From the stairwell, Billy Butler tried to call 911, using the phone of a Port Authority officer who was trapped with them. When he couldn't get through, he called his wife in Greenville, N.Y. After countless busy signals, he got a connection.
"Diane, we're trapped in the World Trade Center, but I'm OK," he said.
Diane Butler started whimpering. But her husband told her she had a job to do. She was to call the authorities for help.
"Tell them we're in tower one, in the B stairwell at about the fourth floor," he said. "Calm down. You have to do this."
[...]
For more than four hours, Billy Butler and his group of survivors waited for help that didn't come. Then a ray of sunlight hit his shoulder.
Somewhere in the wreckage above them was an opening. Leaving Josephine behind, the men scrambled toward it – and emerged into a world that, even with all they had been through, they could not have imagined.
Mountains, acres of smoldering rubble. Hulking steel silhouettes, surreal in the smoke. And above, nothing. Where a 110-story building had stood, a wasteland.