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“Freezing” is as common as fleeing in the repertoire of human disaster responses. But it’s also a fascinating, complicated response. It has meant certain death for many thousands of people over the centuries. Zedeño, however, had a personal savior.

Just then, a woman—a stranger—appeared at Zedeño’s side and linked arms with her. The woman said: “We’re getting out of here.” Zedeño looked down at the woman’s arm. She still remembers the woman’s dark skin tone, similar to her own, and the red sleeve of her shirt. And then, Zedeño stopped being able to see altogether. “Because of the smoke?” I ask her. “No, no, no. There was no smoke there. I didn’t see anything at all.”

Zedeño went temporarily blind at that moment. When she describes this remarkable occurrence now, she does it matter-of-factly. She was not frightened when this happened, she says. Just numb. She relied on hearing—and this woman in red, who began to pull her toward the doors. As they walked, the woman talked and talked. Zedeño can’t remember a word she said. “It’s funny how I tuned out everything she said. But she kept talking, she never shut up,” she says, laughing. “It was so weird! She never shut up.” But when the two of them got outside, Zedeño did hear her say, “Look, we made it.” In response, Zedeño remembers saying: “Yeah, we’re outside.” But in fact she still couldn’t see anything. She never saw the woman’s face.

At that moment, Zedeño heard a new sound. It was a rumbling, and it was close by. It was 9: 59 A.M. At the time, she thought, “It’s another airplane.” Three notions passed through her mind in rapid sequence: “Airplane, war, a building is coming down.” With that, she screamed—either out loud or in her head, she can’t remember which—“Inside!” Her vision returned, just when she needed it again. This time, there was no denial. She turned and saw the revolving door of Five World Trade, with Borders bookstore on her right. And she ran through the door. She never saw the woman in red again.

“The only thing I remember is the sound getting louder behind me, and I felt a strong wind. And when I felt the wind rushing right through me, I remember thinking, ‘I’m not going to outrun this. It’s too late. I can’t run fast enough.’” As the other tower—Tower 2—collapsed like a locomotive running into the ground, the force knocked her off her feet.

Right after the tremendous crack of the collapse, there was total quiet. Zedeño remembers thinking she must be dead, perhaps because of that silent blankness. As soon as she realized she was still alive, she realized she couldn’t breathe. The dense gray matter of Tower 2 was lodged in her nose, mouth, and ears. She dug her hand into her mouth to clear out the debris, but more debris took its place. “I kept trying to catch my breath, but I couldn’t. Oh my God, it was horrible,” she says.

During this moment, choking on great piles of ash, the anger she felt on the forty-fourth floor came surging back. This time, it was more than anger; it was rage, and it was directed not at herself but at God:

I was thinking, “I was outside already! I almost made it! Why couldn’t I get out?” After all that trouble! I just didn’t understand. And this anger, this overwhelming anger is saying, “Why can’t you give me a break! I was there in 1993. I’m here now, I was almost out, and I’m still here! Ah! God almighty!”

The dust started to settle. Zedeño was able to empty out her mouth, and as she leaned against a wall, she tried to clean her glasses and blow her nose. She couldn’t see through all the dust, but she heard a voice asking her to move out of the way. It was a firefighter and he was trying to break through a wall to get them out. She moved and stumbled over some debris, falling on top of someone else. It turned out to be a police officer. He was screaming that his eyes were burning. And at the same time, he was telling her, “Don’t worry, don’t worry! We’re gonna get out of here.” Zedeño could see his hands shaking. But she never saw his face.

By then, her anger had vanished again.