Static pause. “Negative, Ryder. Building’s compromised. We don’t risk personnel for animals.”
Standard protocol. Logical. Safe.
Completely unacceptable.
I set my medical kit near their feet and tell Velara’s daughter. “Keep an eye on her breathing. Any coughing, any chest pain, grab any of the firefighters. We’re all trained EMTs.”
“Where are you going?” the daughter asks, but I’m already moving.
The apartment building’s stairwell is thick with smoke, my respirator working overtime to filter the acrid air. Second floor, 2C. Door’s standing open—probably left that way during the evacuation.
The apartment is a maze of furniture and smoke, but I know where I’m going. Bedroom’s to the left, bed against the far wall. I drop to my hands and knees, sweeping my flashlight under the frame.
Two green eyes reflect back at me, wide with terror.
“Hey there, Applesauce.” I keep my voice calm, even though my radio’s crackling with increasingly urgent status updates. “I know you’re scared, girl. Let’s get you out of here.”
She’s pressed against the wall, every muscle tense with fear. Can’t blame her. The world’s gone insane with noise and smoke and strangers stomping around her territory.
I pull off one of my heavy gloves and extend my bare hand slowly. “Come on, pretty girl. Your mom’s really worried about you.”
It takes thirty seconds that feel like thirty minutes, but finally, Applesauce inches forward to sniff my fingers. When she doesn’t immediately bolt, I ease closer.
“That’s it. Good girl. I’ve got you.”
One smooth motion and she’s in my arms, tucked inside my coat where it’s warm and dark and safe. Her claws dig into my chest as she clings to me, tiny pinpricks of pain that I barely feel. Poor thing’s terrified out of her mind. Can’t blame her for holding on tight.
The trip back down is faster, my precious cargo making small sounds of terror. Doesn’t matter. What matters is getting her back to her minotaur mom.
“Saucy!” Velara’s cry is audible even over the chaos as I emerge from the building.
I gently transfer the cat to her arms, watching her face transform from grief to joy in real time. Applesauce purrs loud enough to compete with the fire truck sirens, pressing her head against Velara’s chin like she’s reassuring herself her mom is real.
“Thank you,” Velara whispers, and I have to clear my throat before I can respond.
“Just doing my job, ma’am.”
It’s not entirely true, and we both know it. But some things matter more than protocol.
By the time we get back to the station, it’s past seven a.m. The fire’s out, Velara and Applesauce are safe with family, as are all the other displaced residents from the six damaged apartment units in the building, along with the damage to my eardrums from the lecture Chief Brokka delivered about risk assessment and disobeying orders.
Worth it.
I’m cleaning gear in the bay when Kam wanders over, still smelling like smoke and wearing the expression that means he’s about to say something profound.
“So, that was either really stupid or really noble,” he says, settling onto a crate of emergency supplies. “I’m leaning toward noble, but don’t tell the Chief I said that.”
“Cat was scared, and she’s family to Velara.” I inspect my breathing apparatus for the third time, making sure everything’s in working order. “Couldn’t leave her.”
“Most people would have.”
Kam shifts on the crate, and I can see him working up to one of his jokes. “You know what they say about firefighters and cats?”
I glance up from my gear. “What’s that?”
“We’re both good at getting into tight spaces and landing on our feet.” He grins at his own humor.
Despite everything, I can’t help but crack a smile. “That’s terrible, Kam.”
