Almost immediately after the fire broke out, Susannah got separated from Cuthbert. She's crawling now, trying to make her way to the stairwell, her wheelchair left behind when the floor became impassible for it. Her chakrams were left with it; the bags would only slow her down and she needs to reach the stairs before it's too late, before she roasts alive or dies of smoke inhalation.

She has her grenade lying in her pocket still. She may yet have time to use it. There'll be water if god wills it.

There's a figure in front of her, identity indistinguishable in the smoke and flame. "Bert?" she calls out weakly.