Not water rescues. Not windows and ropes. A quieter kind of urgent.
The captain didn’t blink. “Doc, you keep the hall. Ms. Patel, you and Zoe own the lists. June, Luke, Rook—volunteer assist with me. Nia, blankets and your dolly if you’ve got it.”
“I’ve got it,” I said, already thinking of the steel wheels and squeaky axles in the back of my truck.
We moved. Church lot to alley to a street that had decided to be ankle-deep and reflective. Maple Ridge sat on the corner like a grandmother who knew every storm by first name. The lobby lights flickered and held. Inside, the air smelled like lemon cleaner and wet wool.
Two nurses met us at the door, sleeves rolled, hair frizzed by emergency. “Elevator’s dead,” one said without preamble. “Oxygen tanks on two. We’ve got eleven who can’t do stairs without a chair. We’ve got six chairs.”
