Once inside the building, I sprinted towards the staircase; it was my job to search and evacuate the highest floors. Other firefighters from my squad surveyed lower floors or stayed in the lobby trying to keep order in a time of complete chaos. Climbing the stairs was difficult against the waves of survivors trying to escape. For me, my sole focus was on helping to help clear the building and assist people who were too injured to escape on their own. As I reached the eighty-seventh floor, I burst through the through the door and scanned the hall for survivors. I came upon an exit door, held shut by the pressure exerted on the building by the plane. Using my axe, I quickly broke the hinges and opened the door as a stream of people quickly began to emerge. I looked around and saw a young woman crawling towards another exit, struggling to escape. I rushed to her side. Her leg was seriously injured and she would not be able to flee on her own. She told me her name was Mary and I assured her that everything would be okay. I easily picked her up and over my shoulder and proceeded to carry her down the stairs. As we descended, the weight burden seemed to grow, but my one objective was to get her safely outside. Mentally, I counted down with each flight of stairs until we reached the lobby. Handing Mary off to waiting paramedics provide a sense of relief with my part of the rescue