My Witnesses Have Paws and Wings Chapter 1

The October layoffs sent me packing, crawling back to my hometown with my tail between my legs. That’s when I heard the voice, a strange, raspy thought that wasn’t my own.

Such a pathetic two-legs. The first one to charge into the inferno, saved so many, yet he died the worst death of all. Seven years, and his body’s still buried under this pile of rubble. Caw-caw.

My head snapped up. An old crow was perched on the edge of the ruins next to the first-floor skeleton of a collapsed building, tilting its small, black head.

Mrow! You said it! A calico cat was digging through the broken bricks nearby, hunting for mice.

They never found his body, so everyone assumed he ran scared from the fire. The humans called him a coward, threw filth at his house. No good deed goes unpunished, meow.

I froze, my blood turning to ice. My fingers fumbled for my phone as I dialed 911.

“Hello, police? I need to bring a hero home!”

* * *

The dispatcher’s voice was calm, practiced. “Ma’am, have you found a missing elderly person?”

“Not an old man, a firefighter! A hero!” I said, my voice tight. “The Sterling Port disaster, seven years ago. A firefighter died saving people, but his remains… they’re still buried under the rubble.”

The dispatcher’s tone sharpened. “You’ve located human remains?”

“No, but I have witnesses. A crow and a calico cat, they’re always around the ruins. They said the hero is still crushed under there.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. I could practically picture the officer’s expression. “Ma’am,” he said slowly, “are you currently under a doctor’s care?”

“You have to believe me! I’m not sick!” I was practically tripping over my own words, trying to explain. “I’m a survivor of the Port Sterling fire. After I made it out, I… I could understand what animals were thinking. My house was destroyed, so I’ve been away at college. Today’s the first day I’ve been back.”

I took a shaky breath. “The crow and the cat told me the hero who died was vilified, that people threw trash on his family’s lawn. I have a strong feeling it might be Captain O’Connell—the one they called the ‘deserter,’ the story that went national.”

“It’s possible he didn’t run,” I pleaded. “It’s possible he died on the front lines and was just… lost. Please, send someone to check. Give a hero back his name. Bring him home.”

The officer clearly decided I was a lost cause. He hung up.

I had no idea if he’d take any of it seriously.

The Sterling Port Disaster was a national tragedy. 231 people dead, including 36 firefighters. The official story was that most of those firefighters died because Captain Mike O’Connell deserted his post, causing a catastrophic loss of water pressure.

Everyone in the country knew his name. Mike O’Connell, the only firefighter to ever run from a fire. He was a symbol of shame, an object of national hatred.

I used to believe it, too. After all, they’d recovered the bodies of every other fallen firefighter. His was the only one missing. He must have run.

But now… I clenched my fists, went to my grandfather’s old shed, and came back with a shovel.

Under the moonlight, the old crow watched me. Is this two-legs going to dig up the ruins? What is she doing?

“I want to bring the hero home,” I said, hoisting the shovel. “Help me.”

To my astonishment, the bird seemed to understand.

It let out a series of calls, and soon, a small army of animals emerged from the shadows. The calico cat began pawing at loose bricks.

“The human wants to help the sad human get home! Come on, everyone, help!”

A stray dog started digging at the dirt with its front paws. Woof! For the hero! Dig, dig, dig!

A few sparrows fluttered down, carrying away small pebbles in their beaks. Gently! Don’t wake the hero~

Even the crow, usually so aloof, joined in, using its beak to pry at loose bits of rubble.

At three in the morning, the shovel hit something hard with a loud clang.

I dropped to my knees, my flashlight beam cutting through the dark. There, in the shallow pit, was a charred section of a leg bone.

Caw-caw-caw! We found him! the crow shrieked, flapping its wings.

“It’s the hero’s bone!”

I didn’t hesitate. I called the police again.

Soon, the entire ruin was cordoned off with yellow tape.

When the complete, blackened skeleton was carefully lifted from the earth, a collective gasp went through the assembled officers. The adult skeleton was curled into a protective posture, and held tightly in its embrace was the tiny skeleton of an infant.

“Adult male. And the little girl in his arms. Both died of asphyxiation.” A cool, female voice cut through the silence, filled with a mixture of regret and admiration. “The deceased likely tried to use his own body to shield the child, to give her a pocket of air. But… the child was probably already gone.”

A woman in a medical examiner’s jacket was kneeling by the pit, her eyes dispassionate, almost chillingly calm as she took notes.

Just then, I heard the calico cat’s thought from near my feet.

Mrow, so sad. Her own husband, right in front of her, and the two-legs doesn’t even recognize him.

My heart skipped a beat. The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“That man… the adult male… he’s your husband.”