One Dead Drag Queen Read Free Page B

people into oblivion. You may lift a board and save some lives. Until the fire gets here, or we’re told to move back, I’m going to keep trying. I won’t order anyone to stay. If you’re with us”—he almost grinned—“be as careful as possible.”
    After we’d been working a minute or two, I saw canine units arrive. In moments, handlers had their dogs stumbling through the busted fragments of the part of the city block that wasn’t burning.
    “Lot of dogs,” somebody murmured near me.
    A guy in a blue Chicago cop uniform looked in their direction. “I think a couple are bomb-sniffing dogs. The others are probably for finding survivors.”
    The man next to me said, “They’re never going to be ableto stop the fire. This whole block is going to go. If there is anybody alive under all this, they’re going to die.”
    I worked harder and faster. Sweat stung my eyes. I didn’t take the time to wipe it away.
    It might have been minutes later when the order passed. A cop in a starched white shirt with lieutenant insignia on it tapped me on the shoulder: “We’re going to have to move back in a few minutes.” They’d checked the fire in the direction of the gas station. The fire near us was still advancing.
    Shouts rang out from two sections of the masses of destruction about ten feet apart. I rushed toward the one nearest me. One of the dogs was wagging its tail and letting out small yips. I hoped it was a “people” dog, not a “bomb” dog, and others were hastening toward it, and no one yelled to get back. When I was within several feet, I heard what sounded like the sobs of a small child. I remember trying to move debris while straining to catch another sound. Care could hardly be taken with the fire moving so close. While we could easily dislodge something and half a ton of debris could come crashing down on the trapped child, we had little choice.
    Two minutes later a halt was called to the frantic digging. I could no longer hear the child. A slender man stripped off his outer gear, and with a rope tied at his waist, a miner’s helmet on his head, he crawled headfirst into a narrow, dark opening. I joined the men clutching the rope linking us to the descending rescue worker. His head and shoulders disappeared. The rope went slack for a moment. As his waist and hips sank out of view, the rope became taut. The men beside me breathed heavily. Just as the descending man’s knees were lost to view, the sounds of the child’s crying began again.
    A paramedic lying next to the man’s legs yelled through a bullhorn, “Pull slowly.” The ten of us grabbed the rope and slowly heaved backward.
    Seconds later, man and child emerged. The kid was maybe three or four. He wore a bright yellow and red outfit. People cheered and clapped the rescuer on the back. A fireman hurried away with the child. Someone began untying the rope from around the rescuer’s waist. He stopped the movement and shook his head. I was close enough to hear him mumble, “There’s a body next to where I found the kid. Could be the mother, or maybe a day-care provider or a random victim. She’s dead.”
    “You sure?”
    “Yep.”
    Any elation I felt dissipated. I saw shoulders slump among the others nearby who had also heard.
    The fire had leaped the alley in several places. The people around me began debating whether to stay and try to get the mother’s body or leave and chance that it would burn. I looked to where the other group had been working.
    Silhouetted against the encroaching flames were four men carrying a stretcher to a waiting ambulance. I caught a glimpse of the face. I thought it might be Tom. While rushing over, I tripped on the corner of an outthrust gray, metal filing cabinet. I twisted an ankle. The other leg sank into the fragments up to my knee. Several hands quickly jerked me back up.
    “You okay?” a fireman asked.
    “Yeah.” I hobbled to the ambulance. I got there as the stretcher settled into the