The Fox and the Fire Escape

I don’t normally take jobs in the city. I built my name, my career, and my reputation in the country, much to the chagrin of the locals. Some of them said that my projects were nothing but eyesores that ruined idyllic rural vistas.

But to me? Work is work. I’ll build a school, modernise a hospital wing, or tarnish a perfect countryside view with a lovely grey car dealership. The only thing I definitely do not like is the wildlife; it gets in the way more than you’d think. One time, I had to delay a project that’d been in the works for months, just because a family of squirrels decided to settle down in an abandoned mill. Thanks to them, my credit score dropped by 50 points.

So I thought going to the city would be a nice change of pace. It was 8 o’clock in the morning on a crisp winter's morning. The plant hire company had just dropped off the digger, and my team of 20 world-beaters were gathered around, ready for the team talk, their breaths visible in the cold winter air.

The job was simple: renovate an abandoned, 19th-century apartment block. It had seen better days. Its crumbling, graffiti-ridden red bricks appeared as if they were going to give way at any moment, and slip straight onto the block of newer flats right next door. The two were only separated by a narrow alleyway.

After the team talk, we were off to work.

The vision was clear: modern, affordable housing for the young professionals who were flocking to the city. That morning, I showed one of the new lads how to operate the digger, before taking a step back and focusing on the bigger picture. We were ahead of schedule and under budget. Everything was moving forward exactly like we planned; crew members had set up the bones scaffolding, and we’d packed the alleyway with other materials we needed for the build.

But then, I heard a bark.

Yes, a bark.

The crew froze, and I rushed over to get a closer look. 30 feet up and cowering on a rusted fire escape, that itself was hardly attached to the side of the crumbling building, was a small, terrified fox.

Another bark. The poor thing was shaking. How the animal somehow got there was hardly my concern because, at least at first glance, there was no way for it to get down. The fire escape’s handrails had been lost to time, and its lower half was missing entirely.

The fox continued to shake, teetering on the edge of the narrow platform that loomed high up, overlooking the alleyway that now housed all of our supplies for the job. It whimpered and cried out for help, scratching at the base of the rusty fire escape. Damn it.

I halted the work and called the team down. Without saying a word, I marched over to the digger and thrust open the door. The lad inside jumped out without hesitation, and I threw myself into the driver’s seat.

The machine roared to life. I could feel it trembling beneath me like a chained metal beast, desperate to run wild. But I could control it. Here, amongst the hissing hydraulic lines and groaning steel, I was at peace. I stretched the boom up through the alleyway, between the tight, canyon-like city walls.

Thirty feet up, the fox was clinging to the old fire escape. One wrong move, and the whole thing could peel away from the old wreck of a building.

The fox let out another shrill, petrified bark.

And the digger answered immediately. Because it wasn’t a machine anymore, it was an extension of my own body; another limb that I could easily raise up overhead, without a second thought. I smoothly rotated the bucket as the arm threaded through the maze of scaffolding.

I paused.

The bucket was open, barely a foot away from the edge of the fire escape. For one long moment, the fox knelt on the edge of the fire escape, mustering courage. Its shakes steadied, and its eyes narrowed as it focused on its target.

Then it jumped.

The creature leapt through the air, landing straight into the safety of the open bucket. Once inside, I could see a small auburn head poking out of the top.

The rest was a blur, as I reversed the digger and lowered the bucket to the ground. I let out a long sigh of relief and rubbed my eyes.

I opened them just in time to see a fuzzy, chestnut-coloured blur disappear down the alleyway.