The boy takes advantage of my temporary confusion and manages to wriggle loose from my arms. He lands hard on the carpet and then rockets off inhumanly fast. I catch him again at the threshold to 1D.
By some miracle, Old Bill has materialized behind me. I hand off the kid to him and, ignoring Old Bill’s protests, dive right back into the fiery apartment. Thankfully, the kid doesn’t manage to break free again.
In a matter of minutes, it’s gotten exponentially worse in here. I fumble to secure my oxygen, but still end up wheezing when the smoke tickles my lungs.
I search the apartment, straining my ears.
Then I hear it—a whining so high-pitched that my ears barely picked up on it. I follow the sound to the bedroom. It’s sparsely furnished and has mostly been spared from the fire so far.
Dropping to the floor, I locate the source of the whining. A small, floppy-eared puppy is huddled in a tiny ball underneath the bed. I reach under, grab it by the scruff of the neck, and drag it out. The poor thing goes limp with terror, and I’m pretty sure it’s already peed itself. I forego protocol and yank open my jacket, shoving the puppy inside, and then hurry back out of the room
I have to dodge a spray of sparks on my way to the hall, but then I’m outside. In the back of my mind, I register Hargrove giving theall clearsignal.
“Why thefuckisn’t the building’s power shut off yet!?” he bellows furiously, ignoring the street full of onlookers.
A crew heads in with specialized extinguishers designed for electrical fires, since you can’t just throw water on top of live wires.
I head toward the careless father, who is still trying to keep his son from running back toward the disaster.
Chucking off my helmet, I hurry toward the kid and crouch down.
“I got him, buddy.” I pull the puppy from my jacket. “He’s alright.”
I only partially notice the gasps and applause from the crowd when they spot the dog and finally understand the reason behind the drama that just unfolded. The whole thing happened in the course of maybe five minutes, but I feel like I just lived five entire lifetimes.
The boy scoops the trembling puppy into his skinny arms. The father starts crying at that point, too. He stutters out a few dozen thank-yous, to which I smile and nod while trying to remain alert to the active scene behind me.
But that, I think, is probably the most appropriate moment to shut down the livestream. Because I may have just saved two little lives, but I still fucked up big time by letting my attention drift for that brief handful of seconds.
In a perfect world, however, the people who tuned in to the livestream won’t realize that.
Alas, we do not live in a perfect world.
Chapter seventeen
Chapter Seventeen: Noah
I'm stuck with Hargrove for the ride back to Station 47, during which he lectures me about the importance of getting formal approval for "a stunt like that" beforehand. He's not even that pissed about the kid and the puppy.
"Shit happens, nobody died," he growls.
"The point is, Trent, that the entire point of the campaign is that it relies on a controlled environment. Live-streaming a real fire response seems like a good idea in theory, but what if something awful happened and you accidentally filmed someone's death to an audience of people who didn't ask to see something like that?
Not to mention these are real people impacted by the emergency—they deserve privacy. And you broadcasted a minor without his parents' consent.
Which means another aspect of that is..."
Blah, blah, blah. I'm a stupid idiot. I'm reckless even when I try to be helpful. I'm a disaster even when I save lives. I'm a walking liability and it's a miracle that the captain still keeps me around.
It can't all be bad, though.
I haven't had a chance to check how many people actually tuned in, but at least a few of my followers witnessed me saving a little boy twice and rescuing a puppy.
Regarding the latter, they definitely won't have evidence to suggest I planted that baby animal in harm's way just for views, like some people have with the poor kitten that started this whole thing.
When I get back to Station 47, I'm officially off-duty. Hargrove has to go do his usual post-response paperwork, so I sneak away to shower off the smoke and sweat.
Then, steeling myself, I head up to the mezzanine floor.
