Inside the Grandview, the world becomes like another world. The smoke is thick enough that even with my thermal imaging camera, visibility is maybe three feet. The familiar lobby of the inn—with its antique furniture—has become a maze of superheated air and hidden dangers.
"Stay low," I tell Ash through the radio, though he already knows. We move in a crouch, feeling our way along the wall toward where we know the staircase should be.
The heat is intense, even through our gear. I can feel sweat already starting to bead on my forehead inside my mask. The fire is somewhere above us, but heat travels, and it's turning the first floor into an oven.
"There," Ash points through the smoke. The outline of the staircase emerges from the gray haze, but what I see makes my blood run cold. Flames are already starting to lick down the stairs, reaching hungry fingers toward the first floor.
"Mark, we need water on the stairs now."
The stream of water hisses as it hits the burning wood, sending up clouds of steam that mix with the smoke. For a moment, the flames retreat, and we have our opening.
"Go, go, go!"
We push forward, Mark behind us with the line. The stairs creak ominously under our weight, and I can feel the heat radiating through the soles of my boots. Halfway up, the smoke clears just enough for me to get a good look at what we're facing.
The second floor is fully involved. Flames are rolling across the ceiling in waves, and I can hear the sound of windowsbreaking as the fire seeks oxygen. The hallway ahead of us is a tunnel of orange and yellow, and the heat is so intense it's like looking into the mouth of a furnace.
"We need to knock this down fast," I tell the others. "This whole floor is about to flash."
A flashover is every firefighter's nightmare. It can happen in seconds, and if you're caught in it, your chances of survival drop to almost nothing.
Mark opens the nozzle wide, and we start our attack on the hallway. The water turns to steam almost instantly, but slowly, inch by inch, we start pushing the fire back. It's backbreaking work. The hose feels like it weighs a ton, and the heat is so intense that even with our gear, I can feel it trying to cook me alive.
"How's your air?" Ash asks.
I check my gauge. Half a bottle. We've been working for maybe fifteen minutes, but it feels like hours.
"Still good. You?"
"Same. Let's keep pushing."
We work our way down the hallway, knocking down flames, cooling superheated surfaces, making the space as safe as we can. Room by room, we clear the second floor, and for a moment, I think we might actually have this thing beat.
That's when the wind shifts.
I feel it first as a change in the way the smoke is moving. Instead of being drawn up and out through the windows, it starts swirling, changing direction. Then I hear Chief Williams on the radio, his voice tight with concern.
"All units, be advised—wind shift from the south. Repeat, wind shift from the south."
The change is almost immediate. The fire, which we'd been successfully pushing back, suddenly surges forward withrenewed fury. Flames that had been dying down roar back to life, fed by the fresh oxygen the wind is driving into the building.
"We need to get out of here," Mark says, and I can hear the tension in his voice. "Now."
But even as he says it, I can see we're in trouble. The hallway behind us—our exit route—is starting to light up again. The fire is moving faster now, racing along the ceiling, looking for anything it can consume.
"Move, move, move!" I shout.
We start back down the hallway, but the fire is moving faster than we are. Behind us, I can hear the sound of structural members starting to fail. Groaning, cracking sounds that tell me the building is in distress.
Halfway back to the stairs, Mark stumbles. The hose line gets tangled around his leg, and for a crucial few seconds, we're stopped in the middle of the hallway as flames start to roll over our heads.
"Come on!" Ash grabs Mark's arm, helps him get free of the line. But those few seconds cost us. The fire has gotten ahead of us now, and our exit is compromised.
"We'll make it," I tell them, but I'm not sure I believe it myself. The stairs are visible ahead, but there are flames between us and safety now.
Mark opens the nozzle, and we charge through the curtain of fire. The heat is incredible—like running through hell itself. I can feel it even through my gear, and I know we're right at the edge of what our equipment can protect us from.
We hit the stairs at a run. Behind us, the second floor is starting to collapse. I can hear the sound of ceiling joists giving way, and I know we have seconds, not minutes.
