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Fear rises fast, threatening to swallow me whole. But there isn't time for fear when animals are still trapped inside, counting on us.

Jules thrusts an armful of leashes into my hands. “You take the east kennels. I'll handle recovery.”

“No, I'm coming with you.”

“Maggie.”

“I'm not arguing with you right now,” I snap.

He opens his mouth.

I glare.

He closes it again.

“Fine,” he mutters. “But if we die because you're stubborn, I'm hauntin’ you.”

“We can discuss your afterlife plans later.”

We push through the swinging doors together. The recovery wing houses animals healing from surgeries, illnesses, and injuries. Many can’t move quickly on their own. Smoke hangs thicker here, stinging my eyes and scraping against my throat with every breath.

Dogs bark frantically inside their kennels.

“It's okay,” I call, coughing. “We’re here.”

I unlock the first kennel and slip a leash onto a trembling hound mix while Jules lifts a recovering terrier, blanket and all, into his arms.

Everything narrows to a single purpose. Open kennel. Attach leash. Get the animal to safety. Go back inside. Do it again.

Volunteers meet us at the doors and rush animals toward the parking lot, where makeshift holding areas begin taking shape beneath the shade trees. Sweat runs down my back. Smoke burns my lungs. Still, we keep moving.

Orange light suddenly dances beneath the doorway leading toward the laundry room.

I freeze. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”

“Maggie!” Sarah runs toward us, carrying two cat carriers. Tears streak soot across her cheeks. “The front office is clear. Emily says all the cats are out except quarantine.”

“Get outside,” I tell her. “Please.”

“What about you?” she manages between coughs.

“We're comin’.”

She doesn't believe me. I can see it plainly on her face. Still, she nods and hurries away.

Another crack reverberates overhead, and dust rains down from the ceiling. Jules catches my arm.

“We need to move,” he says, tightening his grip as another shower of debris falls around us.

I look down the row of kennels. Three remain occupied.

“No.” I yank my arm free and reach for the nearest kennel latch.

“Maggie.” Jules steps in front of me, smoke swirling around us. “The roof could come down.”

“No.” I shake my head, already moving toward the next kennel. “Not while they're still in here.”

Kennel seventeen holds Rosie, an elderly golden retriever abandoned after her owner died. Kennel eighteen houses a shepherd with a broken leg. And kennel nineteen contains Louie, a terrified pit bull mix who bites everybody except me.