Fire in the Sky

Chapters

Part 1: Preparation
Part 2: Response
Part 3: Recovery

Part 1: Preparation

They were in Hell.

The suffocating heat penetrated through their heavy fireproof jackets, pants, and boots, all the way down to their bones. Their halogen lamps failed to penetrate the ever-thickening smoke that tried to block their path, the light only allowing them to see a few inches in front of them. The flames that adorned the wooden walls and floor crackled and roared around them, while above their heads, the roof groaned and creaked as it struggled beneath its own weight.

Hydrant and Bull Run inched forward through the fire, their own breathing echoing in their ears; the cold taste of the compressed air filtering through their SCBA gear lingered on their tongues every time they inhaled. Hydrant pushed forward through the flames, battling them back with a constant stream of water from the hose held in his bright yellow magic. His much larger companion followed behind, one meaty hoof on his partner’s back, trusting him to guide him forward, the other hoof clutching his trusty Denver tool. Their booted hooves clomped loudly with every step.

“Got a door here,” Hydrant called, his voice muffled but still clear through his face mask. He raised a hoof and pointed at the solid oak door blocking their path, then went back to trying to beat back the flames.

Bull Run stepped forward, his bulk unencumbered by the weight of his turnout gear, and pressed a hoof against the door. It was fortunately cool to the touch. He raised the Denver tool and with a great grunt, brought the ax head down onto the solid wood, sending splinters flying. He swung the ax again and again at a steady rhythm, carving a hole into the door around the lock. Once he finally broke through, he swung the tool around and inserted the prybar end into the hole. With a grunt of effort, he levered the door off its hinges and tossed it aside.

The room on the other side was a child’s bedroom. A small bed, the bright blue sheets tangled at the foot of the mattress. Stuffed animal toys were scattered around the room, and a dresser and a bookcase stood against the far wall.

“Hello?” Bull called out. Smoke was already filling the room, invited in by the open door. “Is there anypony here?”

He squinted through his face mask, scanning the room for any sign of anypony. Then, he noticed the white closet door in the corner, standing slightly ajar. He crossed over to the door and slowly pulled it open.

A pair of terrified green eyes stared back up at him. A young pale blue unicorn colt, no older than six years old, crouched on the floor, hidden beneath several coats and jackets. His straw blonde mane was already heavy with sweat. He flinched away from Bull Run with a frightened whimper.

Bull slung the Denver tool into a holster on his harness and slowly crouched down so that his face was on the same level as the colt’s. He remembered how frightening he must appear to the youngling, with his enormous bulk, masked face, and loud, heavy breathing.

“Hey, don’t be scared, all right?” he spoke softly. “My name’s Bull. I’m going to get you out of here.”

The colt hesitated, whimpering, unsure whether to fear him or the fire more.

“Your mom and dad are right outside waiting for you,” Bull continued. “I’m going to get you out of here and take you to them, okay?” He reached out a hoof.

The colt looked up at him, his trembling now slightly more subdued, and slowly nodded. He reached out and grasped Bull’s hoof.

Quickly, Bull raised himself up to his full height and scooped the youngling up in his foreleg, holding him to his chest. He turned and walked quickly out of the room, back into the haze of flame and smoke.

“Is this all of them?” he asked Hydrant, who was still aiming his nozzle at the base of the flames.

“That’s all of them!” Hydrant shouted back. The fire roared as if in defiance of his efforts to smother it. “Get him out of here, I got this!”

Bull Run turned and began to run back down the stairs, following their hose through the thick smoke. Flames licked at the walls, trying to reclaim the ground that they had lost. The colt began to cough and choke in his hooves, compelling him to move as quickly as he could.

He fought through the smoke and flames to the bottom of the stairs and sprinted across the short hallway to the open front door. The sunlight embraced them both like an old friend as Bull jogged down the garden pathway to the street. The simple white two-story cottage with the sky blue trim behind them was almost fully ablaze, smoke pouring up into the sky in a spiraling column. Flames danced in the windows, and the entire building groaned as if in pain.

Manehattan Tanker 45 was waiting for them on the curb, its fresh bright red paint and spinning red and blue lights catching their attention instantly. Right next to it was Ambulance 4, its lights also flashing on and off. Several ponies were gathered around the back of the vehicle, including a plump bright blue blonde-maned unicorn mare and a stocky sea green pegasus with a bushy white mustache.

“Short Straw!” the mare cried hysterically, sprinting forward. Tears ran from her eyes.

“He’s okay, ma’am,” Bull Run reported. “Please, let me take him over to the EMT so she can check him out.”

The mother nodded and stepped aside, allowing Bull Run to carry Straw over to the ambulance. A snow white unicorn with reddish-orange hair drawn back in a bun wearing a blue and white short-sleeved shirt gently extracted the colt from Bull’s grip and placed him on a waiting stretcher. The blue-winged rod and coiled snake on her flank matched the one on her sleeve. Her emerald green eyes sparkled with kindness as she fitted her stethoscope into her ears.

“You’re going to be all right, honey,” Healing Touch cooed to Straw, pressing the resonator against the colt’s chest so she could listen to his breathing.

“Bull!” a voice barked. Bull Run turned to see another firefighter storming towards him, adorned in full turnout gear save for the face mask. Lieutenant Smokey Bear was a tall, dark brown earth pony with a long, midnight black mane. Her chocolate brown eyes glowered at Bull. Her cutie mark was a black bear.

“Where’s Hydrant?” she demanded. “Is he still in there?”

“Yeah,” Bull confirmed.

“Get him out of there!” Smokey ordered. “This fire is getting out of control. I tried to radio him, but he’s not responding!”

Almost before the sentence was complete, Bull Run was sprinting back towards the house. Rushing through the front door, Bull grasped the hose in his hooves and began to follow it back through the hallway and up the stairs, entering once more into the hellish realm of smoke and flames on the second floor. “Hydrant!” he called out.

No response.

“Hydrant!” he shouted, squinting through the smoke as he followed the hose. He could still feel the water rushing through the hose, so presumably…

A great crack resounded above his head. The ceiling was giving away. ”Hydrant!”

“Bull, I’m over here,” Hydrant’s voice came from his right. The unicorn was still battling the flames, spraying a constant jet of water over the base of the fire, which continued to roar and rage at him.

“Didn’t you hear the lieutenant?” Bull asked, grabbing Hydrant’s shoulder. “We’re getting out of here. It’s too hot.”

Hydrant nodded and they began to back their way out of the house, Hydrant dousing any flames that attempted to block their path. The smoke closed in around them as if trying to prevent them from escaping, but they battled through and exited the house, retreating back to the tanker.

“There you are!” Smokey barked as Hydrant approached. “Didn’t you hear me over the radio? I told you to get out of there once the kid was safe!”

Hydrant unclasped his face mask and allowed it to dangle off his face. His lime green coat and dusty brown mane were caked in sweat. “Sorry, lieutenant,” he reported, clicking the walkie-talkie attached to his shoulder on and off. “Looks like the batteries ran out.”

Smokey glared at him and let out a huff through her nostrils. “At least Bull was here to get your stupid ass out of there. Alright, you two know the drill; contain the fire so it doesn’t spread to these other houses.”

Bull took off his face mask, sighing with relief as his face was exposed to the coolness of the air. He mopped a hoof through his blue-white mane and wiped off his slate-gray mouth. Taking up the hose, he started spraying through the windows on the second floor, hoping to contain the fire within the cottage and let it burn itself out.

“How’s the kid?” Hydrant asked, uncoiling another hose from the tanker.

“He’ll be all right,” Smokey reported, softening a little. “Healing’s going to take him to the hospital just to be on the safe side.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bull observed Healing loading the rescued family into the back of the ambulance. She climbed in after them and shut the doors behind them. With a growl of an engine and a wail of sirens, the ambulance pulled away from the curb and sped down the street.

Hydrant turned to Bull and grinned. “Just another day in the life of a Manehattan firefighter, eh?”

Bull just grunted and continued sweeping the upper windows with the hose.

“Order up!” Sous Chef sang out, balancing the steaming plates of spaghetti on his spread wings. The volunteer firefighter carried his masterpiece work over to the table where the hungry crew of Firehouse 9 waited and started to hand them out.

“Smells great, Sous,” Smokey grinned, immediately digging into her dinner. The other firefighters all made sounds of agreement.

Sous grinned at the flattery, running a hoof through his tomato red mane as his egg white plumage ruffled in embarrassment. “Ah, anything for the heroes of Manehattan, eh?” he said, sliding into his seat. He twirled his fork through the spaghetti and lifted it to his mouth.

“Glad that we’re all here to enjoy it,” Smokey added, giving a glare across the table at two of her charges. Her face was remarkably similar to the expression on her black bear cutie mark.

Hydrant smiled back at her, his lips outlined by tomato sauce. “Eh, no worries, Sarge,” he replied. “It was an honest mistake, and I’m gonna take responsibility for it. But, I’m still here.” He looked over at Bull Run. “Got my partner to thank for that.”

Bull looked over at him evenly. “Wouldn’t have needed to save your life if your radio had been working,” he grunted. His voice was very like the low rumbling of a bull, like his cutie mark.

“Bull is right,” a voice interrupted from the doorway. Everypony looked up to see a broad-shouldered earth pony stallion entering the room. His coat was a bright orange-yellow, and his face adorned with a short salt and pepper beard. His bright blue eyes focused on Hydrant like a pair of searchlights, which, ironically, was also his cutie mark.

“Hydrant, slip-ups like this are what get ponies killed,” Captain Spotlight Sweep scolded Hydrant, stepping forward. “You needlessly put yourself and your partner in danger.” He scowled. “You’re the one with the bucking fire hydrant on your flanks, you should know better.”

Hydrant frowned and hung his head. “You’re right, Cap—”

Captain Sweep held up a small device in his hoof. It was a black box with a circular gauge and a light on it. He pressed a button on the side of the box. The PASS device started sending out a loud, high-pitched warbling whine as the red light began to blink on and off. Spotlight Sweep allowed the device to let out its warning cry for a few seconds, then switched it off.

“I hate that sound,” he said, pocketing the device. “Whenever I hear that sound, that usually means that one of my team is dead. And the only thing worse than that is when I find that one of my team died because of something they could’ve prevented.” He paused, then patted Hydrant on the back. “Keep that in the back of your mind, son.”

Hydrant nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Captain Sweep paused for a moment, turning to look out the window. The city of Manehattan stretched out before them, the rows of skyscrapers backlit by the setting sun. In the distance, the sparkling waters of the Hayson Bay glowed gold, orange, and red. Dominating the skyline was the Skybridge Building, its twelve-hundred-foot height tipped by an iron mooring mast for airships.

“There are over three thousand ponies in this city, team,” he stated in a grave tone. “They’re all counting on us to be prepared.” He waited a moment longer, then turned and exited the room. The silence left in his wake lingered around the table like an unwelcome guest.

The awkwardness was fortunately broken by Bull Run belching loudly, prompting a round of laughter from the table.

“Glad you think that highly of it!” Sous laughed.

Bull showed a rare smile and draped his forelegs around Sous and Hydrant. “None of you better change,” he said.

“Not going anywhere, bud,” Hydrant grinned back. “Somepony pass the parmesan.”

Part 2: Response

The night passed in relative peace, even for the city that never slept, and just like every day before, the sun rose over the eastern horizons to signal the morning and cast Manehattan in a brilliant golden light.

A shadow passed over the streets, prompting ponies below to look up. The source of the shadow proved to be an airship. The engines of the great flying machine grumbled as they guided the large cloud white balloon towards the spire of Skybridge Building. Painted upon the sides of the balloon was the bright gold and green logo of Shooting Star Airlines. Beneath the inflated sac filled with hydrogen gas, a hundred passengers and crew admired the city beneath them through the carriage windows.

Captain Breeze Dancer had flown with Shooting Star Airlines since it had been founded. There wasn’t a flying machine invented that the silver-maned unicorn hadn’t piloted. Helicopters, fixed-wing planes, autogyros, and most recently, airships. No other vehicle had provided him with such a smooth flight: he loved the feeling of the humming engines beneath his hooves, the gentle way that the dirigible’s rudders responded to his touch on the wheel. At this moment, he gently banked towards port, aiming the balloon at the mooring mast.

He retrieved the microphone from the radio next to the wheel and held it next to his mouth in his magic. “Skybridge control, this is the TMS Albatross,” he reported. “Requesting clearance to dock, over.”

“TMS Albatross, the skies are clear and the crew is standing by to help with the landing,” the reply came. “Maintain your heading and reduce speed to 5 knots.”

“Roger, reducing speed.” Captain Dancer reached out and cranked the engine order telegraph, signaling the engine room to reduce speed. He carefully aimed the balloon towards the awaiting mooring mast, where a crew of ponies stood by to help them land.

“Albatross, increase your altitude. You’re dipping,” the voice over the radio warned.

Confused, Dancer glanced at the altimeter amidst the bank of instruments spread before him. Sure enough, he had lost altitude. How had he not noticed? Perhaps somepony had started the release valve too early?

This was the only warning he would get. Though neither he nor anypony else had any way of knowing it, there was a slow leak in the Albatross’ balloon skin. Hydrogen gas was steadily hissing out of the balloon, invisible and odorless, but very, very flammable.

And in one of those terrible twists of fate, those horrible collisions of unknown factors and bad timing, the local weather team was planning a series of thundershowers that day. Static discharge leaped from the tower spire into the air, igniting the leaking hydrogen. With a roar, the TMS Albatross leaped aflame, the brilliant orange and red flames lighting up the sky as if trying to compete with the sun itself.

Stunned by the explosion, Breeze Dancer was knocked off his hooves and fell to the deck. The scent of smoke assaulted his nostrils: panicked screams filled his ears. He tried to get back to his hooves, tried to regain control, but his own ship betrayed him, lurching beneath him and sending him sprawling once more.

He looked up through the windows and stared in horror as the roof of the Skybridge Building rushed at him, ponies desperately trying to run for cover as the Albatross crashed down onto them.

It was the last thing he ever saw.

The clanging of the alarm bell roused Hydrant from his nap. Shaking the cobwebs from his mind, he stumbled out of his bed and sprinted past the other beds towards the bedroom door. The first thing he saw was the rest of the crew gathered around the window, all of them staring out at the city.

“Where? Where is it?” he shouted.

“Look,” Bull Run whispered, pointing out the window. Hydrant followed his gaze and felt his jaw drop in horror.

The Skybridge Building was aflame. Thick columns of smoke twisted up into the sky as if the tower was trying to climb up and pierce the heavens. For a moment, the crew could only stare at the display in universal terror and disbelief.

The continued clanging of the alarm bells eventually roused them from their stupor. “Move it, ponies!” Captain Sweep barked, already sliding down the fire pole to the garage below. The rest of the crew followed one at a time, hurriedly jumping into their boots and swinging their turnout gear over their shoulders.

Hydrant was one of the last ones down the pole, crashing down onto the soft pad at the bottom. He immediately leaped into his waiting boots, pulling the fire-retardant pants up with his teeth as he summoned his jacket and gear to him with his horn.

Bull Run tossed him his helmet as he sprinted past, leaping into the cab of Tanker 45. Hydrant strapped the familiar heavy-duty plastic onto his skull as he climbed in after him.

“Seat belts,” Sous Chef declared, strapping himself in as he took the wheel. With a great wailing of sirens, the tanker pulled out of the firehouse and turned down the streets. The rest of the fleet—Ladder 38, Tanker 12, Command 2, Ambulance 55—followed them out.

Hydrant watched the city streets as they drove past. Every carriage, every vehicle, every pony had stopped. Every civilian’s head was turned towards the pyre, jaws slack and eyes wide in uncomprehending horror.

And they were the ones who had to run towards the fire.

As they neared the Skybridge Tower, they were greeted with crowds of ponies, tossing and crashing against each other in a state of constant motion, like a tumultuous sea. Many were trying to get away; some were desperately searching for missing loved ones; and many were simply standing in place, unsure what to do. Honking the horn, Sous Chef pushed the truck through the crowd.

Several emergency vehicles were already parked around the base of the Skybridge Tower, their lights serving as a beacon that Sous steered towards, parking on the side of the curb. Bull Run and Hydrant were jumping out of the cab almost before the Tanker came to a halt, with Smokey Bear right on their tails.

Command 2 had parked closer to the towers and Spotlight Sweep was already talking into a radio, trying to piece together what was happening and who was going where. Hydrant paused to take in the sight.

The landmark had turned into a twelve-hundred-foot funeral pyre. The top twenty stories were burning, smoke pouring from a gaping hole in the side of the building. Pegasi, both rescue personnel, and brave civilians flew around the fire, trying to help bring trapped ponies down to the ground. Looking around at the gathered emergency vehicles, Hydrant spotted Healing Touch standing next to her ambulance, trying to treat three ponies simultaneously, sweat pouring down her face.

“Hydrant! Bull!” Smokey Bear barked. “The two of you are with me. We’re going to head inside and help with the evacuation.”

“On it,” Bull declared with a grunt as he heaved a long, heavy length of hose onto his shoulder. He snatched up his trusty Denver tool from the rack. Hydrant grabbed another length of hose in his magic and began to follow his two teammates, pushing through the crowds of ponies trying to escape towards the doors of the tower.

A young unicorn mare with wild red hair grabbed Hydrant’s arm as he passed by. Her eyes were wide with hysteria.

“You can’t go up there!” she protested, trying to hold him back, keep him away from the danger. Her grip was strong enough to hold him back, but not tight enough to hurt him. Only a parent knew how to grip like that.

“Ma’am, it’s my job,” Hydrant replied, gently shaking her grip loose. She hesitated and he offered her a grin, noting that she was unadorned by any sign of a wedding ring. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m not gonna die. Then I won’t be able to ask you out to dinner afterward.”

Despite the panic of the situation, she actually managed to look somewhat flattered. Hydrant walked around her and continued on his way. He felt the mare’s eyes on him all the way to the doors.

They pushed their way into the stark white lobby. Ponies were streaming down the stairs, many of them coughing and hacking. Hydrant spotted an elderly pony stumbling down the stairs, one hoof on the railing, one hoof on his chest. His pale face was dotted with sweat, and he sucked at the air.

“I’ve got him,” Smokey stated, already running ahead to help him down. “You two, get upstairs and start helping anypony else down.”

“Will do, lieutenant,” Bull replied, moving past them and up the stairs. Hydrant followed after him, huffing under the weight of the hoses.

They wound their way up and up the stairs, panting as they herded escaping civilians past them, continually telling them to keep calm. As they approached, they could feel the heat from the fire and taste the smoke up above.

Bull stepped aside to allow a trio of ponies in suits to run past them. “Do you know if anypony else is up there?” he asked.

“I think there were some ponies on the 83rd floor!” one of the ponies replied.

“All right. Keep moving down and keep calm,” Bull told him, gesturing for them to move past. The civilians hurried downstairs and Hydrant and Bull Run continued upwards.

When they reached the landing of the 81st floor, they could see smoke pouring out from underneath the doorway. “Standpipe here,” Hydrant said, grunting as he dropped the hose. He attached the end of the hose to the exposed metal valve and screwed it on tight, then twisted the handle to turn the water on. Both of them then unhooked their SCBA facemasks from their belts and tugged them over their heads. They pulled the straps in tight, checked to make sure that they had a good seal, then unhooked the regulators from their belts and hooked them onto the facemasks, twisting them on tight and double-checking to make sure the purge valve was closed.

Hydrant straightened up and took a breath. The airflow started automatically and his facemask sealed tight to his face; his own breathing hissed loudly in his ears like a den of snakes. “You ready?”

“Yeah. You?” Bull Run asked.

Hydrant swallowed and took in a breath, preparing for his journey into Hell. “Ready.”

Bull Run hefted the Denver tool off his shoulders and stepped up to the door, pressing his hoof against it. Nodding in satisfaction, he inserted the prybar into the metal fixture. With a great grunt, he tore the door off its hinges.

The office inside was in ruin; the walls were torn down, chairs and desks were scattered about everywhere, and lights and pipes dangled from the ceiling. Flames licked at everything, coating the floor and walls in a glowing red, ever-changing coat. Hydrant led the way into the inferno, spraying any errant flames that leaped up to stall their progress. Bull Run was right behind, his head panning back and forth in search of any survivors.

“Here,” Bull called, pointing to a pile of collapsed rubble. A pony’s leg was visible from beneath the mess. Hydrant paused, keeping an eye out for any danger as Bull Run used his prybar to lever the fragments of drywall and twisted furniture off the victim. It only took him a few seconds to expose the trapped pony’s head, revealing a brown unicorn with a long blonde mane, his body covered in dust. Bull knelt down and pressed his hoof against the unicorn’s neck, then shook his head.

“No good. Keep moving,” he reported.

Hydrant lingered for a moment. This was, unfortunately, not the first dead pony he had seen, and he knew that if he continued his career, it would likely not be his last. But the sight still made him pause. This had been a pony. Not just a pile of meat and bones, but a personality. Somepony with hopes, dreams, fears, desires. He always wondered about the family. Did this unicorn have a wife or husband? Kids?

“Hydrant! Let’s go!” Bull Run barked.

“Sorry,” Hydrant replied, shaking himself out of his stupor. He continued to lead the way down the hallway, spraying down any flames that blocked their path.

Then, over the roaring and crackling of the fire, both of them heard the sound of voices up ahead. “Help us!” a mare was screaming. “I don’t want to die!”

Both firefighters hurried forwards, running towards the voices. They turned a corner and found themselves blocked by a wall of flaming debris, collapsed walls and ceiling pipes. Behind the wall was a group of several ponies, their sweaty, soot-covered faces marred with terror as they pressed themselves up against the far wall.

Hydrant began to spray the wall of debris with his hose, dampening down the flames to allow Bull Run to move it aside. “Getting hot in here, isn’t it?” he called over the noise of the fires. He was desperate to wipe the sweat from his brow but had to settle for licking it off his lips.

The building suddenly shuddered violently, the steel groaning as though grievously wounded. Several of the trapped ponies screamed in terror, clutching at each other.

“Ladies and gentleponies, please remain calm,” Bull Run declared, his voice loud and clear and calm. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

Hydrant managed to dampen down the flames enough for Bull Run to close in and set to work with his Denver tool, prying the debris loose. Hydrant helped where he could, using his unicorn magic to lift aside any objects that weren’t consumed with magic-scattering fire.

It took them over a minute, but they managed to clear enough of the wreckage aside to allow the civilians to pass. Bull Run reached a hoof through to help ponies out. “Don’t be afraid,” he declared. “We’re going to get you all out of here.”

Another groan shuddered through the building, the floor pitching beneath them like they were on the deck of a ship at sea. With a crashing sound, part of the ceiling collapsed, showering them all with sparks and cinders. Several of the civilians screamed and began to push and shove in a desperate, panicked attempt to get out.

“One at a time!” Bull Run barked, instantly pausing the flood. “Hydrant, let’s move!”

“Come on, ponies, this way!” Hydrant shouted, dropping the hose and following it back up the hallway. The civilians formed a line behind him, with Bull Run forming the caboose of their train. They sprinted back up the hallway, even as the tower continued to shiver and groan.

They reached the stairway. Hydrant started to gesture ponies through one at a time. The flames had almost reached the fully developed stage: nearly everything that could burn was on fire, the roaring mixing with the continuing groans and creaks of the structure.

“Move! Move! All the way down!” Bull Run ordered from the back of the line, ushering a coughing and retching mare forward.

Suddenly, the roof cracked and groaned over his head. He looked up just in time to see a mass of burning and twisted slag tumbling towards his head. Instinctively, he shoved the mare in front of him, pushing her out of the danger zone just in time to avoid being buried by the rubble.

“Bull!” Hydrant screamed in despair, but his cry was answered by a great rending of metal from over his head. Everypony looked up to see more metal and fire raining down upon them. At the same moment, the floor and stairways buckled beneath their hooves. Screams mixed with the tearing metal. The retching mare, her burnt orange coat streaked with soot and her green eyes wide with panic, dived for Hydrant, reaching for his outstretched hooves.

He felt her grip through his fire-retardant boots, but then the stairway was ripped away from him and she slipped from his grasp. He tumbled downwards, fire and smoke and metal and bodies flashing before his gaze. He flailed desperately, trying to grab something, anything solid, but then his body crashed into a wall of concrete that seemed to appear from nowhere. The world roared in his ears, his body burned with pain for a moment, and then Hydrant knew no more.

Part 3: Recovery

The responding firefighters had set up their command post a block away from the Skybridge Towers, on a plot of open grass in between a church and a department store. The responding chiefs and captains had managed to gather as many blueprints and maps and diagrams as they could and were spreading them out across the ground and a collection of folding plastic tables that they’d borrowed from the store. The voices of the responders mixed with the static and grumbling from the radio sets that they’d set up on the tables; a trio of command support trucks were parked in front of the group, their red and blue lights spinning.

“We’ve lost the eighty-seventh floor,” Captain Spotlight Sweep reported, turning away from the hoofset that he had been speaking into. “Pull everypony out of there.”

“Already done,” Captain Wind Barrier of Precinct Nine reported, shaking her long blonde mane out of her eyes. “The fire’s spreading upwards. We need to get more pegasi crews up to the floors above to get any survivors.”

“They can only carry a few ponies at a time, though, and that’s a long way up and down,” Chief Dust Path grunted, chewing on a toothpick as he studied maps of the upper floors that he was holding before his face in his magic. “Not to mention the time wasted searching. We’d probably spend our time better dealing with the survivors that we can all reach.”

“Time wasted?” Wind Barrier snapped. “Time spent trying to save ponies who are going to burn to death is time wasted?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dust Path replied, not looking up from the maps. “What I meant was, we need to triage this situation and focus on saving the ones that we can instead of risking our ponies.”

“They know the risks!” Wind replied. “If we—”

“Enough,” Spotlight cut in. “Arguing wastes everyone’s time and costs us lives. Pull them out of the upper floors.”

Dust Path nodded grimly. Wind Barrier glared at Spotlight for a few moments but made no further arguments.

There was the sound of rapidly approaching hoofsteps and Spotlight looked up to see Smokey Bear hurrying up to one of the trucks. Her face was drenched in sweat and her facemask, which was clipped to her belt, bounced against her side as she ran.

“Ran out of batteries, sir!” Smokey reported, panting as she unhooked her hoofset from her belt and placed it on the rear bumper of the truck. She began to rummage around in the back of the truck for a spare battery.

“Lady?” a small voice asked from behind her. Smokey turned around to see a small foal tugging on her tail. He had a white-yellow coat and a light brown mane, which was cut short. His bright green eyes were wide with concern.

“My mommy won’t wake up,” the foal said, pointing at a nearby ambulance.

Smokey looked up to see a mare with a golden coat laying on a stretcher, an oxygen mask over her face and her eyes closed. It took a few moments, but Smokey eventually detected the slow rise and fall of her chest. She also saw Healing Touch behind her, bustling from pony to pony, her jaw clenched and sweat dripping down her tangled mane as she tried to relieve the suffering of as many ponies as she could. But for everyone that she helped, a dozen more came, pleading for help.

“Your mommy will be fine,” Smokey tried to reassure the foal, giving him a brief pat on the head as she snatched up a spare battery and plugged it into her radio. “I’m sorry, I have to go—”

There was suddenly a great crashing sound, and the screaming began again. Smokey looked up to see that the Skybridge Tower seemed to be folding in on itself, collapsing as though it had been turned into a tower of cards that somepony had pushed. With a drawn-out rumbling noise, the tower tumbled to the ground. A plume of smoke and dust, taller than many of the buildings around them, spread from the foundations, rushing down the streets. Ponies turned to run or fly away or dived for whatever cover was available.

Smokey seized the foal and leaped behind the truck, holding the frail little body to her chest. A moment later, the cloud of debris enveloped them. A deafening roar filled their ears; the thick clouds blotted out all light, leaving them in darkness. She felt, rather than heard, the foal screaming as she held him, his chest convulsing; she herself seemed to forget how to breathe, her body taut and still as though she’d been turned to stone.

It took several minutes for the debris to pass by: it felt like a hundred years. Finally, the roar died down and they were allowed to see again. Smokey remained frozen for several seconds, her ears ringing and her lungs still barely functioning, then gasped and pulled the foal away. “Are you okay?” she shouted, barely able to hear her own voice.

The foal nodded, terrified. Smokey stood up and let go of the foal, looking around. The chiefs and captains were picking themselves up and dusting themselves off, their maps and blueprints and tables scattered everywhere. Healing Touch was lowering the magic shield that she’d placed around herself and her patients, shaking down to the tip of her tail.

Smokey looked and her jaw dropped in horror. Where the Skybridge Tower had stood only moments before was now a pile of rubble, with flames still dotting the surface. Twisted metal jutted out like broken bones protruding from the mountain of concrete and brick that lay on the ground. Smoke still rose from the burning mass, spiraling upwards into the sky.

Her hearing slowly returned, and she was once again painfully aware of the noise that surrounded her. The constant frightened babble of voices, the mixture of static-punctured commands and questions over the radios, the wailing of sirens coming and going—this and a hundred other noises assaulted her ears, exacerbating the headache that had been building for hours.

And then, through all the noise, a sound came to Smokey’s ears that chilled her blood. A distinctive, high-pitched whine.

No, not one whine. Hundreds of them.

“No, no, no, no…” Smokey Bear cried, rushing towards the wreckage, pushing past stunned civilians and responders. In the back of her mind, she briefly acknowledged Spotlight Sweep’s voice calling her back, but she ignored it. The screaming of the PASS devices called her forward.

She pushed past a couple of police officers that briefly tried to hold her back and stopped at the edge of the rubble. A massive mountain of rubble stood before her, a skyscraper turned into a funeral pyre crowned in flames and smoke, which were fighting a vicious battle against the streams of water that poured down it from surrounding ladder trucks. The screaming of the PASS devices was almost deafening, and she imagined that it was her comrade’s voices, crying out for help.

With a desperate cry, Smokey lunged into the pile and began to fling rubble aside, trying to reach the ponies buried beneath. The air around the debris was thick and burning hot, scorching her lungs as she struggled to breathe it. Her hooves grasped a steel beam and she screamed aloud as the hot metal burned her hooves, but she forced herself to ignore the pain, flinging the beam aside.

“Lieutenant!” Sous Chef shouted, running up and wrapping his forelegs around Smokey to try to pull her away.

“No!” Smokey screeched, fighting against him in a bid to fling herself back into the funeral pyre. “Let me go!”

“It’s not safe!” Sous Chef protested, dragging his fighting, protesting lieutenant away from the rubble.

“They need us!” Smokey wailed, still trying to pull herself loose and dive back into the rubble, hoping to pull out the firefighters that were screaming out to her for help.

“Smokey!” Sous shouted, collapsing to the ground and hugging her as tightly as he could. “You can’t get them while it’s like this! You can’t help them!”

“I can!” Smokey cried, the tears in her eyes no longer having anything to do with the smoke stinging her face. “I can! I can…”

She broke down into sobs and buried herself into Sous Chef’s embrace, trying to hide from the world, hide from the death. Sous held her close but could offer no words of comfort. The crackling of the flames continued to fill their ears, mixing with the continuing screams of the PASS devices. A thick column of smoke and debris spiraled up into the mockingly clear blue sky, like a funnel of souls ascending to heaven.

It took over an hour for the fires to finally die beneath the onslaught of water, then they had to wait even longer for the rubble to cool off enough for them to get close; by the time that the responding firefighters, police officers and EMTs could begin searching for bodies and survivors, the shadows of the buildings were growing long beneath the light of the lowering sun. The wailing of the PASS devices continued throughout the search, never ceasing or wavering.

Smokey morosely dug through a pile of twisted cement with a shovel, searching for any sign of anypony. She paused in her work, leaning against the shaft of her tool and wiping sweat, grime, and tears off her face.

“Smokey, catch,” Spotlight Sweep called from the edge of the pit. Smokey looked up in time to see her chief toss her a canteen of water. She grabbed it, unscrewed the top, and emptied a third of the contents over her head, drenching her mane with the wonderfully cold water. Then she tilted her head back and guzzled down the rest of the water in one go.

“Did you find anypony?” Spotlight asked, doffing his helmet and wiping off his mane. The gray in his mane was especially pronounced in the lowering light of the evening.

“No,” Smokey replied hoarsely, tossing the canteen back up to him. She turned around and went back to digging. The coarse wood of the shovel’s shaft dug into the forming blisters on her hooves.

“Smokey, take a break,” Spotlight called down.

“Negative, sir,” Smokey panted, tossing aside another shovelful of scrap and dust. “I’m—”

“Help…”

“What was that?” Smokey said, stopping her work and looking up.

“Everypony quiet!” Spotlight barked. All of the ponies around them stopped what they were doing, freezing where they were, ears perked and listening for any sound over the crackling of dust and electronic wailing.

“Down here…” a voice whimpered.

“Survivor! Over here!” Smokey hollered, diving into the pile and flinging aside debris with her bare hooves.

Spotlight Sweep rushed up next to her and joined in the effort to clear away the rubble, then Sous Chef was there, then Dust Path and Wind Barrier and Healing Touch, all of them pushing aside scrap with machine-like energy and stamina.

With a grunt, Sous pushed a large piece of drywall out of the way and uncovered two forelegs, covered in dust and blood. One, adorned in the torn sleeve of a turnout jacket, lay limp and still. The other, a lime green limb, waved feebly up at them.

Invigorated by the sight of their target, the rescuers redoubled their efforts. Within minutes, they’d uncovered three ponies.

A lime green stallion with pale blue hair lay atop the pile, covered in an inch-thick layer of dust and blood. He blinked up at them and coughed weakly, blood bubbling at his lips.

“Don’t move, don’t speak,” Healing Touch instructed him, rushing to his side in a moment, and casting a spell over him to scan his injuries. She gripped his hoof and smiled. “You’re going to be alright.” She turned and shouted, “Get a stretcher!”

Even as the command was given, Dust Path and Wind Barrier were rushing up to them, a stretcher carried between them. With their help, Healing Touch lifted the patient onto the stretcher and hurried him to an ambulance, where another EMT waited.

But Smokey had already forgotten about him. Her eyes were on the other two ponies, who had cushioned the stallion’s fall with their own bodies.

Hydrant and Bull Run lay side by side, their coats torn, their SCBA masks fractured and hanging from their faces. Their PASS devices hooked to their coats were silent: their batteries had died long ago. Bull’s faithful Denver tool lay mere feet away from his outstretched hoof. Both stallions’ eyes were closed and their bodies still.

Smokey slowly dropped to her knees, staring at her comrade’s bodies. The world seemed to rush away from her, all sound and sensation disappearing save for the corpses. She felt numb, as though her innards had been scooped away, leaving behind nothing.

Then she felt a hoof on her shoulder. She turned to see Sous Chef and Spotlight Sweep standing behind her. Sous had his hoof on her shoulder, squeezing gently in comfort.

“It’s nopony’s fault, Smokey,” Spotlight said in a throaty voice. “They...we all did everything we could.”

“We can always do more,” Smokey replied quietly.

“Survivor! Survivor, over here!” a voice called. The trio looked up to see ponies rushing towards the caller, diving into another pile of rubble.

“We are doing more,” Spotlight said, then rushed off after the other rescuers.

Sous Chef held out a hoof. Smokey Bear stared at it for a moment, then took it allowed Sous to help her to her hooves. She paused briefly to look back at Hydrant and Bull where they lay, then raised her hoof in salute.

“Rest easy, boys,” she whispered, then turned and rushed over to the other rescuers, with Sous Chef racing behind her.

The crews worked through nightfall, with volunteers and other workers swelling their ranks as they cleared debris, tended to the wounded and extracted the dead by the dozens. Cooks from nearby restaurants gathered to create meals to sustain the rescuers, working under Sous Chef’s watchful eye.

As the sun dipped towards the waters of the Celestial Sea, several of the chiefs gathered to plant a flagpole in the midst of the Skybridge Tower’s foundations and ran an Equestrian flag up it. The blue banner with the two alicorns flapped over the mass grave, the fabric stars joining the other stars in the sky to mark the spot where a tower had fallen, and where a hundred heroes lay.

Author's Note

Back in spring of 2016, I went on a visit to NYC with a group from my college to visit the 9/11 Memorial and Museum. Few things in my life have had such an emotional impact on me as that visit. I was only 6 years old when 9/11 happened, but the exhibits there, hearing the voices of the dead and survivors, seeing the terror unfold, and reading the messages left behind by the affected, was like the formerly abstract event had been translated into a language that I could understand.

A vague idea for a story formed in the underground museum, and remained in the back of my mind for over a year, constantly scratching at the walls to get out. I finally began to write it back in June, when I was preparing to graduate college, and wrote this story on and off in the months following.

Now, here at last, is my tribute to not just the men and women who gave their lives on 9/11, but for all the firefighters and rescue personnel who willingly put their own lives in danger so that others might live. I hope that you enjoy this story, and remember to thank your local firefighters.