The water gushed violently toward the engine in the cab of the truck, then cascaded inside the shattered back windshield of the Honda at the rate of five hundred gallons per minute, partially filling the car's interior. It then flowed with gravity toward the engine, out of the passenger area. Within moments water began to rush out from the front grill. The nose of the car dipped slightly, raising the cab of the truck--then rose again. The firemen manning the hose saw the ravaged car teetering in the balance and without a second to spare turned the hose away, toward the open air, before shutting it down.
To a man, their faces had gone white.
Water was still pouring from the front of the car. There had been no movement from the passenger within.
"Let's use the ladder on the truck," Taylor urged. "We'll extend it out over the car and use the cable to haul the person out."
The car continued to rock, seemingly of its own accord.
"It might not support the two of you," Joe said quickly. As the chief, he was the only full-time employee of the fire department; it was his job to drive one of the trucks, and he was always the calming influence in a crisis like this.
It was obvious he had a point. Because of the angle of the wreck and the relatively narrow width of the bridge, the hook and ladder couldn't approach to within an ideal distance. From where it could be parked, the ladder would have to extend out over the car to the side the passenger was on, an extension of at least an additional twenty feet. Not much if the ladder was at an angle--but because it would have to be positioned nearly horizontally out over the river, it would test the limits of what was safe.
Had it been a new-model fire truck, it probably wouldn't have been a problem. Edenton's hook and ladder was one of the oldest operating models in the state, however, and it had originally been purchased with the knowledge that the tallest building in town was only three stories. The ladder wasn't designed to be used in a situation like this.
"What other choice do we have? I'll be out and back before you know it," Taylor said.
Joe had almost expected him to volunteer. Twelve years ago, during Taylor's second year with the crew, Joe had asked him why he was always the first to volunteer for the riskiest assignments. Though risks were part of the job, unnecessary risks were something else, and Taylor had struck him as a man with something to prove. Joe didn't want someone like that behind him--not because he didn't trust Taylor to get him out of trouble, but because he didn't want to risk his own life saving someone who tested fate unnecessarily.
But Taylor offered a simple explanation:
"My dad died when I was nine, and I know what it's like for a kid to grow up alone. I don't want that to happen to anyone else."
Not that the others didn't risk their lives, of course. Everyone involved with the fire department accepted the risks with open eyes. They knew what might happen, and there had been dozens of occasions where Taylor's offer had been declined.
But this time . . .
"All right," Joe said with finality. "You're on the point, Taylor. Now let's get to it."
Because the hook and ladder was facing forward, it had to be backed off the bridge, then onto the grass median to reach the best possible position. Once the truck was off the bridge, the driver of the fire truck moved the truck back and forth three times before he was able to reverse toward the wreck again. By the time the truck was in position, seven minutes had elapsed.
In that seven minutes the engine in the truck continued to smoke heavily. Small flames were now visible in the area beneath it, licking out, scorching the rear of the Honda. The flames looked awfully close to the gas tanks, but spraying the hose wasn't an option anymore, and they couldn't get close enough with the fire extinguishers to make a difference.
Time was running out, and all anyone could do was watch.
While the truck was moving into position, Taylor collected the rope he needed and attached it to his own harness with a clip. When the truck was in place, Taylor climbed up and secured the other end of the rope to the ladder a few rungs from the end. A cable, much longer, was also run from the rear of the hook and ladder up to the ladder itself. Attached to the hook at the far end of the cable was a soft, well-padded safety harness. Once the safety harness was secured around the passenger, the cable would slowly be rewound, lifting the passenger out.
As the ladder began to extend, Taylor lay on his belly, his mind clicking. Keep balanced . . . stay as far back on the ladder as possible . . . when the time comes, lower quickly but carefully . . . don't touch the car . . .
But the passenger occupied most of his thoughts. Was the person trapped? Could he be moved without risking further injury? Would it be possible to get him out without the car tipping over?
The ladder continued to snake outward, close to the car now. There were still ten or twelve feet to go, and Taylor felt the ladder growing a little unsteady, creaking beneath him, like an old barn in a windstorm.
Eight feet. He was close enough now to reach out and touch the front of the truck.
Six feet.
Taylor could feel the heat from the small flames, could see them lapping at the mangled roof of the car. As the ladder extended, it began to rock slightly.
Four feet. He was over the car now . . . getting close to the front windshield.
Then the ladder came to a rattling halt. Still lying on his belly, Taylor looked back over his shoulder when it stopped, to see if some glitch had occurred. But by the expressions on the other firemen's faces, he knew that the ladder was extended as far as it would go and that he was going to have to make do.
The ladder wobbled precariously as he untied the rope that held his own harness. Grabbing the other harness for the passenger, he began inching forward, toward the edge of the ladder, taking advantage of the last three rungs. He needed them now to position himself over the windshield and lower himself in order to reach the passenger.
Despite the chaos surrounding him, as he crawled forward he was struck by the improbable beauty of the evening. Like a dream, the night sky had opened before him. The stars, the moon, the wispy clouds . . . over there, a firefly in the evening sky. Eighty feet below, the water was the color of coal, as black as time yet somehow trapping the light of the stars. He could hear himself breathing as he moved forward; he could feel his heart thudding in his chest. Beneath him, the ladder bounced and shuddered with every movement.
He slid forward like a soldier in the grass, clinging to the cold metal rungs. Behind him, the last of the cars were backing off the bridge. In the deathly silence Taylor could hear the flames licking beneath the truck, and without warning the car beneath him started to rock.
The nose of the car dipped slightly a
nd straightened, then dipped again before righting itself. There was no wind at all. In the split second he noticed it, he heard a low moan, the sound muffled and almost impossible to decipher.
"Don't move!" Taylor shouted instinctively.
The moan grew louder, and the Honda started to rock in earnest.
"Don't move!" Taylor shouted again, his voice full of desperation, the only sound in the darkness. All else was still. A bat brushed by in the night air.
He heard the moan again, and the car tilted forward, its nose dipping toward the river before righting itself once more.
Taylor moved quickly. He secured his rope on the final rung, tying the knot as deftly as any sailor. Pulling his legs forward, he squeezed through the rungs, doing his best to move as fluidly and slowly as possible while staying in the harness. The ladder rocked like a teeter-totter, groaning and creaking, bouncing as if it would break in two. He settled himself as firmly as he could, almost as if he were on a swing. This was as good a position as he would get. Holding on to the rope with one hand, he reached downward toward the passenger with the other, gradually testing the ladder's strength. Pushing through the windshield to the dashboard, he saw that he was too high, but he caught sight of the person he was trying to save.
A male in his twenties or thirties, about the same size he was. Seemingly incoherent, he was struggling in the wreckage, causing the car to rock violently. The passenger's movement was a double-edged sword, Taylor realized. It meant that he could probably be removed from the car without risk of spinal injury; it also meant that his movement might tip the car.
His mind racing, Taylor reached above him to the ladder and grabbed the safety harness, then pulled it toward him. With the sudden movement, the ladder bounced up and down like marbles on the pavement. The cable grew tight.
"More cable!" he shouted, and a moment later he felt it pick up slack and he began to lower it. Once it was in position, he shouted for them to stop. He unhooked one end of the safety harness so that he could try to work it around the man's body and reattach it.
He bent down again but saw with frustration that he still couldn't reach the man. He needed another couple of feet.
"Can you hear me?" Taylor called into the car. "If you can understand what I'm saying, answer me."