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roof.
    Marc had almost reached the second floor when he saw a brilliant orange flash at the top of the staircase and heard the officer yell out. He looked around, hoping that there was an adult who could go up and investigate, but he’d been one of the slowest to evacuate and the only signs of life were the noises of people going out the main entrance two floors down.
    Marc shouted up anxiously. ‘Are you OK up there?’
    There was no reply. He looked down, then up as dense smoke formed at the top of the stairs.
    ‘Hello?’ Marc yelled again.
    Again there was no answer. Marc pulled his sweater up over his mouth and nose and raced two steps at a time to the third floor. Bursts of flame penetrated the smoke, creating an eerie orange light, but the smoke also stung Marc’s eyes and the heat made it tough going.
    When he reached the next landing the smoke became unbearable. The skin on his forehead felt so hot that he thought it was about to crack. The elderly officer couldn’t be far away, but there was no way he could go any higher.
    Marc was turning around when he heard a rasping sound in the smoke by his feet. He plunged blindly on to all fours and crawled up two steps before touching the dome of the officer’s bald head. The smoke was engulfing Marc from all sides and he hadn’t breathed for more than twenty seconds, but with a superhuman effort he grabbed the officer’s jacket and tugged with all his strength.
    Marc got the man down to the third floor, but he needed air. He let go and lost his footing as he hurried down to the second floor where the smoke was much thinner. He took four quick breaths and rubbed his stinging eyes before plunging back into the thick smoke.
    It took several anxious moments to locate the officer again, but Marc got a good grip. The officer’s body thumped on every step, but Marc became aware that he was still conscious and doing what he could to help by pushing against the steps with his arms.
    Marc again grew desperate for clear air, but it was now unbearable on the second floor, where he’d been able to take clear breaths barely a minute earlier. The skin on Marc’s face was starting to blister and the lack of oxygen made it hard for his brain to focus.
    ‘You right boy?’ a heavily muffled voice asked from behind.
    Marc collapsed backwards into the thick arms of a fireman, then gestured frantically to make it clear that he was dragging someone.
    ‘It’s General Hammer,’ another man shouted.
    Marc was close to unconsciousness as the fireman threw him over his shoulder and carried him down to the ground floor and out of a back entrance. Once outdoors, the fireman carried Marc between two fire engines and threw him down on the grass in St James’ Square.
    ‘Stay there, my son,’ the fireman said. ‘Someone will be over to fix you up.’
    Marc lay on his back, looking at treetops and black sky overhead. There were small fires on the roofs of several buildings and a pair of incendiaries trapped in the forks of trees, illuminating the ground. Smoke billowed from the roof of the Empire and India club as a nurse rushed towards Marc and squeezed out a watery sponge over his head.
    ‘Bit of peeled skin but you’re not too bad,’ the nurse said. ‘How do you feel?’
    ‘My throat,’ Marc croaked. ‘It’s hard to breathe.’
    ‘Drink some water,’ she urged, as she handed over a metal canteen. ‘I expect you’ve inhaled a lot of smoke.’
    Marc coughed violently as he tipped up the canteen. He was shocked to see blistered skin on the back of his hands. It didn’t hurt, but only because he was in shock.
    Out in the street a fire crew got their hose running and began aiming water through the second-floor windows. Marc spotted the elderly officer he’d dragged down the stairs going towards an ambulance. He was weak but he stepped into the ambulance with only minimal assistance from the firemen standing on either side of him.
    The nurse stood up quickly when she sighted an