The first thing Dave noticed was the smoke.

Thick clouds of it shrouded the store in darkness, leaving only the flashing fire alarm to illuminate the front of the store. Dave cried out as something slammed into his shoulder.

"Perdóneme!" Joaquin yelled. His footsteps faded beneath the alarm as he sprinted for the front door.

"I'll handle the kitchen," Walt said. "You check the break room and office."

Dave fumbled his way to the break room. A loud thud echoed through it, followed by muffled cursing. "Who's in here?" Dave asked.

Another thud, followed by a wheeze.

The bright yellow bands on Roger's uniform flashed as they reflected light sneaking inside through the window. "Get out of here," he said. Thud. "The door's jammed."

Dylan's voice broke through the smoke. "Not without Mr. Morison," they said. Thud.

Dave followed the sound of their yelling and hefted his ax. "I'll get him out. Roger, you handle the fire. Dylan, get out of here as fast as you can."

They obliged, leaving only the whoosh of a fire extinguisher spraying foam and faint wheezing coming from the other side of the door to be heard above the crackling fire.

Dave swung the ax. Wood gave away with a crack as splinters flew. Mr. Morison lay on the floor, shielding his nose and mouth with his sleeve as coughs wracked his body.

There was no way he'd be able to get out on his own.

"Get away from the door!"

Mr. Morison crawled further into his office and curled into a ball with his hands shielding his head.

Whack! The ax tore through what remained of the door. Dave maneuvered his way around the office and bent down next to Mr. Morison. "Here we go. One." He eased his arms under the man looking at him with wide eyes. "Two." He braced himself for the lift.

"Three!"

Dave hauled Mr. Morison into his arms with a grunt. Roger weaved around him to put out the flames in the office as Dave ran through the smoke-filled break room. His breath came in ragged gasps, although he wasn't sure if that was because of the smoke or the effort of carrying the out-of-shape store owner.

At last, he escaped the store and eased Mr. Morison onto the ground. "There," he said, flashing what he hoped was a confident grin but was more of an exhausted grimace as Dylan rushed to his side.

As Maria helped the recently arrived paramedics assess everyone's condition, Mr. Morison struggled into a sitting position. He trembled like a leaf in a hurricane as he coughed.

"You need to rest," Dylan said as they offered him a handful of napkins, the closest thing they had to a handkerchief.

He waved them off. "Nonsense." Another cough. "I am a smoker, you know. Smoke hasn't killed me yet, and it's not about to start now."

Chief Nicholson gently rested his hand on Mr. Morison's shoulder. "Do it for Roy," he said. "It would break the little guy's heart if you get sick from all this."

"You actually remembered his name." He snorted. "And here I thought Walt and his boys were the only ones that really cared."

"I care about all of Maplevale's citizens, even the four-legged ones," the police chief said solemnly.

"In that case," said Mr. Morison, "I'd like to extend my free doughnut policy to the police and, if you'll allow it, the firefighters. You've all more than earned it today."

Chief Nicholson shielded his eyes against the setting sun as he watched Roger emerge from the store with singed hair and an empty fire extinguisher, followed closely by Walt. The pair wrangled the fire hose to put out the last of the lingering flames. "They definitely deserve it."

"Wait a minute—" Officer Jones's protest was cut off by the chief's raised hand.

"You tried to delay these good men from doing their jobs. It would be wise for you to shut your mouth."

Joaquin chortled at the cop's sudden silence. "Man, it's about time someone figured out how to make him behave. Now we just need to teach him to play dead."

As the last of the smoke dissipated, Dave took Dylan's hand in his. "I'm so glad you're okay," he said. "I don't know what I would have done if anything had happened to you."

"You'd have had to go crawling back to Dippin' Doughnuts, I guess," they said with a laugh. "But seriously, thank you."

The acrid smokiness clinging to his uniform didn't stop them from wrapping him in a tight embrace. In their arms, he felt more lightheaded than he ever had in the middle of the blaze.