I’ve always known that I’m very quick with my hands. If someone throws something, I catch it almost before I’m aware it has been thrown. When I was young, I had no idea how useful this skill would become.

Last week, I was going to visit a friend with her newborn and was on my way to a toy store to buy a gift. I’d once lived in the neighbourhood and I decided to head back to my old cupcake shop for a coffee. Sitting alone at a table outside with my drink, I was approached by an older man, who in a calm and very matter-of-fact way told me to call 911, because there was a baby on a fire escape.

I jumped up to see where the baby was. I was so surprised to see it, wearing a little onesie (连体衣) and lying on the fire escape railings (栏杆) between the second and third storeys. I was nervous, so the baby boy became my only priority.

As I was on the phone to the emergency services, I made eye contact with the child, keeping him calm, telling him to stay there. Some people were going up the stairs to find the parents, who were apparently sleeping through the whole drama.

I just wanted the child to feel safe. I hoped he’d stay there until somebody could rescue him. Apparently he had slipped through pieces of cardboard placed next to an air-conditioning unit in the window, and without bars to protect him he’d crawled (爬) out and up the fire escape towards the next storey. He was only 16 months old. For him to even climb up and balance in that position was incredible.

Then he slipped. Instinctively (本能), he grabbed on the railing as he fell, hanging by his arms. I knew he couldn’t hold on, 25 feet above the street, for long. I sensed people had gathered behind, but my attention was purely focused on my intention to catch the baby.

I made sure I was positioned to catch him.

The moments after he was saved were exciting.

I worked at a local station of the Berlin fire department. We got an alert (警报) around 8:25pm that Friday and rushed to the fire engine, where the printout from the dispatcher (调度员) said there was a nine-year-old boy locked in a safe.

I asked myself: if it were a safe, would it be airtight? I was aware that it might already be too late by the time we arrived. I had to plan for a bad outcome. On the other hand, if we were in time, how long would it take us to open the safe? I knew it would be an incredibly difficult task. It’s what safes are designed for—not to be opened.

It took less than five minutes to reach the property. When I saw a woman crying on the street,

I knew the situation was serious. She was the boy’s mother and she led us into the basement. She told us the boy was alive and we started talking to him; he was very calm. We asked how it had happened: during a game of hide and seek with his five-year-old brother, he had thought the safe would be a good place to hide.

The boy’s parents had got the house from his mother’s father. The unlocked safe had been there when they moved in and was in an area they didn’t use much. The boy’s little brother had shut the safe, then, when he couldn’t open it again. The only person who knew the combination was the boy’s late grandfather.

From the outset, the biggest priority was getting oxygen to the boy. We got oxygen from the hospital. The boy said that he could feel a thin stream of air. I asked his parents if anyone had opened the safe before and they said no. So we had to guess a six-digit code (密码). We started typing them in—but we had to wait 10 minutes between each attempt before we could try again. So quickly we tried them all. No luck.

We were fully prepared at this point to open the safe by force, starting with a drill.

Then, just as we started to make the first cut, my workmate typed in the correct code.

When I woke up, I felt pains all over. A pool of sticky blood surrounded my head. I lay trapped in the bottom of n smooth-walled pit (坑) with an empty water bottle.

I thought of what had happened. I was climbing down the mountain as I was admiring the beautiful scenery. Accidentally. I stepped on a loose rock. Then I slipped, fell with the rock and got stuck somewhere below the top. It was getting dark in the pit. Only my mother knew where I’d gone. I promised to have lunch with her. Thinking of this. I took my phone out and dialed her number with shaking fingers. No service. The silence, which earlier I’d valued, was now horrible.

With a sharp pain in my head, I was terrified. I knew I’d fallen far, but I wasn’t sure where I was. I called 911 because I knew by the pain that my back was severely injured, if not broken. My ear was torn badly. There was still no service. I dug through my bag to assess my supplies and found a whistle and some wipes.

I put the whistle around my neck and blew, though I knew no one would hear me. It was 1:15 pm and I was miles from the town where I lived. I used the wipes to clean off as much blood as I could. I rested. Then I screamed, blew my whistle, and let myself think the unthinkable. What if they can’t find me? What if this is it?

I decided to get moving. I climbed through a small opening, but when I peered over the next edge, my heart sank: there was a 30-foot drop. There was no way down. I was trapped.

I knew with that extreme Arizona heat in the day and bitter desert cold at night, I wouldn’t last long. But I thought my mother was sure to call the police for help if she couldn’t get in touch with me. With a little hope, I prayed the police would send a helicopter (直升机) to my resecu.

Around five hours later, a growing buzz (嗡嗡声) in the air broke the silence.

Though the pilot saw me, it was difficult for the team to get to me.

Jay, 24, got home from work shortly after midnight. Then, suddenly, a horror-filled scream ripped through the still night. He rushed outside and saw flames lighting the sky half a mile away. Hurriedly, he called the fire department and rushed out to check the situation.

Seconds later, Jay was fishtailing his car on the main road. The fire raged at a small hillside complex of mobile homes. Jay slid the car to a stop and sprinted up a steep lane toward the reddening glow. Reaching the hilltop, he saw that a 70-foot-long trailer (房车) was on fire. A young woman in torn nightclothes was running wildly back and forth, jumping to smash at the 6-foot-high windows with her hands. “Dear God!” she screamed. “My family is dying!”

Jay felt a moment of panic. He seemed to be the only person there to help. Never had he seen such a fire! Flames were leaping out of broken windows at the far end of the trailer and winding along the roof; the roaring, crackling noises grew louder by the second. He grabbed the woman by the shoulders. “What happened?” he shouted.

Barely coherent, Cindy told him she had escaped through one of the master bedroom windows. Her husband, Leonard, had gone for their two children: 22-month-old Ryan and 6-week-old Angela. He was supposed to hand them out to her from the bedroom. But, seconds later, flames had burst from the kitchen and living room windows. Cindy began crying miserably. “Where are they?” Jay yelled. Cindy pointed to the end section of the trailer, where thick, black smoke poured from the windows.

From the time he was old enough to play sports, Jay had learned to battle the odds. As a Little Leaguer, he led his underdog team to the state championship. And in tiny St. Maries, his courage had earned him townspeople’s respect. Always, Jay recalled the words of his father: “The word can’t never did anything for anybody. You can do it! Never stop trying, son!”