Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Ryder
The others might see routine, but I see Velara’s face from our last safety inspection. The eighty-three-year-old minotaur moves with a walker and has a tabby cat named Applesauce who sleeps at her hooves every night.
“Building’s probably from the sixties,” Kam says from behind me, already thinking structure and strategy. “Balloon-frame construction, gonna go up fast.”
I’m thinking about something else entirely. About Applesauce, who won’t understand why her owner isn’t moving fast enough. About how scared animals get when their world fills with smoke and chaos.
The scene comes into view three blocks out—the orange glow painting the night sky, neighbors clustered on the sidewalk in bathrobes and jackets thrown over pajamas. Fire department protocol says assess, strategize, execute. My gut says move.
Brokka is barking orders before we’ve even rolled to a complete stop. “Thrall, Kam, primary search. Durga, continuous water on that second floor. Ryder, crowd control and medical.”
Crowd control. Right. I scan the gathered residents, quickly identifying Velara in a worried hug with a younger woman who’s probably her daughter. Relief floods through me, followed immediately by a different kind of worry.
“Velara!” I jog over, my gear making me sound like a walking hardware store. “You okay? Any injuries?”
“I’m fine, dear, but Applesauce—” Her voice breaks, and I see everything I need to know in her red-rimmed eyes. “I couldn’t find her. The smoke was so thick, and I couldn’t see—”
“She’s still inside?”
Velara nods, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Second floor, apartment 2C. She hides under the bed when she’s scared.”
The daughter starts explaining how they barely got her mother out, how the hallway was already filling with smoke, and how there wasn’t time to search for a cat. All valid points. All irrelevant.
I key my radio. “Chief, we’ve got a cat still inside 2C. Elder confirms location.”
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.”
“I aim to please.” His expression grows more serious. “But really, you did the right thing in there.”
That’s the problem, isn’t it? Most people think there’s a hierarchy of who deserves saving. Humanoids first, everything else if there’s time and it’s convenient. But fear is fear, and love is love, and Velara crying over Applesauce felt exactly the same as any humanoid mourning their family.
“Different priorities,” I say instead of getting too philosophical at seven-thirty in the morning.
Kam nods like that explains everything, and maybe it does. We work in silence for a while, the familiar routine of maintenance and inventory soothing in the way that manual labor always is after the adrenaline fades.
It’s after lunch when my phone buzzes with a text from Mom: Hope you’re staying safe at work, honey. Love you.
I text back a quick Love you too and am about to put the phone away when it buzzes again. Different number, local area code.
Hi Ryder, this is Joy from Jingle All the Way. Got a favor to ask. You free to talk?
Joy. Right. Grum’s mate, the Christmas enthusiast who somehow managed to domesticate the grumpiest orc in the Zone. We’ve met a few times at community gatherings, and she seems nice enough, if a little intense about holiday decorations.
Sure. What’s up?
My phone rings almost immediately.
“Ryder! Thank goodness you answered. It sounds like you all were up all night. Did I interrupt a nap?”
“No?” The hair on my neck stands up. My gut’s been in the business long enough to smell trouble coming.
“It’s fine. What do you need?”
“Okay, so you know how I’m always trying to help people out? Well, there’s this woman I know from way back who’s in a bit of a situation.”
I settle against the bumper of the engine, already sensing this is going to be more complicated than Joy’s making it sound. “What kind of situation?”
“A pet-sitting situation. She needs help caring for animals over the holidays, and I immediately thought of you because Grum mentioned how you volunteer at those rescue places. She called me a few minutes ago, completely overwhelmed because she got way more bookings than she expected.”
Busted. I’ve been keeping the rescue work separate from firehouse life, not because I’m ashamed of it, but because some things don’t need announcing. Some people think I’m too soft for emergency work. It looks like everyone in the Zone knows about my extracurricular activities.
“Joy—”
“Her name’s Laney, and she’s the sweetest thing. Wants to be a veterinarian. Inherited her grandmother’s place up in the mountains, struggling to make ends meet. She’s got all these people wanting her to watch their pets for the holidays, but she’s realizing she might be in over her head.”
Something in Joy’s tone makes me pay closer attention. “What kind of pets are we talking about?”
“Well, that’s the thing. She started with regular dogs and cats, but then some veterinarians started referring their more… challenging clients. You know, the ones with exotic pets or special-needs animals. The kind that need someone who really knows what they’re doing.”
“And she doesn’t.”
“She worked for a vet in high school and wants to go to vet school, so she knows plenty about animal care. But handling a dozen different species all at once while living alone in the mountains? That’s a lot for anyone.”
I can picture it. Some well-meaning woman drowning in chaos because she can’t say no to an animal in need. Story as old as time. Sounds kind of like me.
“What exactly are you asking me to do?”
“Just… help out? For two weeks or even a few days? She’d be grateful for any time you could give her. I mean, you’ve got vacation time coming, right? And it’s not like you ever take any time off, anyway.”
True on both counts. I’ve been accumulating vacation days for three years because there’s never been anywhere I wanted to go or anything I wanted to do more than work.
“Joy, I don’t even know this person. She might not want some stranger, an Other, showing up to—”
“Oh, she definitely wants help. I could hear the panic in her voice when she called me. Apparently, she’s got everything from snakes to pregnant cats to pigs that have figured out how to open cabinets.”
That does sound like someone who needs help.