Blue Smoke

when every muscle in her body was screaming from the strain? She wanted to claw her way out, through the floor, the walls. Just get out into the light, into the air.
    Her throat was on fire.
    Had it been like this for Josh? Tears burned her eyes now because she could see him. No compass points in her mind now, but that sweet face, that shy smile, that curtain of hair when he dipped his head. Had he been conscious long enough to be blinded and choked by the smoke before the fire took him? Had he panicked like this, struggling, struggling to find enough air to call for help?
    Oh God, had he known what was coming?
    That, of course, was one reason she was here, in this hideous hole of heat and misery. To know what it was like. To understand. And to survive it.

    She got shakily to her hands and knees. She wasn’t dying, she told herself, even if it seemed like she was in her own coffin.
    “I’m okay. Hit one of the drop floors. I’m okay. Moving on.”
    She pulled herself up, crawled. There was no sense of direction now, just movement. Another door, another dead end.
    How could the place be so damn big?
    She climbed through a window opening. Every muscle trembled now and poured sweat like water. Time and space clogged. Her eyes strained to see—to see anything. Light, shape, shadow.
    Smoke and disorientation, panic and fear. They killed as insidiously as the burn. Fire wasn’t just flame, hadn’t she learned that? It was smoke and vapor, weakened floors, caving ceilings. It was smothering, blinding panic. It was exhaustion.
    She hit another drop floor—the same one?—and was too tired to curse.
    She felt another wall. What sadist had designed this thing? she wondered. She pushed her body through yet another opening, found yet another door.
    And opening it, stumbled out into the light.
    Dragging down her mask, she pulled in air, braced her hands on her knees as her head spun.
    “Nice job,” John told her, and she managed to lift her head enough to see his face.
    “Nearly broke a few times in there.”
    “Nearly doesn’t count.”
    “Taught me something.”
    “What’s that, hon?”
    She took the bottle of water he offered, drank like a camel. “Any doubts I had about going into investigation instead of smoke eating have been put to rest. That’s not how I want to spend my time.”
    He helped her off with her tank, patted her on the back. “You did good.”
    She drank again, then set the bottle on the ground to once again brace hands on knees. A shadow crossed her, bringing her head up again as Hugh joined her. He mimicked her position, grinned into her face.

    She grinned back, and though she heard her own breath huffing, felt the laugh bubble out. One as much from relief as triumph.
    He laughed with her, and caught her helmet when she shoved it off.
    “She’s a bitch, isn’t she?”
    “A big one.”
    “Looks like I’m out the price of the breakfast special at Denny’s.”
    She laughed again, and let her head dangle between her knees.
    T hen I get inside, into the showers, and see myself in the mirror.” Reena winced, shifted the shopping bag—a score from the personal reward of an afternoon at White Marsh Mall with Gina. “My hair is nothing but frizzy strings smelling of sweat. My face is black from the smoke. And I stink. Seriously stink.”
    “He still asked you out,” Gina reminded her.
    “More or less.” She paused, distracted by a pair of sexy red shoes in a display window. “Breakfast at Denny’s, and we had some laughs. And we’re going to go hit some balls tomorrow. It’s not that I don’t like an hour in the batting cages, Gina, but I wouldn’t mind a fancy dinner now and then. The kind where I could justify buying those shoes.”
    “Oh, they’re fabulous. You have to.”
    As was her duty as best friend, Gina dragged Reena into the store.
    “They’re eighty-seven dollars,” Reena said as she looked at the price on the sole.
    “They’re shoes. They’re sexy, red shoes. They have no price.”
    “They do on a rookie cop’s salary. But I want them. They should be mine.” Reena clutched the shoe to her breast. “No one else should have them. But they’re just going to sit in my closet.”
    “So?”
    “You’re right.” She found a clerk, gave him the shoe and her size, then sat with Gina and their bags. “They’ll be my reward for surviving the maze. And don’t say the outfit I just bought was supposed to be my reward.”

    “Why would I?” And the genuine