Then I saw her notice the claiming bites on all our necks.
Her expression shifted through surprise, understanding, and then something that looked like approval. But she didn’t comment, just moved to support Sable’s coordination without missing a beat.
“EMS, this is Coordinator Wynn,” Sable said into her radio, her voice calm and authoritative. “We have a structural collapse with at least twelve trapped workers. Dispatch additional ambulances from County General and activate mutual aid from Millbrook. This is now a mass casualty incident.”
I moved into the debris field, my medical bag already open, my senses immediately overwhelmed with pain and fear and desperation. My scent-sensitivity was both blessing and curse in situations like this. I could identify who needed help most urgently based on their emotional state, could feel when someone was going into shock before the physical symptoms appeared. But I also felt all of their suffering like it was my own.
The first victim was a beta male, pinned under a beam with obvious crush injuries to his legs. Conscious, alert, in significant pain.
“I’m Silas, I’m a paramedic,” I said, kneeling beside him. “I’m going to take care of you. What’s your name?”
“Tom. Tom Rodriguez.” His voice was tight with pain. “Can’t feel my legs. That’s bad, right?”
“Let’s not borrow trouble before we know what we’re dealing with.” I started my assessment, checking vitals, evaluating the crush injury, determining if we could safely move him or if we needed heavy rescue first. Through my sensitivity, I could feel his fear. Not just about the injury, but about his family.
“Family?” I asked while working.
“Wife, three kids. Oldest is twelve.” His eyes found mine. “I need to be okay. They need me to be okay.”
“Then we’re going to make sure you’re okay.” I made the decision quickly. “Beau, I need heavy rescue at my position. We’ve got crush injuries, patient is stable for now, but we need to lift this beam before we can move him.”
Beau’s response came immediately. “Copy that. En route with equipment.”
I moved to the next victim while waiting for extraction support. Another beta, this one with obvious head trauma and decreased consciousness. Critical. This one needed immediate transport.
“Medical One, this is Vance. I need immediate transport for a head trauma, GCS of 10, likely intracranial bleed. Who’s available?”
“Medical Three can take him,” Owen’s voice came back. My partner for the day. “I’m staging at the perimeter.”
“Copy. Bringing patient to you now.”
I worked through the debris field systematically, triaging each victim according to severity. Green tags for walking wounded. Yellow for serious but stable. Red for critical requiring immediate intervention. And one black tag for the older alpha male we found too late, crushed by falling machinery.
That one hurt. Through my sensitivity, I could feel the absence where his life had been. Could feel the grief his packmates would carry. Could feel the failure even though there was nothing anyone could have done.
“Silas.” Sable’s voice in my ear, gentle but firm. “I need you focused. We have eleven more people who need you present, not grieving the one we lost.”
She was right. The bonds meant she could feel when my emotions started spiraling. Could pull me back before I got lost in the empathy overload that came with my sensitivity.
“Copy that,” I said, and kept moving.
Two hours into the response, we’d extracted all victims, transported the most critical, and were in the process of treating the minor injuries on site. Beau had proven his coordination with fire rescue was flawless. Dane had managed the crowd with calm authority while simultaneously documenting everything for his official report. And Sable had coordinated the entire operation without missing a single detail.
We worked together like we’d been a pack for years instead of days.
“That was impressive,” Margaret said, approaching Sable as we moved into recovery phase. “The four of you. I’ve never seen that level of coordination during a multi-agency response.”
“Thank you,” Sable said, and I caught the hint of surprise in her voice. Like she’d expected judgment instead of praise.
“I’m assuming the claiming bites are recent?” Margaret asked directly. “I noticed them on all of you.”
Here it was. The moment where we’d find out how the professional community would react to our pack formation.
“Two days ago,” Sable confirmed, her voice steady despite the nerves I could feel through the bond. “During the storm response. We’re still figuring out the logistics, but our professional coordination isn’t affected.”
“I can see that,” Margaret said. “If anything, you four function better than most established packs I’ve worked with. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”
The relief that flooded through Sable hit me like a wave through our bond. She’d been so worried about professional repercussions, about judgment, about losing respect she’d worked years to build.
