Page 146 of Found by the Pack
He nods and takes off, grabbing two younger firefighters on his way. I sprint toward the apartments, barking orders. “Everyone out! Get your kids, get your neighbors, move!”
A woman shoves a baby into my arms, eyes wide with terror. “Please?—”
“I’ve got him,” I bite out, thrusting the infant toward a paramedic running by. “Get her out!”
The smoke chokes, thick, black, pressing into my lungs. I yank my mask up, heart pounding. My radio crackles—voices overlapping, chaos. Too many calls, not enough hands.
A crash splits the night. I whip around just in time to see the roof of McCallister’s caves in, fire roaring up like it’s feeding itself. Shouts echo as crews drag hoses, but it’s not enough. Too many flames.
My chest seizes again. Sawyer. His voice. His laugh. His blood on my hands.
Not tonight. Not again.
“Captain Ashford!” One of the rookies barrels toward me, soot streaked across his face. “There are people trapped in the health center. Second floor!”
Fuck.
I grab his shoulder. “Get backup. I’ll go.”
I sprint through the smoke, boots pounding, flames snapping at my heels. The health center is already half-engulfed, windows blown out, curtains curling black. I throw my shoulder into the door—it gives, swinging into a furnace.
The heat is unbearable. My vision blurs. But I hear it—screams. Upstairs.
I take the stairs two at a time, wood groaning under my weight. Smoke claws down my throat. My mask’s filter rattles, not enough.
Two kids are huddled at the end of the hall, their mother banging on a locked door. “My husband—he’s in there!”
I shove her toward the stairs. “Get them out. Now!”
She hesitates, sobbing.
“Go!” I roar, pointing down. “We’ll get him!”
She drags the kids, screaming, and I slam my shoulder into the locked door. Once. Twice. The wood splinters, gives way.
Inside, a man is pinned under a collapsed shelf, coughing blood. His eyes lock on mine, panicked.
“Hang on.” I wedge my hands under the frame, straining. My muscles scream, sweat pouring. The fire is closing in, beams cracking above me.
For a split second, Sawyer’s face flashes in place of his. His voice:Don’t leave me, Gabe.
I snarl, heave harder. The shelf shifts, just enough. I drag the man free, sling his arm over my shoulder. His weight is dead, heavy, but I move, half-carrying, half-dragging him down the hall.
The stairs groan, split. My boot slips, the world tilts, but I hold him tighter, forcing us down.
We hit the ground floor as another section of ceiling crashes behind us. Boone appears through the smoke, mask on, hose blasting water. His eyes widen when he sees me.
“Go!” I shout, shoving the man toward him. Boone catches him, hauls him out.
The air is choking, fire roaring too loud. I stagger after them, lungs burning, vision tunneling.
When we break into the night air, paramedics swarm. Boone grabs me by the collar, dragging me back from the door before it collapses entirely.
My knees hit the pavement. I rip my mask off, gulping air that’s still thick with smoke. My hands shake. My chest heaves. And still, all I see is Sawyer.
Boone crouches in front of me, eyes fierce, soot streaked across his jaw. “You good?”
“No,” I rasp. “But I’m here.”
