Chapter 66. Fire
Island of Boyuca. Bay of Honduras.
The Fire House
John Morse was apprehensive when he drew the Fire House, but he believed that every test on this island had a way out. It was just a matter of maintaining composure and using one’s wits. The difficulty with this theory, however, is that it is hard to maintain your composure when you are being shot at with a flame thrower.
At the far end of the hut, a metal nozzle protruded from the wall, which had a small blue flame emanating from the tip. Morse had only an instant to dive out of the way before a ray of flame shot from the nozzle at him from across the room. Morse looked back, and flame was covering the wooden door. Morse ran away from the door toward one wall of the hut, hoping to escape the flame. The nozzle with the blue flame on it pivoted towards Morse. Morse dove out of the way again, as another ray of flame shot at him from the nozzle. Morse noted that the nozzle with the flame stood out from the wall a good six inches. Morse figured that if he went to the far wall—the wall containing the nozzle—and crouched along the wall near the corner directly next to the nozzle, there would be no way for the nozzle to pivot to shoot him. A few moments later the nozzle pivoted again, at as sharp an angle as was possible, but as Morse suspected, he had found the blind spot on the flame thrower. The flame could not hurt him from here. Morse crouched in the corner as flame shot past him into the wall.
A few minutes later, the flame thrower stopped, and Morse could rest in the corner. He looked across the room. A few flames were still flickering on the wooden door, which went out after a few minutes. Morse looked at the walls of the chamber, looking for more nozzles, and worried about the next test to come. Morse rested for the next six or seven hours in the corner, shifting uncomfortably on the stone floor. He was happy that nothing more was happening, but he was determined not to fall asleep.
After the light from the small hole in the roof gradually became more dim, and then non-existent, Morse determined that it must be night. Morse thought about his son. He was hopeful that Zach could withstand the cold of the Cold Hut. After another hour, the nozzle with the blue flame was back, sticking from the wall only a few feet from Morse’s head. It pivoted right and then left as if searching for a target. Morse got an idea. Lying on his back, he used the power of his thighs and kicked at the nozzle from below with his hiking boot, hoping to bend the nozzle out of commission. Fire erupted from the nozzle and Morse dove back, as fire shot upward to the ceiling. Morse had not succeeded in breaking the weapon altogether, but the flame was now shooting upward.
Just then, Morse saw a second blue flame, on the far side of the hut near the door. His brain had only a second to put it together—they were going to shoot at him from both sides. He dove to the right, narrowly missing the stream of flame coming to him from the side of the hut near the door. He began sprinting along the wall, and dove into the corner as flame shot over his head. With only seconds to spare, he managed to get in the blind spot of the second nozzle by crouching against the wooden door. The wood on the door felt a little hot. It had been charred a little from the first shot of the flamethrower. That gave Morse another idea. Taking out a spare shirt from his backpack, Morse lifted the shirt up to the blue flame coming from the nozzle by the front door. Once the shirt was on fire and drenched in the fuel from the flamethrower, he tossed it near the wooden door, and, using his feet, kicked it under the door. It was slow at first, but the dry wood of the door was soon engulfed in flame. Morse stayed in the blind spot of the nozzle, watching the door burn for the next half hour. When the flames had finally died down, the door was black and charred and covered in ash. Morse stood in front of the door, and with a mighty kick, cracked the door in the middle, dislodging a large piece of wood. Just then, Morse turned around and saw five more blue flames stick out of different points in the wall. A feeling of dread swept over Morse. He only had seconds. He kicked the door again viciously and it cracked a second time. Out of the corner of his eye, Morse saw flame starting to erupt from one side of the hut. He slammed his shoulder with all his weight into the door, and it came crashing down with him on top of it, as flame shot in the air above Morse. Just outside the door was a small stone passage to the outside air, about five feet long. Morse crawled to the end of the passage. Flame came at him, but it fell just short of harming him. Morse took a moment to breathe the cool night air. He had almost been incinerated. Morse sat at the end of the passageway, as fire shot out throughout the interior of the hut for the next few minutes. Morse went to sleep for about an hour, and all was quiet. There was no more fire in the Fire House. He supposed that they had given up on him. Morse peeked out around the outer edge of the wall. No one was up. The area around the six huts was quiet. The only sentry was the large white moon.
Morse did not want to leave the Fire House, because the challenge was to stay in the house all night. He was concerned that he might be disqualified if he left the hut, but he was more concerned about his son freezing in the Cold House. Morse gathered some of the charred wood from the door of the hut. He also took out a Ziploc bag full of two packs of dry matches. Creeping silently from house to house, he found the Cold House. Climbing a nearby tree, Morse landed on the roof of the Cold House and immediately walked to the hole in the roof, which was covered with a plate of glass, a measure apparently intended to keep in the cold. Using one of the pieces of wood, Morse slammed the wood into the glass plate, shattering it. Morse then threw in the wood and the matches, and loudly whispered his son’s name. Then he high-tailed it back to the outer passageway of the Fire House, where he crouched against the stone wall until sunset. He waited until he saw the tribal chieftain finally coming towards his hut, and then he went back inside, pretending that he had been inside the hut all night.