Chapter XLVIII

One Breathe At a Time

The sadistic dance of the flame gave an eerie illumination to the crumbling interior of the Town House. The red and orange light reflected strangely off Sofia's sweaty face, giving her an almost Hellish beauty. The roar of flames made him shout to hear himself. "WE NEED TO STAY TOGETHER! CLEAR THE HOUSE, ROOM BY ROOM!" She nodded, "STAY IN TOUCHING DISTANCE!"

They went through the house, Sofia tight on his six. He cupped his hands around his mouth, "GRISSOM!" He suddenly wished he'd wet down his tee shirt or brought a cloth to breathe through or something. He hooked his teeshirt over his mouth and nose. The further they went inside, the worse the damage became. Whole sections of walls were missing. He heard Sofia coughing behind him, "WE'RE CLOSE TO GROUND ZERO!" She kicked in a door on the left. "NOTHING!" He peered in, tanks full of insects and preserved creepy crawlies were everywhere; it was a home version of Grissom's office. He convinced himself that he couldn't hear the frantic scrambling of millions of insect legs.

They heard a sharp crack and Nick moved in front of her, putting himself between her and... The piece of fiery dry-wall fell onto his back and shoulders. He jerked forward, away from the blistering heat, a moment too late. His cheap cotton tee shirt caught aflame. Fire bit into his tender skin and he turned and felt Sofia begin to mercilessly beat the flames out. She pulled him back around, "YOU OKAY?!" Considering the dry wall had come within inches of his head and his back was a bubbling, charred mess of badly grilled steak, he was fine. "KEEP GOING!"

The smoke was thicker here, the fire more intense. He heard Sofia's throatier than usual voice call out, "GRISSOM!" The last door on the right was open. Nick angled over to it, ducking under a fallen support beam on his way. It was the bedroom and there was one person in the bed. It was Gil Grissom and Nick thanked God that the man was fully dressed. The fact that he had landed, or whatever, on the bed was a miracle in itself. Nick was starting to think that Lady Luck, the patron saint of Vegas, was smiling down on them. He only hoped she continued to do so.

He felt a surge of adrenaline pump through his already thumping heart. "GRISS!" The older man didn't respond. He turned his head, but couldn't tell where Sofia was because of the smoke and red hot fire. "I can't believe this." He told his unconscious boss as he stepped around a fiery bookcase, "You're finally getting some and I'm pulling you out of bed." He got to the bed and saw that Grissom, the infallible and superhuman man, was bleeding from the ears. "Oh God, C'mon Griss." He moved around and hefted the man over his uninjured shoulder, like a sack of potatoes or a bale of hay. "C'mon, Griss, let's get out of here." He ducked back outside of the bedroom and into a growing wall of fire.

He could the heat all around him, suffocating him as he moved. Each step was agony. There wasn't enough oxygen, the greedy fire depleted all of it before it could reach his strained lungs. Grissom's extra weight and the pain of his burns ate into him. He put his hand against the wall to steady himself only to pull it away, cursing. The fire was eating away at the house with the same speed and focus as Greg at a buffet. The ceiling was falling in everywhere now, chunks of it hitting the floor and burning merrily. He took another step and his foot went through the floor. He felt the pain of wood and nails cutting into him through his sneaker. He wrenched it free and moved along. He could feel blood oozing down his leg and his knee sang with a new pain.

Smoke clouded his vision and he coughed violently. He could hear someone's voice...was it Buck?..No. No, this was Vegas and that was Sofia's voice hollering something. The smoke was thick and black now, the flames a blood red. There was no air, no natural light. Grissom became heavier with every step. His breaths were coming in gasps now; his chest was tight and burning. Where was the door? Was he still in the hallway? He couldn't remember which way he'd come from. He squinted around, every instinct telling him to hit the floor. There would be fresher air on the floor. He shook his head. He couldn't hit the floor, he had to get Griss out. He heard something crash, a spectacular sound, and a rush of flames danced up. Just over the chaos, he could hear Sofia's scream.

Sofia. Griss. Sara. Cath. That Lady Heather Chick. He had to make it out. They were depending on him. Fire scorched the hair of his bare legs and the cheap polyester and rayon of his gym shorts melted, melding with his skin. The heat was unbearable, like a triple digit day in South East Texas. He could feel himself being burnt. Every pus-filled blister that formed on his skin pulled a grunt from deep within him.

He could see something. Was that sunlight cutting through the thick smoke? He heard the tinkling of breaking glass and felt the shards cut across his face and arms.

He had to get out. He could remember those God-Awful hours in The Coffin. He could remember Grissom talking to him through the lid. He had called him Poncho, just like his Dad had always done. Grissom had gotten him out. It was pay back time. He trusted his life to Grissom. He'd been there every step of the way, when that freak had stalked him, when he had been accused of murder, when he didn't know if he was in his own grave or not. It was just like he'd told Greg, they had all made it. They would make it. There was a rumble and something in front of him fell in a fiery splash of sparks and heat. The little sparks of fire burnt his chest and face. He wiped his brow, willing himself to ignore the pain. One foot in front of the other, one breath at a time.

Author's Note: El Gringo Loco calls me the Queen of the Cliffie, a nickname that amuses me to no end. This is what happens when you overinflate my ego, more cliffies. Okay, so maybe there would be cliff-hangers no matter what everyone calls me.