I had adopted Max from a rescue shelter five years ago, right after my divorce. The shelter volunteer had warned me that huskies were high-energy, stubborn, and prone to dramatic behavior. “They’re basically toddlers in dog bodies,” she had said. But Max had been my constant companion through everything. Through the dark depression that followed the divorce, the career changes, the long hours. He even came to work with me sometimes on dog-friendly Fridays.
So this—this snarling, briefcase-destroying, badge-stealing behavior—was completely alien.
I looked at my phone. It was 7:34 a.m. The presentation started at 9:00 sharp.
I needed to leave right now if I wanted to beat the elevators and get set up. But Max was still guarding that bathroom like it contained the crown jewels.
I had no choice. I called Henderson.
— Robert, I’m really sorry, but I can’t make it in. I’m sick. Food poisoning, I think. It hit me hard this morning.
The lie tasted bitter in my mouth. I had never called in sick for something important before.
Henderson’s sigh came through the phone like the sound of a punctured tire.
— Marcus, this is really, really bad timing. The Meridian people are already in the car. I’ve got the entire executive team clearing their schedules for this.
— I know. I’m so sorry. I just… I can’t.
— We’ll have to reschedule. I’ll tell them you have the flu or something. Try to push it to next week. — His voice was tight with controlled anger. — Get better. Rest up.
He hung up without saying goodbye.
I stood there in my ruined suit. My destroyed briefcase lay on the floor. My laptop was probably cracked beyond repair. My work badge was currently being used as a chew toy. I had just torpedoed six months of work because I couldn’t physically leave my apartment.
Max emerged from the bathroom, my badge still in his mouth but no longer being chewed. He walked over to me, dropped the badge at my feet—surprisingly gently—and then just sat there, staring at me with those unsettling blue eyes.
— Are you happy now? — I asked him. — Are you satisfied?
He didn’t wag his tail. He just sat, watching, waiting.
I picked up the badge. The plastic was cracked but still intact. My photo and name were visible through the deep teeth marks. I tossed it onto the couch and started peeling off my suit jacket.
My phone rang again. 8:47 a.m.
Henderson’s name flashed on the screen. I almost didn’t answer. I figured he was calling to officially fire me. But something in my gut made me pick up.
— Don’t come in.
His voice was barely above a whisper, shaking so badly I almost couldn’t understand him.
— Marcus, don’t come in. Don’t come anywhere near the building.
My stomach dropped.
— What? Why? What happened?
— There’s been… — He couldn’t finish the sentence. I heard him making sounds that might have been breathing or might have been sobbing. — There’s been an incident.
— What kind of incident? Robert, what’s going on?
— A gas leak from the overnight construction on the third floor. They were installing new ventilation systems. Something went wrong. The maintenance crew found a broken seal.
— Marcus… the morning meeting. They’re gone.
The world tilted on its axis. I sat down hard on the edge of my bed.
— What?
— The entire team. The clients. Carbon monoxide from a faulty connection in the ventilation line. They think it started leaking around 6:00 this morning. By the time anyone realized something was wrong, it was too late. They just… fell asleep.
The phone slipped from my hand and clattered onto the floor. I looked at Max. He was still sitting in the doorway, perfectly still. Those ice-blue eyes were fixed on me like he had known all along exactly what he was doing.
I didn’t move for a long time. I couldn’t process what Henderson had said. My team was gone. Jake was gone. And it was all because of a gas leak I would have walked directly into if Max hadn’t physically prevented me from leaving.
My phone buzzed with incoming texts. It began to vibrate incessantly, a repository of panic. Messages from spouses, parents, and friends, all asking the same terrifying questions, all searching for loved ones who weren’t answering.
I couldn’t answer any of them. I couldn’t form words.
Max walked over and put his heavy head on my knee. He wasn’t demanding attention. He wasn’t being playful. He was just present. Solid. Real.
I put my hand on his head. I felt the soft fur. The warmth of life.
— How did you know? — I whispered into the silence. — How the hell did you know?
The news broke on television about an hour later. I sat on my couch watching the live coverage. Max pressed against my leg as reporters stood outside our shared building complex, talking about the tragic workplace accident.
My phone rang. Henderson again.
— Marcus. — His voice sounded like it had aged twenty years in a single morning. — I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you knew.
— The paramedics said five more minutes in that room would have killed me too — he said, his voice breaking. — I was just down the hall making copies. Why weren’t you there, Marcus? And I want the real reason.
I looked down at Max.
— My dog wouldn’t let me leave my apartment. I know how that sounds. But he blocked the door. Destroyed everything I needed to get to work.
Silence stretched on the other end. Then:
— Dogs can smell carbon monoxide. Did you know that? The paramedics… they use detection dogs sometimes. Their sense of smell is so sensitive they can detect it in concentrations humans can’t even measure.
— Our building’s ventilation system… — I said slowly, the understanding dawning on me. — It’s connected. My apartment is on the fifth floor. The office is on the tenth.
— Your dog smelled it through the shared vents — Henderson said. — He knew. Somehow he knew that if you left your apartment and went upstairs, you’d be in danger.
Detective Maria Santos came to my apartment that evening. She was a professional woman in a weary blazer, carrying a notebook. She introduced herself, and I gave her my full name, Marcus Wright, before inviting her in.
