The first knock came at dawn, loud and urgent.

Maria opened the door to find her neighbor, Sam, his face streaked with ash. “The fire’s jumped the canyon,” he said. “We need to get out—now.”

Maria’s heart sank as she glanced at the packed boxes still scattered around her living room. She’d been stalling, unsure what to take. Her husband was deployed overseas, and she felt paralyzed making these decisions alone.

“I’ll help you pack,” Sam said, already stepping inside.

Soon, more neighbors arrived. Rosa from two doors down brought extra boxes, while Ahmed from the corner house hauled Maria’s heavy photo albums to her car.

“The Thompsons!” Rosa exclaimed suddenly. “They’re elderly—they might need help!”

Without hesitation, the group split up. Sam and Ahmed ran toward the Thompsons’ house, their shadows flickering against the orange horizon. Rosa stayed behind to comfort Maria’s trembling hands as they loaded the last of her belongings.

At the Thompsons’ home, Sam pounded on the door. “Mr. Thompson! Mrs. Thompson! Are you in there?”

The door creaked open, and a frail voice answered, “We’re here... but Henry can’t find his heart medication.”

Ahmed didn’t miss a beat. “You grab what you can. I’ll find the meds.”

Within minutes, they emerged with the Thompsons, clutching a suitcase and a box of pills. Sam helped Henry into the back seat of his car while Ahmed carried their cat, tucked safely in its carrier.

Back on the main street, neighbors gathered, checking in on each other. Someone handed out water bottles, another passed flashlights. The air was thick with smoke, but the street buzzed with a sense of unity.

As the first firetruck roared past, Maria looked around at her neighbors—some she barely knew before this morning. Now, they felt like family.

They formed a caravan, headlights piercing the smoky dawn as they drove toward safety together.

Maria glanced in her rearview mirror and saw Sam’s truck leading the way, the Thompsons in tow. Despite the chaos, she felt an odd sense of calm. They were leaving behind their homes, but not each other.

The fire would rage, but it couldn’t burn what mattered most: the chain of hands that had held them together.