Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9 Lucas tried calling Mom again. Now when he called he got a fast busy signal and a recording. "All circuits are busy." He tried Dad's phone. Same thing. He dialed over and over — Mom, Dad, Mom, Dad. He just kept getting the busy signal. The department radio crackled. "Recall, recall," the dispatcher said. "All personnel, on duty and off, are to report. I repeat. This is a recall of all emergency personnel." There were 11,000 firefighters in the department. They needed every single one.

Before Lucas knew what he was doing, he had run out into the street. He couldn't be alone, watching the world fall apart on TV. He needed to find Dad, and Uncle Benny, and the rest of the men. He wanted to be with them. He knew he wasn't thinking clearly. He didn't know if he'd even be able to get close to where they were, if it was even safe to try. But he went anyway. Some kind of attack. Some kind of attack. Was that man on TV right? What did that even mean? Who was attacking? Did he mean that those planes had hit the towers on purpose? The thought hadn't even come into Lucas's mind when he saw the first plane hit. But thinking about it now, of course that was the only thing that made sense. The day was so perfectly clear. There was no way that two airplanes could have hit the towers unless they had been aiming right for them.

But who could be insane enough, evil enough, to fly planes into buildings? Lucas wiped away the tears running down his face. He wove through the crowds of people on the sidewalk. Some were running north. But most seemed like they were in shock, standing there dazed, staring at the fires above them. The only noise was sirens — hundreds of them — honking and screaming, wailing and shrieking and blaring. The sounds all crashed together into one terrible song. A crowd of people huddled around something in the middle of the street. Lucas slowed down and looked — it was a big tire attached to a tangle of metal. It didn't look like the tire of a car or a truck. "What is that?" a woman said. "It's part of a plane," said a man. "It's landing gear." Lucas looked away. He pushed through the crowd, heading south. Vesey and West streets. That's where the staging area was, where the firefighters were gathering.

If Dad had made it here from Randall's Island, that's where Lucas would find him. He would look for the Seagrave. He would wait there for Dad. Lucas inched through the crowd. Most people were standing still, watching. But now there were more people coming from the direction of the towers. Some of them were soaked in sweat, their clothes tattered. But it was the looks on their faces — stunned and horrified — that told Lucas where they had come from: inside the towers. There were dozens and dozens of them, some walking alone, others holding hands. Some of the women were barefoot. He imagined their high- heeled shoes kicked into the corners of the stairwells. Nobody was carrying a purse or a briefcase. And Lucas understood why; he'd heard many stories about people who had survived fires and explosions and collapses. So many times they'd escaped with not a second to spare. If they had stopped for anything — to grab a purse or tie a shoe — they wouldn't have made it. A policeman up ahead was trying to stop people from moving south.

"Everyone please leave this area!" he shouted. "It's not safe. Please leave this area and head north!" But Lucas kept walking, and nobody tried to stop him. He felt invisible. Ladder 177 had to be one of the first units to get to the towers. That meant they'd be the closest. Lucas was still three blocks away when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Hey," a young policeman said. "Where are you going? Are you lost?" "I need to find…" And before he could get the words out, he heard someone calling his name. "Lucas!" His name rose up over all of the sirens. "Dad!" And there was his dad, pushing through the crowd. He grabbed Lucas and held him tight. For a few seconds, Lucas couldn't hear the sirens. All he could hear was the beating of Dad's heart.