instantly. The building shuddered and lurched, shaking so much that his words vibrated when he spoke. “I'm h–h—here … we're getting help as fast as we can.”
The woman was quiet a moment, in and out of consciousness. She moaned again. “Pray. Someone … pray with me … please.”
Without looking for approval, Jake took hold of the woman's fingers—the only part of her arms not burned. “Come on, Larry, get down here with me.”
Larry dropped to the woman's other side and took hold of her knee. “Go ahead.”
Around them firefighters struggled to load victims on their backs, but as they did, the tower groaned and creaked even louder than before. Jake looked up, his eyes darting from the ceiling to the walls and back up again. He understood what the sound meant. The steel supports were melting, giving way more with each passing second.
A shattering sound pierced the room like a gunshot, and everyone jumped. The noise was followed by another, and another. Jake shot a glance toward the noise. Windows were breaking, popping out from the force of the twisting structure.
Jake glanced around the room at the others. The reality of what was about to happen was clear to every one of the firefighters there. The tower was coming down. They were sixty-one floors off the ground and about to be buried beneath tons of cement, steel, and burning jet fuel.
“Larry …” Jake locked eyes with his friend. They were still kneeling on the floor on either side of the burned young woman. “We're not gonna make it, buddy. Not this time.”
“Nope.” Larry's face was pale and he bit his lip. His voice was a choked whisper. “I love you, JB. You've been like a brother.”
“You too. I never thought …” Jake's voice cracked. “I'm … I'm gonna miss my girls.”
“We can't think like that. They'll be with us soon enough, right?” Larry's eyes welled up. “Until then I'll still be watching your back.”
“Right.” Jake tried to sort through his feelings. Fear, anxiety, but most of all a deep sadness. Because he'd never know Jamie's kiss again, never get lost in her eyes. And because he wasn't going to give Sierra her horsey ride that night, after all. He dropped his head, nearly overcome. What about Your promise, God? What about Jamie's soul? He let the thought pass. “If I could … if I could have one more day with them.”
The building lurched. Jake looked at the other firefighters. They were wide-eyed, but still they went about their business, voices calm, loading patients on their backs, and operating on a sort of automatic pilot—the result of training that would have them working the rescue as long as they drew breath.
But none of them were here with their best friend, the way Jake was. Another loud creaking sounded above them.
“Hey.” Larry reached across the woman and gripped Jake's shoulder. “I'll meet you on the other side.” His hands shook. “Look for me, okay?”
“Okay.” Jake's heart raced, and he ordered himself not to run for his life. There was no point now, anyway. And if he was going to die, he wanted to do it here, huddled over a victim, right beside his best friend.
The woman between them on the floor moaned again. “Pray. P—p—pray …”
Prayer.
Yes, that's exactly what they needed. The building was swaying harder now. They had seconds, a minute at best. Jake gripped Larry's arm so they were linked together, forming an arc over the burned woman. “God, this is our most desperate hour. We beg You to be kind and merciful, swift and sure. Bring us home safely where we can live with You forever.”
“Jake …” Maxwell moved closer and hunched near the feet of the woman. He had
an unconscious young man over his shoulders. “I … I don't know much about Jesus.”
Jake opened his eyes and stared at his captain. The man was gruff and seasoned, a weathered veteran with the attitude of a street fighter and the mouth of an angry sailor. Jake had never considered inviting the man to church, never dreamed of talking to him about prayer, let alone Jesus.
But here the need was painfully obvious, and Maxwell wanted answers in a hurry.
“Jesus is the Son of God.” Jake's voice was strong, and it filled the area near the elevators. “He died for you. For me. He's alive now in heaven,” Jake caught Larry's gaze and held it, “making a place for everyone who believes in Him.”
Maxwell was nodding. “I want that. What do I need to do? Tell me quick …”
“Pray with me.” Jake looked around the room. “Any of you who want Jesus now, pray with me.” He closed his eyes and ignored the sadness, ignored the images of Jamie and Sierra and the home they shared together. Instead, he concentrated on the prayer … the last prayer he would pray this side of heaven. “Lord, I'm sorry for the things I've done that have kept me from You.”
Around the room, hurried voices joined Maxwell's as the prayer was repeated. Jake pushed on, his voice stronger with each word. “I believe You are the Son of God, and I want Your gift of salvation. I need a Savior.”
In unison, both the conscious victims and the firefighters repeated Jake's words. Some were already Christians, men Jake had seen at church or prayer services over the years. But in these, their final moments, there were no other words any of them would rather be saying.
Jake was yelling now, wanting to be heard above the sounds coming from the building. “I believe You're preparing a place for me …” From not far above them, a roar began to build until it sounded like a thousand freight trains headed straight for them. Jake squeezed Larry's arm and hoped that somehow the next life would offer him a window to the one here. That way he could at least see Jamie and Sierra, pray for them, and watch them live their lives. Even if he could never hold them again. The deafening noise was too loud to be heard over, but Jake continued anyway. “A place in heaven … where we'll be together even this very d—”
The ceiling collapsed on top of them, and Jake began to tumble, his arm still linked with Larry's. A crushing feeling wrapped itself around Jake and sucked the air from him. He could still feel Larry, still sense his presence beside him as they fell, but the roar was suffocating now, and darkness smothered them.
Then slowly, gradually, the darkness gave way to light. The most brilliant, peaceful light Jake had ever seen. His last thought was not about sadness or terror or loss of any kind. Rather it was a prayer. That one day, Jamie would believe. Because he could already feel the place where he was headed, already see it somehow. It was a land so amazing, so full of love and goodness and beauty that Jamie would want to go tomorrow if only she knew.
Yes, she had to believe. God had assured him of that, hadn't He? And that final knowing was enough to help Jake let go, enough to help him give himself over to the light that lay ahead of him. Enough to believe that one day this long good-bye would be over and they'd be together again. Not just for a day or a year or a lifetime.
But forever.
TWELVE
SEPTEMBER 11, 2001, 9:56 A.M.
Jamie had no idea that the country was under attack.
She had taken the nine o'clock step-aerobics class at the Staten Island Fitness Center, and at one minute after ten, she flung a towel around her neck, headed into the hallway and down the stairs toward the lobby. This was all part of Jamie's routine. Work out from nine to ten, head through the lobby to the locker room, take a shower, and pick up Sierra. Then the two of them would go to the park and spend an hour playing before going home for lunch.
But that morning, the moment she stepped foot in the lobby she stopped short. People filled the place, all of them gathered around a single television set anchored to one of the walls adjacent to the snack stand. Jamie couldn't see the picture from where she stood.
A woman with a pair of tennis shoes in her hands broke away from the cluster of people and headed toward the showers. Her eyes were damp.
“Excuse me …” Jamie stepped in front of her. A terrible fear filled her throat, and she could barely voice her question. She searched the woman's face. “What's happening?”
The woman stared at her, disbelief etched in the lines on her forehead. “Don't you know?”
“Know what?”
“Terrorists attacked us. It happened an hour ago. The World Trade Center buildings are on fire. The Pentagon too.”
Jamie's head began to spin. Why hadn't anyone stopped the aerobics class? And if the World Trade Center was on fire, then Jake—Jamie forced herself to think straight. “Terrorists? Was it a bomb?”
“No.” The woman looked almost afraid to give Jamie the details. “They hijacked three planes. Flew two of them into the World Trade Center, one of them into the Pentagon.” The woman pointed at the television. “It's all happening live right now.” She shook her head. “I have to get home. My husband works on the fifteenth floor of the north tower, and I haven't talked to him since …”
Jamie was no longer listening. She sprinted across the lobby and found a place near the back of the crowd of exercisers. There it was in all its horrifying reality. Both of the Twin Towers were on fire, the top thirds of each building were engulfed in fire and smoke.
Airplanes had done this? Terrorists had flown them into the buildings on purpose? They'd taken control of the planes and crashed into the buildings? She gripped her waist and felt the room spin. She wanted to sit down before she fainted, but she couldn't make herself move. Her eyes were fixed on the towers, scrutinizing the buildings, as though she might be able to see Jake through one of the tiny windows.
He was there somewhere. She knew it as certainly as she knew his name. Jake's station was practically in the shadow of the World Trade Center. They'd be at the scene for sure. Jake and Larry and all the guys from Engine 57 and Ladder 96. Jamie's chest hurt, and she couldn't draw a deep breath.
The fire was too big, too massive, for them to fight. No number of firefighters could tackle a blaze like that. Jamie clenched her fists and ignored the way her fingernails dug into the palms of her hand. Get out of there, Jake. Come on, honey, walk away. Help the people on the ground …
A dark-haired journalist came on the television screen, grim-faced and shaken. “We have reports now that fire is tearing through the Pentagon after a third passenger plane, American Airlines Flight 77, crashed into the building sixteen minutes ago. President Bush is declaring the disasters in New York and Washington, D.C. a terrorist attack.” The news program cut to live footage of the burning World Trade Center, and the reporter's voice carried on over the images. “To recap here a bit, the airspace over the United States has been closed for the first time in history. Two passenger planes crashed into the World Trade Center at 8:45 and 9:02 Eastern time this morning. Early estimates suggest that hundreds of people may be dead, though that number could be much higher. The Twin Towers hold office space for more than—”
The reporter stopped midsentence.
Suddenly, massive smoke billowed from the flaming section of the south tower. Jamie's mouth dropped open as the roof of the building disappeared and the entire hundred-story structure pancaked into a volcanic cloud of dust and debris.
For a moment no one spoke, no one moved. There were a few quiet gasps from the crowd of people around Jamie, but nothing else. None of them could believe what they'd just witnessed. Finally, in words trembling with disbelief, the reporter voiced what the rest of them didn't dare. “It … it appears that the south tower of the World Trade Center has collapsed. I repeat … the south tower of the World Trade Center has collapsed. This could mean casualties in the thousands … the building was full of business workers and countless firefighters, all working desperately to …”
Jamie put her hands over her ears a
nd turned first one direction, then the other. It wasn't possible. There had to be a mistake, a trick somehow. The World Trade Center wouldn't fall; it was too strong, built too well. Still, the images were horrifyingly real. She couldn't stand to see another moment of it, didn't want to hear anyone say anything else about casualties and collapses.
Jake was fine; he had to be.
She took short, frantic steps and made a full circle this time. Where was the locker room? Why was nothing in its place anymore? And how come everyone was standing there watching the television? It was all a lie, a hoax. The World Trade Center wasn't on fire; it was impossible. Now, if only she could get home and talk to Jake.
The TV shouted at her from every corner of the room. Pressing her fists tight against her ears this time, she finally spotted the locker room and made a run for it. Moving as fast as she could, she grabbed her things with both hands and raced to the kids' club. A small television was replaying the collapse of the tower in the corner of the room. Jamie looked at the workers and saw the shadows in their eyes. They knew what was happening.
It's a lie, she wanted to shout. Everything's fine!
Instead, Sierra came running up, her blue eyes shining and innocent, completely unaware. “Mommy!” She clung to Jamie's legs and then reached her hands up. “Hold me!”
“Hi, baby.” Jamie tried to smile, but the corners of her mouth felt frozen. “Let's go home, okay?”
“What about the park?”
The three day-care workers were avoiding her, looking the other way and sharing quiet whispers between themselves. One of them was crying. Jamie understood instantly. The health club girls knew that Jamie was married to a firefighter; in fact, they knew Jake. He'd been in with her several times over the summer.
Jamie stared at them. “Everything's fine.” She stuffed her towel into her bag, swung it onto her right shoulder, and scooped Sierra up onto her opposite hip. “You don't have to worry. Jake wasn't in the building.”