My head swam, like I was under the effects of some chemical, but I was holding my breath. Perhaps just contact with my skin? I fixated on the lump, which was already becoming less distinct. I took another step forward, almost faceplanting on the floor but for a hand that caught an end table.
Can’t do it. Can’t reach him. Have to wait for FDNY; they’ve got the gear, and I don’t want to add to the body count.
I turned, and the outline of the door danced hazily in my vision. I tried walking, but quickly fell to hands and knees. The doorway was becoming less distinct, or maybe my consciousness was. I forced myself to go on, lungs burning for air.
Finally, I gulped in sweet air. As before, there was no smell, but I didn’t like the gulping in that stuff. Didn’t have a choice, though.
I forced myself ahead, but the feeling of the floorboards under my hands changed. It felt like dirt, now, and the doorway was no longer there, just a wavering rectangle of light.
My stomach did cartwheels, my nose smelled the outdoors, but not the city, nature, like Prospect Park. My ears heard nothing, not even my own breathing.
I stretched out a hand in the direction of the doorway, but it had been completely swallowed by the sparkling fog, and my strength gave out.