THE ELEVENTH

 By Bridgid

A Steve story set in the World Trade Center on 9-11

TRANSFORMED BY THE AUTHOR INTO A SCREENPLAY, THE ELEVENTH

WAS THE 2008 GRAND PRIZE WINNER OF THE POCONO MOUNTAINS

FILM FESTIVAL

“Turn to the right a little baby. Yeah that’s it.” Steve snapped a series of pictures of the slinky young model who perched herself up on a desk in the high-rise office. She cradled a bowl of fruit and it was for an internal ad campaign to encourage the workers here to choose an apple or a banana over something more seductive like a Butterfinger bar from the vending machine. A job was a job and this one came with a paycheck just like any other.

“Alright, Miranda, let’s take five and then maybe I’ll get some of you over by the windows. I like the light there. It’s really a beautiful day, isn’t it?” The way he looked at her hinted he was speaking more of her than the warm sunny September morning. 

“How much time have we got, Stevie?”

“Don’t tempt me. I’ve got a wife and a family now, Miranda.” There was something he didn’t want to jeopardize just for a grope in the closet, but the way little miss fruit bowl walked did give him a tingle in his groin.

“I guess I’ll go sate myself with a Mars bar. There’s nothing better to stave off frustration.” Giving her hips an extra inch of swing she touched his cheek with the tip of her index finger as she passed. “It’s the breakfast of champions, you know?”

“Down, boy.” Steve growled to himself as he moved over to the windows to check the light. “The missus would chop my dick off.”  He chuckled again as he noted the meter readings. Then, he set his gear down on the desk. Steve moved over by one of the windows and stood there for a bit. He wondered what the wind was like outside. Pressing his arms against the glass he shaded his eyes and tried to look down. Seventy some odd floors up made the stress and bustle of the New York City sidewalk look like a path in an ant farm.

“The ants go marching one by one ..hurrah. hurrah!” He giggled as he raised his eyes to the skyline. There wasn’t a more glorious city in the world by his reckoning. From where he stood he could see a panorama and he wondered how many times the poor bastards who toiled cooped up in this office had savored this same view just to alleviate the doldrums. “Stupid ants!”  He muttered as he lifted his camera to snap a shot of the morning skyline. Adjusting the zoom he noticed it. It was an airliner and it seemed to be off the flight path to LaGuardia. Reckoning the winds had changed he figured he take a couple more pictures of the jet as it got closer and closer. Hey, what the fuck. Margaret Bourke White made a fortune with a similar picture of a plane for Life magazine decades ago. He stepped to the right and continued to shoot but something was becoming precariously evident. This giant silver bird was not only off its flight path but the one it was on seemed to line it up for just about the spot where Steve was standing.

“Can’t be  ...” He continued to shoot capturing one of two where the rays from the sun caused a bolt of light to shoot up off the metallic fuselage in such an artistic way it made his heart thump. How close was it now? The sight of a human form in the cockpit through his telephoto lens gave him a squirk and he lowered the camera. Standing there for a moment in utter disbelief Steve felt a wave of fright come over him greater then any he’d ever felt before. His life began to pass before his eyes like the flicker of pictures in a nickelodeon.

“Miranda!  Miranda, run! His calls were an instinctive response as he wove his way through the office to just simply get the fuck out. Even if it were futile he had to try but the south tower of the World Trade center was a big metal rodent cage and the exits were mere funnels for the thousands of people who tarried there. His eyes met Miranda’s as he breached the office door and a few others who’d seen the impending event about to unfold scurried about in panic, but it was too late. The roar came fast and deafening and Steve’s feet couldn’t find the floor. The building above him crumbled and groaned as the huge craft buried itself in the heart of it. Things happened so fast that there was nothing in Steve’s mind except the searing heat and loss of physical control of his body as he fell into the abyss.

It seemed as if hours had passed since the Armageddon began. Where was he? What happened? Who or what was holding him down? His eyes flickered then opened and he could see smoke tickling the beams above him in the darkness. There were groans and screams but he wasn’t sure if it was the building struggling to regain its integrity or if it was the cries of thousands of people begging for help.  He was crying. Crying for his wife and daughter, crying for Miranda who had refused this job at first and he was crying for himself. What cruel god let him survive just to wallow in the fear the inevitable?

The claxon sounded just as the men and women of Rescue One were clearing the breakfast dishes from the table. They had a lucky night and managed to get a few hours sleep in, being interrupted only once for a false alarm. The firefighters and paramedics began the hurried routine of slipping into their bunker gear and mounting their rigs as the sound of a panic in the dispatcher’s voice cut through each and every one of them.

“All hands respond to the south tower of the World Trade Center for a fire….repeating  ...Engine one , truck company four, rescue one….”

“Holy shit, god damn this is going to be a hot one, folks. Mount up!” Captain Simon Hanover placed a plug of tobacco into his cheek and barked orders to the finest crew in New York’s emergency services.  “Morgan, take the officer's seat. I’ll be on scene in the chief’s car."

“Aye aye.” She jumped up in the seat next to the driver and slipped her arms through the straps of the Scott air pack before lifting the mic to the radio. “Comm, this is Rescue One. We’re on that job, K.”

“Ten four, Rescue One. Your time is 0848 hours. K.”

The crew of Rescue One saw it happen. As they arrived on scene just after 0900 hours a second plane barreled into the north tower...and every one of them wondered if they’d go home alive. It was an attack.  A surreal moment passed as contents plummeted to the ground below and the scene was awful. Not for long, though. It was time to go to work. The staging area was a mass of sheer confusion as units began to arrive and check in. Lieutenant Morgan and her team were ordered to enter the north tower to try to get a handle on the fuel-fed flames. They met resistance from frantic workers who were remaining and the walking wounded desperately trying to escape the hellfire above. Having never been confronted with the likes, members of her team were broken off to tend to those who couldn’t descend on their own, but through it all the communication broke down and none of them heard the order to retreat. None of them knew that the collapse of the south tower had begun. The rumble and crash they felt broke them apart as the rescuers joined the victims of the doomed south tower. Bridgid Morgan found that she was all alone and there was silence, dark eerie silence. She was on her hands and knees in the passageway and her mind told her to go back down but her sense of duty forced her upward. Finding the lip of the next landing, she pulled her helmet and mask off for a moment to rest. The heat and smoke singed her lungs but she needed to escape the claustrophobic confinement for a few seconds. It was then she heard him.

“Help me. Please help me.”

“Hello. Fire department, hello?”

“Help me.” He called again.

Crawling along on her hands and knees she hugged the wall and moved toward the voice. She found him, sitting with his back against the wall. He reached for the searching hand that touched his thigh and pulled her toward him.

“You’re alive! God damn, you’re alive! I’m Lieutenant Bridgid Morgan. I’m here to rescue you. What’s your name?”

“Steve. My name is Steve. I...I think I’m pinned here. I can’t move my leg.”

Pulling her glove off she clicked the flashlight that hung on her bunker coat. The stream of bright fixed on the man and she could see his pain. Charcoal-colored snot poured from his nose and his face was streaked from sweat and tears.  Bridgid pressed the mask of her Scott pack over his face. “Take a deep breath.”  He did as she asked then he pushed it away. “A woman, damn it. You’re never going to be able to carry me. I’m too big.”

‘Don’t underestimate me, buddy. This is my job.” She ran her hand down his body noting deformities. “You’re right, leg is broken.” As she checked his left, her heart sank. Just below the knee his leg was pinned by a steel beam. It wasn’t far under. Maybe she could free him? Hope.

“I see what’s got you stuck, Steve. Could you help me try to move it? Are you in a lot of pain?”

“I don’t feel a damn thing. What was your name again?”

“Bridgid.  Come on, Steve. Put your hands here and when I say to, then push. Ready….PUSH!” Both of them strained but were forced to stop as debris began to fall from above. The building pissed and moaned as heat twisted girders and melted floors.”

“This is no use, Bridgid. You need to go. You need to get out of here.”

“If I do that, buddy, I won’t be able to collect my pay on Friday with a clear conscience. Come on let's try it again.” She shifted her position and bumped his shattered leg, causing him to cry out in pain.

“Ah, I’m so sorry. Pain, see you’re going to be okay. In the Marine Corp they told us that pain was a good thing because it let you know you were still alive.”

“You were in the Corp?” he asked as he drew some recovering breaths. The air burned his lungs and made him cough.

“Yep, stationed at Cherry Point, North Carolina… aircraft crash rescue. I guess that’s how I ended up with this gig on Rescue One."

“When we get out of here, I’ll tell you where I got this dog tag from.” He fingered the one that hung from a chain around his neck.

“That’s positive thinking, Steve. When we get out of here I’ll hold you to it. Come on. Let’s give this another go. Ready…heave!”  It moved!  “Push, Steve, push!” she ordered as she put every single ounce of effort she could muster into it. Slowly but surely the beam slid off of his leg and he was finally free.

“We did it!” In a moment of jubilation she moved up and hugged the broken man. Battle one of the war was a victory but there were a lot more hurdles to leap and not a moment to lose.

“You’re not going to be able to get me out of here. I’m telling you to get your ass down. Leave me, Bridgid.”

“Not a snowball's chance in hell."  Something flaming and molten began to drip down from above them and she covered his body as best she could with hers. “Good thing we’re not snowballs because I think we are in hell.” At least she had the advantage of the protective gear. She could only imagine what he felt like. Bridgid had to get him out of there now!

“How many floors down do we have to go?”

“I stopped counting at seventy. The stairwell was open, though. We’ll make it. I know we will.”

Covering him again as debris fell; she placed her helmet on his head the moment it stopped. The building groaned, swaying again, and there was no more time to muck about.  This was going to hurt him immensely but it was better than dying here. She stood and straddled his body. Then bending down, she looped her arms under his and lifted him. “You have to do this. You have to do this, Steve, come on!”

He cried out in pain as his weight began to slowly come upon his shattered legs and then he was standing. “Good man.” Positioning her self under his right arm to support the worst of his two legs she eased him around so he could grasp the railing and they started down the stairs. One step at a time they moved, grunting and groaning, gasping against the smoke and heat.

“You married, Steve?” She asked just to keep him talking.

“Yeah. You?”

“Nope, but I’ve got my eye on someone. He’s a cop. I met him on a vacation in LA. I don’t know how interested he is in me but we talk once a week. What’s your wife’s name?”

‘Marie. We have a little girl, too. I’ll show you her picture as soon as we get out of here.” He stopped for a moment, trying to gather some strength.

“We gotta keep moving, Steve. Come on, think about it. Once we get out the air is gonna be fresh and you’ll be able to show me the picture of your kid.”

They were moving steadily, but it was arduous. Each landing seemed like a ten mile journey but they were reached then surpassed as they trekked on to the next one.

“Do you think there are people alive above us, Bridgid?”

“I reckon so. Don’t worry, Steve. Let’s just get us out of here.”

If not for the pain and discomfort he felt he would be worrying more. What about Miranda? Did she get out? Fuck all, she should have turned this job down like she planned in the first place.

The air was clearing and they could almost see the next landing. Smoke and heat was left behind as they descended and the temperature dropped a little bit. There was light at the end of the tunnel. Bridgid was sure they were going to make it.

“I’m never going to be able to thank you for this, Bridgid. You’ve risked your life for me...”

“You just did, Steve, and like I said before, this is my job.” As they reached the next landing they knew where they were at. The number forty two was clearly visible on the wall

“There it is, the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything.” Bridgid stated as she swept a hand to clear the dust from the number.”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about but I need to stop for a moment. I can’t go on.”

“Just for a moment, Steve. We’ve got to keep moving. There’s fire burning above our heads, my friend, and that’s not a good thing.” She let him lean against the wall as she held him up. "Forty two, by the way, is the answer to everything in a book called the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. It’s nonsense, I reckon. “

“I never read it. I’m a photographer, by the way.”

“Really? A famous one? Maybe I’ve seen some of your work in the galleries.”

There was a rumble then and it felt as if a freight train had passed by. It ceased and things went silent again, but not for long. The sound of a crack above their heads made them both raise their eyes as it grew nearer and nearer. Without further warning an opening appeared in the wall and the bright light from outside poured in. For the first time they could see each other clearly. For one split second in time their eyes met but they knew, they both knew what was coming.

Two strangers held on to each other as the world crumbled around them. “I’m sorry, Steve…” were her last words.

Somewhere outside of the city a woman and her daughter watched in horror as the newsman made the announcement.

“At ten twenty-eight this morning the World Trade Center's north tower collapsed from the top down as if it were being peeled apart, releasing a tremendous cloud of debris smoke… and souls. God Bless them.”

ON TO SCREENPLAY VERSION OF THE ELEVENTH

ON TO "40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS", THE SEQUEL,  WHICH IS VERY, VERY DIFFERENT

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