Thunder Dog - Michael Hingson [31]
The temperature inside the stairwell continues to climb. I’m feeling more upbeat, so I try another joke. “All this walking is a great way to lose weight.” Laughter again. Other quips filter back up to me. Each one puts a smile on my face.
Boy, do I need to lose some pounds, someone says.
I’m going to have a double dessert tonight! Laughter.
I never want to see another stairwell again as long as I live. We all agree.
For a moment, people sound almost lighthearted. Almost.
I chime back in. “I have an idea. On our first day back in the tower, let’s all meet on the 78th floor at 8:45 a.m. and walk down the stairs as a way to lose weight.”
We’ve gone from being strangers to teammates. Somehow our fear and anxiety have turned into closeness and teamwork. The usual boundaries are down. All we have is each other. We know instinctively that we must all work together to prevent panic, or we might not make it out.
Ten stairs, turn, nine stairs. “Thirty-nine . . . thirty-six . . . thirty-four,” calls out David.
If the lights go out, Roselle and I are ready.
Then from somewhere on the flights below, I hear a murmur. There’s something happening down below, and a ripple of tension and excitement makes its way up the line.
The firefighters are coming.
7
WARRIORS
WITH GUIDE DOGS
Intuition is linear; our imaginations are weak. Even
the brightest of us only extrapolate from what we know
now; for the most part, we’re afraid to really stretch.
RAYMOND KURZWEIL
Roselle’s big Labrador tongue lolls down one side. The stairwell is hot, and we’re walking down sometimes two abreast, sometimes single file, and beginning to pack more closely together. Since the explosion we’ve made it down to the 33rd floor.
I hear an excited buzz in the voices of the people below me, and I can just make out the words: “Water bottles!” Someone has broken open a vending machine, and people are passing cold water bottles up the stairs.
I pass a few bottles to the people behind me then twist open a bottle and take a few swallows. The cold water is a relief, and it tastes sweet compared to the acrid taste of the fumes.
Roselle nudges my hand. Her nose feels hot, and I wonder if she can smell the water. I bend over and offer her the bottle. She begins to lick the top, and I tilt it just a bit so she can drink the rest. I know she must be thirsty because she hasn’t had anything to drink for a while. Many guide dogs don’t eat or drink anything in the mornings so they don’t have to interrupt work to relieve themselves, and Roselle is no different. She hasn’t had any food or water since last night. She finishes up the bottle and wants more. She licks the last few drops. I can hear her smacking her lips, and then she begins to pant again. She’s still thirsty.
“Good Roselle,” I say. I gently grab the sides of her head, just under her ears. I rub her cheeks with my thumbs. Other people around me have stopped to drink some water, too, and I can feel them listening. “Good dog. You’re doing great. Just keep going. You can do it.”
I know I have to stay calm for Roselle. If I show fear or begin to panic, she will pick up on it and might get scared too. It’s important that Roselle doesn’t sense that I am afraid. If that happened, it would make it harder for us to get out. So far, we are staying calm and focused, and I’m able to control my fear.
But there is undercover fear all around us, the general panic level increasing the lower we go. I can hear it in the whispers, feel tension in the footsteps echoing around me. But Roselle does not react; she is in the moment, secure in herself and her work.
As long as the harness is on, even in a life-and-death situation, I am confident that Roselle will continue to do her job just as she always does. Besides the jet fuel, she can also smell the fear around us. When people are afraid, their autonomic nervous systems react with an increase in sweat gland activity, with the apocrine glands producing secretions through the hair follicles that result in a very faint odor