Weekend (42 page)

Fire departments in the Catskill resort area consisted of volunteer companies made up of ordinary citizens. Because of the magnitude of the blaze at the Congress and the hotel’s central location in the county, practically every hamlet and village sent a truck. They were of little use once they arrived. The fire raged out of control, and about all they could do was extinguish the flames that spread with the falling chunks of the building and concentrate on getting the guests and staff as far away from the collapsing building as possible.

The lawns and surrounding grounds were strewn with debris and with people, over a thousand of them. Many had minor injuries—burns, cuts and smoke inhalation. Others were seriously hurt, half a dozen succumbing to heart attacks. Everywhere people were in shock. Children who had been separated from their parents on the fire escape were tearfully reunited on the ground. Husbands, wives, grandparents clung to each other with an enthusiasm borne of the need to confirm survival. As they looked back at the seventeen-story building, now totally lit up, the flames tearing at the very stars, they shook their heads in gratitude and wonder that they had escaped and were still alive. A good number of their friends hadn’t been that lucky.

Ambulances began arriving on the scene. Police cars were all over the grounds. A mayday call had gone out to every doctor in the county. Interns, public health nurses, first aide squads, all circulated among the people, picking out the most seriously injured. The scene took on characteristics of a war zone after battle.

Bruce and Sid were everywhere, comforting and treating people, locating the ones who needed immediate transport to the hospital. The fire itself had reached such proportions that it drove back the night. A communal spirit, sad though it was, began to develop. People were helping one another, calming one another, becoming friends.

Magda and Ellen did whatever they could. They guided people away from the dangerous areas, brought what linen and toweling they could from the farmhouse, and assisted the doctors whenever they were asked. Sandi stood on the steps of the farmhouse and watched, trembling with the memory of what had happened inside the hotel.

Sam and Blanche Teitelbaum sat dejectedly on one of the lawn benches. Both had blankets wrapped around their shoulders. All who were safe now and quiet shared the same expression—stunned, shocked, anesthetized. They stared with empty eyes. Overwhelmed by all the misery, they retreated deeper into themselves.

Some people wandered around aimlessly, moving out of some reflexive need. It was as though they feared stopping would permit the fire to catch up with them. Those who had fled successfully out of the nightclub located themselves furthest away from the hotel. Dressed in their fine evening clothes, they looked like amateur actors staging a scene from the theatre of the absurd. They huddled together, bonded by the horrible experience. Now they were all telling one another what they had seen, when they had seen it and what they had done.

Not so the people who had been at Melinda’s party. They fled from one another the first chance they got. Each had been totally concerned with his own welfare, and now it was difficult to face someone pushed aside in flight. Melinda stood alone. She held a blanket that had been handed to her since she lost half her clothing in the melee. As she watched the crowds moving around, the people being treated and stroked, she began to wonder about Grant. Her first vague thoughts were he must be safe; he was so damn independent, wiry and sly.

“Hey,” she called and stepped forward to pull the arm of a first-aide squad member who was treating the burns on a man’s leg. “Hey.” He stopped what he was doing and looked up. “I can’t find my son. Is there someplace special for kids?”

“I don’t think so, ma’am. We’re setting up a headquarters over by that trailer.” He pointed to a small mobile trailer that had been sent over from the hospital. “Try that.” She followed in the direction he pointed.

Flo Goldberg, now unconscious and covered by a blanket, lay on a stretcher awaiting an ambulance. Rescuers had been unable to retrieve Manny’s body since it was so close to the burning building. Large portions of the structure had collapsed around it and by now it was no longer visible.

The Sheriff pulled Ellen away from the guests and led her to the command post. He had actually done her a great favor. She was very near total exhaustion—her hair falling dishevelled around her tear-stained face, her clothing smeared with blood, her body slumped with depression and fatigue. Chiefs of the various fire departments quickly joined them.

“We’ve got to get some kind of body count as soon as possible,” he said. “Do you have any idea how many guests …”

“My reservations director, Netta …”

“I just saw her,” the Sheriff said. He started away.

“She’ll have an exact number.”

“As soon as my sound trucks are set up, we’ll begin announcing the names of those we’ve been told are missing. Maybe they’re just lost in the crowd and will come forward. As for the others … Do you have someone who can run down the list of staff?”

She thought a moment. It seemed a gigantic task just to recollect names she had known for years.

“My department heads. They’ll be able to help you. Call for them.”

He nodded.

“You’d better get yourself a little rest, Mrs. Golden. No sense your collapsing on us now. We’re going to need your help as soon as we get this under control.”

“But the people who are injured … there are so many …”

“Volunteers are coming in from all over. They’ll help.”

“I can’t leave,” she said. “Got to get back …” She thought about walking away but couldn’t. She looked back at the fire chief. He tilted his head slightly because she had such a strangely helpless expression on her face. Then she passed out.

Nick Martin hovered in the shadows some distance from the building. The immensity of the fire was awe-inspiring. To think he had done that in less than a minute and as a result, all his problems were solved. “So long, Jonathan Lawrence,” he mumbled. “You creep.” A fire truck screamed behind him as it turned into the Congress main gate. Police on the adjacent highway were forcing traffic to bypass the scene. Security was just about nonexistent. Every hand available was needed inside the grounds.

He lit a cigarette and watched a cop on the road directing the traffic in and out. No one seemed to be stopped from entering or leaving the hotel. His stomach churned in anticipation of his escape. Arrogantly confident, he had gone into the bar, ordered his drink, and left before the pandemonium started. Now the taste of the alcohol was coming back to him. He attributed it to all the excitement. Then he felt himself flush. Was it from nerves, he wondered. Ridiculous. He was much too cool for that. But he might as well get started.

He flipped his cigarette into the grass and approached the main gate. The cop on the road below had his back to him, waving at approaching vehicles. Nick moved quickly off the hotel property, crossed the street, and began walking up the road. The first thing he saw was a traffic cop stationed at the far end, blocking the entrance of any unauthorized vehicles.

Nick wasn’t sure what the status of the quarantine was now that the fire had broken out, but he didn’t plan to stick around to find out. His plan was to get off the ancillary road to the main highway, hitch a ride to the nearest bus depot and go on to New York. Hell, if he had to, he’d hire a cab to get him back to the city. What did he care as long as he got there? Later on he’d send someone back for his car. There was no point in looking for it in that massive parking lot now. Besides, the keys had been left at the main desk, and they probably were burned into molten metal by now.

He tried to walk even faster but a sudden pain shot up from his abdomen. It was so sharp it took his breath away. He stopped, held his hands on his stomach and took some deep breaths. It made him feel better, but not much. He began walking again, but slower this time. The taste of the liquor took on an acid quality. He began to spit it up. Every once in a while, he turned back to be sure no one had noticed him. The traffic cop still had his back to him. The only problem now was going to be getting past the patrol car up ahead.

Why did it look so much further away than it had just a few moments before? He shook his head and wiped his eyes hard with the bottom of his palms. Damn, the booze was beginning to make him feel nauseous. Why the hell had he had to have that drink?

The pain started again, this time growing more intense. He had to stop and waited for the rush to pass. It didn’t. In fact, it seemed worse. His stomach contracted. Even his kidneys ached. He had to bend over just to catch his breath. This was ridiculous. He would be spotted in a second carrying on like this. He looked to the side where there was a cluster of bushes and decided to rest there for a moment.

In the distance, the sound of sirens signaled the approach of still more fire equipment. Two ambulances zoomed by. A fire chief’s patrol car, shrieking and blaring, flew past. Nick squatted by the bushes, leaning further into the darkness as the vehicles and their headlights went past him. He spit up again and again. The ugly, rancid taste remained in his mouth. His stomach felt as though it were coming apart. He pressed his fingers against it, finding slight relief with the pressure and then suddenly there was an uncontrollable evacuation of heavy warm stool water. It trickled down the side of his legs, soaking through his pants and leaking into his shoes. He couldn’t believe what was happening and then began to scream as what felt like a corkscrew began to rip up the inside of his intestines. He fell over, semi-conscious.

A few minutes later his head started to clear and the realization came over him. Then the panic. CHOLERA! Fucking, fucking son of a bitch! He had the fucking cholera! How the hell could it be happening to him? Why weren’t there any signals before? Why now? He recalled some of the things Dr. Bronstein had said at the meeting earlier in the afternoon. The fact that there was an incubation period. That was one of the reasons people were quarantined in the first place. So they could be helped if they got sick. Help. That’s what he had to do. He had to get some help.

He waited for the flow of the bowel liquid to stop but it just seemed to go on endlessly. He might die, he realized, he could die right here and now. All those ambulances rushing by. They could save him. They’d have to! If only he could flag one down!

He struggled with great difficulty to get to his feet. The pain fought him all the way. His stomach was pushing everything up now and the spitting turned into foul smelling vomit.

There was the sound of another siren. Thank God, he thought. It was coming down the main highway, around the corner and toward the hotel. In a matter of seconds it would be close enough so he could get it to stop. He’d get them to turn around. Once they saw his condition they’d forget about all the people in the fire and concentrate on getting him to the hospital. They had to. His life was at stake.

He took a few steps forward, each one bringing on more and more agony, more and more nausea. It was all he could do to keep his head up. The headlights appeared a quarter of a mile away. The siren got louder. His plan was to get out in the middle of the road and wave his hands till they saw him and stopped, but the pain became so intense, that he doubled up again. The vehicle was getting closer and closer. If he was ever going to do it, he had to do it now. Now was the time to move.

Using the little strength he had left, he emerged slowly from the bushes. He forced his legs to carry him out into the center of the road but when he looked up, it wasn’t an ambulance after all. It was another huge red fire truck, charging directly toward him. He tried to move back but he couldn’t. Christ, he thought and raised his hands in a vain effort to push it away.

It came as a complete surprise to the excited driver. He and the two firemen beside him had devoted most of their attention to the great blaze in the distance. It hadn’t occurred to them that someone might be staggering out on the road. The sight of Nick Martin falling into their path was unreal. There wasn’t even time for a reflexive turn of the wheel.

The truck smacked his body with such force it splintered his skeleton; joints separated on impact. His spine and neck snapped and his arms waved and twisted as if they belonged to someone else. The crash sent him sprawling more than a hundred feet. His skull splattered and crunched as it bounced over the road. Blood poured out of every orifice, even from behind his bulging eyes. Contorted, his body finally settled in the bushes as the fire truck came to a halt more than a hundred feet beyond.

In the good book, it was called retribution.

The nurse kept the door open behind her.

“You can go in now,” she said, smiling more warmly than usual.

“Thank you,” Bruce said. He walked past her and into Fern’s room.

The bed had been tilted up, and although she still had an IV attached to her arm, she had regained some of her color. Because she knew Bruce was coming, she had even put on some makeup and fixed up her hair.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

He took her free hand and bent down to kiss her on the cheek. She squeezed his fingers tightly.

“On the road to recovery.” He reached back and pulled the chair closer to the bed.

“That’s what they tell me. But I still feel so weak.”

“You’ll bounce out of here before you know it.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Then Fern’s lower lip began to quiver.

“Hey … c’mon.”

“I can’t stop thinking about Charlotte,” she said. He nodded. “Her mother called me this morning and wanted me to tell her everything we had done every minute up to the point of my getting sick. It was eerie.”

“It must be very difficult for her, losing a daughter in the prime of her life. It sort of makes you realize how tentative life really is … how you have to take advantage of all the good things it has to offer and live every minute to the fullest.” He bent down and kissed her once again.

“What are you going to do now?”