Nick runs.
Shards of loose asphalt jam themselves between his toes and under his feet, but he pays no attention to the pain. Each step jars his body as he jogs across the cement, his breath hitching with the thudding steps. The alleyways and gutters seem to swallow up the echo of his footsteps, the shadows hoarding the sound. It feels like he is running through a silent eternity. His heart pounds in his chest, giving the night a weirdly organic beat. A cramp stabs into his side, and this time, he winces. What the hell is going on?, he thinks, his mind grabbing at explanations, Gas leak? Lab fire? Earthquake? And where the hell is everyone? Another pane of glass from 'The Spire' crashes against the cement, shattering the still night. The fox's gut curls as he reaches the back of the ambulance. Flinging the door open, he finds his partner standing next to the old sheep like a lost child, eyes wide with fear. He clamps his head between his paws like a vice, staring at the floor. The panther only notices Nick as he climbs into the vehicle. The sheep bleats quietly at the intruder.
"Nick, what's going on out there?" he asks, "Nick, what's happening?"
The fox tries to be brief. He can see panic slowly conquering his partner as the disaster outside continues.
"Science building might be collapsing—glass everywhere," he says, and he can see his words slip over the panthers' head, "Leonard, Leonard, I need you to focus. We need to see if there's anyone inside, direct them to safety. I'm going to call in a fire truck and another squad car. I need you to take a stretcher and help Richard with the rabbit, alright? Meet me back at the car once you're done."
The information hits him like a brick. Leonard leans against the stretcher, his chest heaving with sickening panic. He wants to throw up. His knees shake underneath the massive frame of his body. He's never been in any sort of situation like this, not even close. A few chases over the course of his short career, and maybe, maybe, half of a standoff. Leonard's paws tremble. His anxiety climaxes as he imagines himself pinned under a hundred tons of metal and glass. His mind latches onto a particularly bloody scene from a car crash a few months back. A wolf in some junker truck tried to run a red during the "enormous-species only" light and ended up getting T-boned by an elephant. The damage was horrific. A mess of fur and bones, the body was unrecognizable, warped by the forces of the collision.
I shouldn't be here.
A flash of guilt burns hotly against his cheeks. The chief's words echo to the forefront of his mind. The last thing people need to see is the protectors of their city cracking under pressure. He takes a deep, shaky breath, standing up fully in the back of the ambulance.
"What about the old man?" he asks, and the fox pauses in the doorway of the ambulance. The sheep shakes his head softly, ears flicking back. He sits on the bench next to the stretcher, tapping his hooves lightly on the seat. Nick pauses, watching the patient loll his head.
"Leave him," he says, then slides out the back, leaving the panther alone once again.
Leonard mutters a quick apology, for what it's worth. The sheep only blinks dumbly as the panther exits with the stretcher, closing the door behind him. Leonard dips from the vehicle, jogging down the street towards the two paramedics. The wheels rattle and squeak over the asphalt. He glances towards the building, immediately averting his gaze. Glass litters the base of 'The Spire,' reflecting the dusty, orange light of streetlamps. Empty panes leave black sections like missing teeth. A large chunk sticks straight up in the garden—a shining, jagged spire. But the most disturbing additions to the architecture are the small, bloated pimples of metal and glass that dot over the entirety of the building. Leonard isn't sure, but he thinks he can see some of them bubbling, expanding and contracting like lungs.
Reaching the two medics, he cringes at their situation. The young rabbit between them heaves in irregular breaths, her ears flat against her back. Tears matt the brown fur around her eyes in a rusty sheen. She coughs out short answers as the two animals beside her rush through various tests. The otter looks up when he hears the wheels of the stretcher. Confusion and stress etch themselves deeper into the small features of his face. The officer's presence only seems to relieve him slightly. He does not ask about the old sheep.
"We can't move her. She's too heavy," he says, and Leonard looks down at the rabbit. Even though she's only a size smaller than Richard, it shouldn't be much trouble for the otter alone. Margaret instructs the panther on the proper grip before allowing him to lift the patient. One paw hooked under her stomach, and one at the crook of her kneeling legs. She coughs, and her form trembles underneath his paws. Lifting, he finds the resistance surprising—she is incredibly dense. Both medics watch, concerned as Leonard lets out a strained grunt. It doesn't make sense. It feels like he's trying to lift a horse. The rabbit whimpers as Leonard struggles to flip her into a cradling position. Finally, after some ungraceful shifting, he manages to set her down on the rolling bed. It creaks dangerously under her weight. Leonard turns to the two medics.
"The wheels fold on this, right?" he asks, indicating the stretcher, and Richard nods as he packs up medical tools. Margaret and Richard flank both sides of the stretcher as Leonard wheels her away. The rabbit moans as she is pushed over the street, clenching her throat and stomach while they try to keep her stable. She opens her eyes, and for the first time, Leonard sees her spattered irises. They dully reflect the red lights of the ambulance. He opens his mouth to ask, but decides against it. Richard and Margaret look busy. They speak with a mix of complicated medical terms and comforting statements. It takes them five minutes to get to the back of the ambulance. Opening the back for the last time that night, Leonard slides the stretcher into the ambulance, keeping an eye on the old sheep. He doesn't seem to mind as the new patient slides in next to him.
Leonard retreats from the back, nodding at the two medics. They leave without a word, rushing to the passenger and driver side of the vehicle before starting the siren and driving away. Leonard watches as darkness slowly reclaims the alleyways and street corners as the ambulance disappears behind a building. He takes a silent breath before turning around and heading towards his cruiser.
I can do this, he thinks, jogging down the now silent street, no problem.
I know this story updates slow, and I'm sorry for that. Summer's been busy and I'm not a fast writer to begin with. Thank you to those who have stuck with me as I trudge along. You guys are the best.