Chapter 2 — The Stray's Story

Zadie Mercer

Zadie Mercer pushed her auburn curls out of her face and let out a slow, frustrated breath, crouching to stroke the stray dog that now leaned against her leg. The animal’s trembling had subsided, though its wiry tail only gave the faintest twitch of a wag. Not bad for a few minutes’ work, she thought with a flicker of pride. Her green eyes darted toward Tobias Lane, the paramedic whose no-nonsense demeanor radiated like the heat rising off the asphalt. He stood nearby, arms crossed, his stance projecting the same guarded calm she often saw in zoo vets—people who needed to stay steady even when a tiger was baring its teeth.

Zadie hated silence. It clung to her like a damp sweater, heavy and uncomfortable. So she filled it the way she always did—with words.

“Okay, so,” she began, scratching the scruffy mutt behind its ears. “First order of business: a name. We can’t just keep calling him ‘dog,’ right? That’s like calling a flamingo ‘long-legged chicken.’ Completely undignified. Let’s see…”

She tilted her head, studying the stray. It wasn’t much to look at—patchy fur clung to its bony frame, its ribs jutting like crooked xylophone keys, and its face carried a mix of desperation and quiet resilience. Yet, there was something in its eyes—a flicker of life, of fight—that tugged at her heart.

“How about…Sir Wigglesworth? No, wait, that’s too posh. You look more like a Scrappy. Or maybe Captain Skedaddle.”

The dog’s ears flicked slightly, its head tilting as if to consider the options. Zadie grinned, pleased with herself. Tobias, on the other hand, pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture that practically screamed *long day, short patience*.

“Do you always name stray animals like this?” he asked, his voice calm, measured, with just enough dryness to make his skepticism clear.

“Of course,” Zadie replied breezily. “It’s basic animal care protocol. Give them a name, and suddenly they’re not just a problem—they’re family. Try it. I bet you’re one of those people who gives super practical names, like if you had a pet turtle, you’d call it…what? Shelly?”

Tobias raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Better than Captain Skedaddle.”

She laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained against the dull, oppressive roar of the gridlocked interchange. “Oh, come on. Captain Skedaddle is perfect. Nervous on the outside, but underneath, he’s got the heart of a hero. Don’t you, boy?” She ruffled the dog’s ears again, earning a tentative lick on her hand.

Tobias’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze drifting back to the endless line of cars stretching into the distance. Even crouched at the edge of the gridlock, the clamor of the jam pressed in on them—the blaring horns, muffled curses spilling from open windows, the faint scent of exhaust mingling with the sharp tang of baking asphalt. His jaw tightened, and his hands flexed briefly before he folded his arms across his chest.

“You’re worried about those supplies.” Zadie’s voice softened, her playful edge giving way to something gentler. It wasn’t a question.

Tobias ran a hand through his close-cropped brown hair, mussing it further. “People are waiting on them. Critical supplies. I can’t…” He hesitated, his words trailing off like a frayed thread.

“You can’t just sit here,” she finished for him, nodding. “I get it. You’re a fixer. So am I.” She gestured broadly to the embroidered zoo logo on her brightly colored shirt. “If I’m not around, who’s going to keep the otters from staging a coup?”

That earned her the faintest twitch of a smile—not much, but enough to nudge a small triumph into her chest. “Otter coups?” he asked, his tone still dry but lighter now.

“Highly organized,” she said with a wink, leaning in conspiratorially. “They’ve got tiny little battle plans and everything.”

For the briefest moment, his expression softened, but the tension in his shoulders remained, his hazel eyes scanning the chaos around them. Zadie saw how the weight of the jam was pressing on him—the way his gaze lingered on the flashing red lights of stalled vehicles as if willing them to part. He looked like a man who carried more burdens than any one person should, and she felt the instinctive urge to shift the mood.

“So,” she said, her tone turning casual again, “what do you think Captain Skedaddle’s story is?”

Tobias glanced at her, perplexed. “His story?”

“Sure. Every stray’s got one. Maybe he used to live in a cozy apartment, eating organic kibble. Then one day, he got bored and said, ‘You know what? Time to see the world.’ So he hit the road. Lived off hot dogs and leftover pizza crusts. Maybe joined a gang of street-smart raccoons.”

Tobias raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Or maybe his owner couldn’t take care of him anymore, and he’s been surviving on garbage ever since.”

Zadie winced slightly, her gaze dropping back to the dog. The bluntness of his words cut through her playful tone, but she couldn’t deny the truth in them. She smoothed the scruffy fur on the dog’s neck, her hands moving slower now. “Well, sure,” she said softly. “That could be it. But I like to think there’s more to him than that. Something brave. Something…heroic.”

The paramedic’s skeptical gaze shifted to the dog, who had flopped onto the ground, gnawing lazily at its paw. “Heroic?” he asked, one eyebrow arching high.

“Absolutely,” Zadie insisted. “You can see it in his eyes. He’s a scrappy underdog—literally—just waiting for his big moment. One day, he’ll pull a kid out of a river or defuse a bomb, and we’ll all say, ‘Wow, Captain Skedaddle, what a hero.’”

Tobias huffed a reluctant laugh, shaking his head. “You’re relentless. You know that?”

“Part of my charm,” she replied with a grin.

For a moment, the two of them sat in companionable silence. The stray shifted closer to Zadie, resting its bony head on her knee, and she stroked its patchy fur absentmindedly. The hum of the city surrounded them, a discordant symphony of engines and voices and frustration, but here, at least, was a small pocket of calm.

“You’re doing what you can,” Zadie said after a while, her voice quieter now. “Sometimes, that has to be enough.”

Tobias’s eyes met hers briefly, his expression unreadable. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

“Every day,” she answered, her tone simple and sincere.

The faintest flicker of something passed over his face—acknowledgment, perhaps, though she wasn’t sure. He didn’t seem like the type to say much aloud, but she had the feeling her words had landed somewhere beneath his quiet exterior.

Before either of them could say more, a gravelly voice interrupted from above.

“Excuse me,” the voice said. Zadie and Tobias both looked up to see an older man leaning against the window of a silver sedan. He was tall and wiry, with silver hair and glasses perched precariously on his nose. In one hand, he held a small leather notebook, his thumb tracing its edges with quiet precision.

“Quite the team effort you’ve got here,” the man remarked, his tone mild and observant. “I must say, it’s fascinating to watch people navigate these little moments of chaos.”

Zadie tilted her head, intrigued. “And who are you? The chaos expert?”

The man smiled faintly. “Jonah West. Retired professor. Amateur observer of humanity.” He tapped the notebook against his palm, his sharp gaze flicking between Zadie and Tobias. “You two make an interesting pair. Complementary, one might say.”

“We’re not a pair,” Tobias said quickly, his tone clipped.

Jonah’s smile widened, his expression serene. “Not yet.”

Zadie couldn’t help the startled laugh that escaped her. “Well, Jonah West, retired professor, we’ll keep that in mind.” She scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Right now, we’re just trying to keep Captain Skedaddle here out of traffic.”

Jonah nodded thoughtfully. “A noble cause. And one that, perhaps, reflects more about you than the dog.”

Tobias frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jonah opened his notebook and jotted something down in neat, deliberate strokes. Zadie leaned forward, curious, but he snapped it shut before she could glimpse the words.

“Sometimes,” Jonah said, tucking the notebook under his arm, “it’s in these small, shared moments that we find ourselves reminded—connection is the thread that binds us, even in chaos.” He gestured at the jam around them, his smile faint but knowing.

Zadie glanced at Tobias, who looked equally bemused, though she caught the barest flicker of amusement in his expression. Jonah’s calm presence was strange, yet oddly grounding—like a quiet ripple in the middle of a storm.

“Well,” Zadie said, brushing a strand of hair back, “thanks for the insight, I guess. Enjoy the gridlock.”

Jonah inclined his head. “I suspect there’s more insight ahead. For now, good luck with your captain.” With that, he turned and disappeared into the sea of cars, his silver sedan blending into the haze of shimmering heat.

Zadie watched him go, shaking her head. “Do you think we’re going to get a philosophical analysis every time we rescue a stray?”

Tobias exhaled a short laugh, his shoulders finally easing a fraction. “I hope not. One Jonah West is enough.”

Grinning, Zadie scooped the dog closer. “Come on, Captain Skedaddle. Let’s get you some water. The adventure’s just getting started.”

And for the first time in hours, Tobias found himself following her lead.