Rory the Fire Truck

Rory the fire truck lived in Station Number Two. His red paint shone like fresh apples, and his chrome lights winked like friendly eyes. Rory loved to help. He loved the feel of his big tires rolling, and he loved the sound his siren made—WEE-OO, WEE-OO! Captain Lina, with a yellow helmet and a smile that made people wave, was Rory’s best friend. Pup Siren, a spotted dog with a waggy tail, liked to nap on Rory’s soft seat.

The morning was bright and busy on Maple Street. People walked by the station. A bicyclist rang a bell. A bus whooshed past. Captain Lina checked the hose. Firefighter Jay coiled a rope. Pup Siren chased a tiny bubble.

Then—clang-clang! The bell rang. Captain Lina listened to the radio. "Small puff of smoke at Sunny Street Bakery," she said. "Let’s roll!"

Rory’s engine hummed. His lights flicked on. The big door slid open, and out they went. WEE-OO, WEE-OO! Rory eased through traffic with care. Cars pulled to the side. Children waved. Rory liked waving back in his own way—he blinked his lights like a hello.

At Sunny Street Bakery, Mr. Park stood outside, flapping his floury apron. A gray cloud drifted from the open door. "It smells like burnt toast," said Firefighter Jay.

Captain Lina nodded. "Small smoke. Stay back, everyone." She patted Rory’s side. "Water ready, please. The gentle spray."

Rory settled his wheels. The hose snaked from his side with a soft shhh. Firefighter Jay aimed at the toaster oven inside, only a quick puff to cool it. Captain Lina opened wide windows. Fresh air rushed through. Pup Siren trotted in circles, sniffed, and sneezed politely.

Soon the smoky cloud thinned and twirled away. The bakery smelled like sugar and cinnamon again. Mr. Park clapped. "My heroes!" he said, grinning flour on his nose. He held up a tray. "Cinnamon swirls for you!"

Captain Lina shook her head with a laugh. "Maybe later, Mr. Park. We have to make sure everything is safe." She checked the oven cords. "All good now."

"Help!" a voice called from across the street. "My kitten! Pickle is on the roof!"

Rory turned his lights toward a little blue house. A girl named Mia waved from the yard, worried eyes wide. A small gray kitten peered over the roof edge and mewed, "Mrrrp?"

"We’re on it," said Captain Lina. "Easy, Rory. Let’s raise the ladder."

Rory stood steady. His ladder lifted—creeeeeak—stretching up like a tall giraffe neck. Firefighter Jay clipped on his strap. "Climbing," he said. Pup Siren gave a helpful bark: "Woof!"

Up the ladder went Firefighter Jay, one careful step at a time. "Hi, Pickle," he said gently. "It’s okay. I’ve got you."

Pickle backed up a teeny bit, paws skittering. Captain Lina called, "Mia, talk to your kitten. Let her hear your voice."

Mia cupped her hands. "Pickle! You’re okay! Look, your favorite towel!"

Captain Lina held up a soft blue towel. Pickle sniffed the air. Firefighter Jay wiggled his fingers in the towel like a tiny blanket. "Cozy?"

"Mrrrp," said Pickle. She stepped closer. Firefighter Jay scooped her up gently, wrapping her in the towel burrito-snug. "Got you, Pickle."

Down the ladder they came, step by careful step. Halfway, Pickle peeked out and hopped onto Firefighter Jay’s helmet. The crowd gasped, then giggled. Firefighter Jay froze like a statue. "Steady as a tree," he said softly.

"You’re doing great," Captain Lina called. "Easy now."

Rory kept perfectly still. His ladder didn’t wobble. Pup Siren sat, tail thumping, eyes bright. At the bottom, Pickle sprang into Mia’s arms and purred a motorboat purr.

"Thank you!" Mia said, hugging Pickle and the towel. "You’re the best."

"We’re happy to help," Captain Lina replied. She gave Rory’s fender a pat. Rory’s engine made a pleased little rumble—brrr.

On the way back to the station, the town felt extra sunny. Banners fluttered. A garbage truck beeped hello. A breeze carried the sweet smell of donuts and soap.

At Station Number Two, Rory parked neatly. The firefighters washed the hose. Pup Siren shook water everywhere, and everyone laughed. Captain Lina sprayed a gentle arc that made a tiny rainbow sparkle in the mist. "Teamwork shines," she said, tapping helmets with Firefighter Jay.

Rory’s red sides were rinsed and bright again. He settled under the big open door, watching Maple Street bustle by. He liked the calm hum of the day. He liked being ready.

WEE—no, not yet. Not every moment is an emergency. Sometimes it’s good to breathe, to listen, and to wait.

Rory the fire truck waited with a happy engine and a shiny smile, ready for the next call, whenever someone needed help.