Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
A fire needs three elements to ignite: Heat, fuel and an oxidizing agent.
The exploding transformer in the apartment house's ground floor had sent sparks of blue white hotness flying everywhere.
Heat.
Of course keeping any combustible material anywhere near the house's electric heart was strictly prohibited by law. Building management, however, couldn't have cared less. They had let one of the tenants stash a thick woolen carpet right next to the appliances. Along with a pile of wallpaper rolls and a bucket of paint thinner.
Fuel.
The hurricane's howling wind had torn huge holes into the roof and broken windows all over the floors. It was blowing down the corridors like a stampede of mustangs, shaking the house's very foundation. There was plenty of fresh air coming into the cellar although it was deep below ground level.
Oxygen.
Theoretically the door to the room where the transformer was kept should have been fireproofed.
Practically the costs had been too high. Bribing the fire inspector had been so much more reasonable in price. And considering the high fluctuation and low quality of the tenants… most of them were happy to have a roof above their heads at all – none of them would complain.
The burning carpet and wallpaper quickly created enough heat to keep the fire burning although the initial energy of the electric explosion was already gone. Once the paint thinner joined in, there was no holding back anymore. Like a many-headed snake the flames crept forwards, licked at the floor and finally ate their way through the thin wooden door.
In the corridor the flames met rainwater pouring in from outside. Vapor rose, angry hissing sounds erupted, but the fire found a way to evade the lashing waves. It climbed up the walls and started burning its way to the next floor right through the ceiling.
… … …
Chance recognized the characteristic stench of singed plastic fibers and particle boards as he approached the building and knew immediately what was going to happen: The fire was going to engulf the house from bottom to top, trapping everyone in the upper levels, cutting off all escape routes one by one.
He had to act fast. The man by the window didn't seem to be capable of getting out of the room on his own. He needed his help.
Without actually consciously deciding it, Chance waved with his flashlight, hoping he'd see that help was on his way. It was unlikely the man was going to notice him, though – with the blackness of the night and the heavy rain and wind he had probably already retreated from the window again. Chance, from his point of view, couldn't see him anymore.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered what this would mean for Ilsa and Connie, but there was no time to dwell on that subject for any particular amount of time.
Ilsa had come a long way since starting to work with him. She'd somehow hang in there and watch out for Connie.
Shouldering his way through the already damaged entrance door, he stepped into the house.
Thank God he was equipped with fireman's gear. Thick, poisonous smoke was filling the hallway, wavering above the flooded floor. Fire and water were caught up in a struggle for dominance and Chance had walked right in.
He put on his breathing mask and headed up the stairs. Thankfully, they were made of concrete, not wood… a slight possibility they'd still be there on his way back, too… but time was tight nevertheless - he needed to get to the man before the fire managed to completely devour the lower floors.
… … …
The young woman was stumbling forwards on the edge of complete exhaustion. Judging from the expression on her face, she was fueled by sheer determination alone. Ilsa and Connie were right behind her.
The rain was hitting their faces like a million nails hailing down on them, the wind threatened to blow them of their feet, they were drenched after seconds… but she kept on marching ahead, driven by worry and terror.
Connie would have loved to shout at Ilsa for not staying in the relative safety of the apartment building and instead risking their lives out here in this nightmare come true. The storm, however, was tearing so hard at her, she needed all her energy to keep going.
The woman guided them to the back of a building that was clearly on fire. Huge flames were raging behind empty window frames of the first floor.
"My father is on the top floor! He's in a wheelchair and the elevator is not working!", she yelled, pointing upwards. "Our apartment's windows are on the other side!"
With the wind coming in from the east it would be impossible to round the corner and get to the front of the building. But all entrances in the back were already blocked by the fire…
"Why didn't you go to a shelter when there was still time?" Connie shouted at the woman. "With a storm this big the city surely would have offered assistance to get him out of there before it hit!"
Ilsa decided that it was useless wasting breath and energy on telling Connie that she was not helpful. In a way she could also relate to Connie's outbreak. How many times during their past cases had she herself felt the urge to yell at a client why he or she had been so insanely stupid to make the decisions that had made him or her ask for Chance's services in the end? Especially during the Penny Cleves case she had more than once wished she could simply kick that woman's butt for outright dumbness.
But it was no use – the clients always were deep in shit and needed immediate help, no matter how they had gotten themselves in there.
In principle this was the same situation here.
"We've got to build a pedestal to get in!" Ilsa struggled to get a hold of one of the big metal garbage cans near the back door. They were full and thus very heavy, but that was actually a plus – the wind would have blown them away, had they been empty.
"The wind and the rain are keeping the fire inside and the flooding is slowing its progress down!", she shouted. "The second floor should be relatively untouched yet, if we climb in there…"
"You want to CLIMB IN? THAT'S INSANE!" Connie's voice was barely audible over the thundering noises of the hurricane. The wind carried her voice away although she was standing right next to Ilsa and the young woman.
"You want to let my father burn to death?", the young woman screamed at her.
Connie looked her in the face – she was barely twenty… and helped Ilsa move the garbage cans so that they formed an unstable pile.
"Even if, big IF, we manage to get inside that building", Connie told her sister-in-law as they wedged a container into a position that was a little more secure. "How are you planning to get her father downstairs?"
"I like to wing it, Connie!", Ilsa shouted and clambered a little higher.
The pile shook madly from the wind, not to mention that it was extremely slippery, but somehow Ilsa managed to get to a broken window on the second floor.
Connie has a point, she thought, her stomach tightening. How am I going to climb all the way down again, with a paralyzed man on my back?
She reached through the shards of jagged glass to open the window frame so that she could at least climb in without risking to cut herself.
I have no idea how to get that man out of here alive. What was I thinking even trying? I've endangered Connie by dragging her out here…
At this very moment a hand took hers.
It was a big, calloused hand that could deliver hard blows and grip with an iron fist if necessary. But it could also tenderly wipe tears away.
Ilsa recognized it immediately.
"The hurricane tore the fire escape ladder off the building", Chance said, readjusting the man on his back to get him ready for the descend over the garbage cans. "Some quick thinking of you to build us an escape route."
Ilsa squeezed his hand and made way.