not
like
tears. Alongside tears. I’m an oozing mess, but I’m the oozing mess that is going to save Rankin Moore’s life.
Now.
Another swing. The blade slips against the metal this time.
Now.
“You’re going to get us all killed—”
Now.
It’s useless, but I can’t stop flailing at the car. I have to get through. If I don’t…
If I
fail
…
“For fuck’s sake, Long!”
A hand grabs my shoulder. I spin around, prepared to give its owner a piece of my mind, but Zelda’s expression runs me through. Her face brings to mind a forest ripped apart by fire, her cheeks smeared with ash and grief. She glances down at Hanna, whose arms hang limp as a doll’s, her feet dragging on the ground.
“She’s the priority,” Zelda says. Her teeth look yellow in the grimy light, but they’re still easier to look at than her hard, devastated eyes.
I glance back at the elevator. Listen for noise on the other side.
Nothing.
No coughing. Not even a rasp.
—
Even as Zelda and I descend the stairwell with Hanna strung limply between us, people are going up. Shoulders grind against me, legs threatening to tangle with mine and Zelda’s. If we trip, we’ll be trampled. If we stop, even for a moment, there’s a good chance we’ll be carried backward by the force of so many bodies, trapped in the stream of panicked people searching for a way outside.
Animal instinct. I hear it, too. A harsh drumbeat in the background of my thoughts, pounding lustily as a heart.
Get away,
it orders.
Get away from the flames get above the smoke get away get away get away—
They have no way of knowing that direction leads only to death.
Someone needs to tell them,
I think. Give them instructions—what to do, where to go. And just as I finish the thought, I know that someone has to be me. Rankin said a bomb went off on Command, too. For all I know, the rest of the council is dead and I’m the only one left. The only one with any real authority. People will listen to me.
I open my mouth to shout a warning to those passing by us, but the smoke’s wrecked my voice. Even trying to wheeze out a few syllables—
Wait, no, down, go DOWN
—makes me feel like I’m drowning, my lungs packed with brackish water. I can’t catch my breath. Coughing harder into my arm, I reach a hand out to stop a woman with short brown hair; she slaps it away. Her terrified gaze travels straight through me. I’m just another obstacle in her fight for survival.
So much for that idea. I’d need a damn megaphone to punch through all this chaos.
Huh. There’s a thought.
As soon as we reach Medical, we’re welcomed by a gust of clean air—or clean
er
air. The faint, acrid odor of hot metal, sweat, and smoke invade even this level, delivered along with the many bodies currently flocking through its open doors. Adrenaline makes the scene feel a little unreal, like I’ve accidentally stepped onto a movie set. Part of my brain refuses to acknowledge that this is happening, this is
actually happening,
and Rankin…
I pass Hanna off to Zelda, urging my friend’s body gently into the other woman’s arms. “Get her to a doctor,” I order, trying not to hack up the rest of my lungs. “Ask for Matsuki Shigeru.”
“Water?” A man cuts in between us, his arms laden with bottles of water.
“Yes, thank you,” I say, my throat feeling more than ever like a desert. I’m touched by the thoughtfulness. He’s not the only one reaching out, either. There are others going around with water and bandages, trying to help the influx of victims.
Zelda snatches a water bottle without thanks, uncaps it, and throws it back like a shot. “And where do you think you’re going?” she rasps, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. I expect her expression to be fierce or irritated—typical Zelda attitude—but instead she looks a little afraid. Her eyes scan the crowd around us, searching all the faces stained with soot and dust and blood. I know she’s looking for her
like
tears. Alongside tears. I’m an oozing mess, but I’m the oozing mess that is going to save Rankin Moore’s life.
Now.
Another swing. The blade slips against the metal this time.
Now.
“You’re going to get us all killed—”
Now.
It’s useless, but I can’t stop flailing at the car. I have to get through. If I don’t…
If I
fail
…
“For fuck’s sake, Long!”
A hand grabs my shoulder. I spin around, prepared to give its owner a piece of my mind, but Zelda’s expression runs me through. Her face brings to mind a forest ripped apart by fire, her cheeks smeared with ash and grief. She glances down at Hanna, whose arms hang limp as a doll’s, her feet dragging on the ground.
“She’s the priority,” Zelda says. Her teeth look yellow in the grimy light, but they’re still easier to look at than her hard, devastated eyes.
I glance back at the elevator. Listen for noise on the other side.
Nothing.
No coughing. Not even a rasp.
—
Even as Zelda and I descend the stairwell with Hanna strung limply between us, people are going up. Shoulders grind against me, legs threatening to tangle with mine and Zelda’s. If we trip, we’ll be trampled. If we stop, even for a moment, there’s a good chance we’ll be carried backward by the force of so many bodies, trapped in the stream of panicked people searching for a way outside.
Animal instinct. I hear it, too. A harsh drumbeat in the background of my thoughts, pounding lustily as a heart.
Get away,
it orders.
Get away from the flames get above the smoke get away get away get away—
They have no way of knowing that direction leads only to death.
Someone needs to tell them,
I think. Give them instructions—what to do, where to go. And just as I finish the thought, I know that someone has to be me. Rankin said a bomb went off on Command, too. For all I know, the rest of the council is dead and I’m the only one left. The only one with any real authority. People will listen to me.
I open my mouth to shout a warning to those passing by us, but the smoke’s wrecked my voice. Even trying to wheeze out a few syllables—
Wait, no, down, go DOWN
—makes me feel like I’m drowning, my lungs packed with brackish water. I can’t catch my breath. Coughing harder into my arm, I reach a hand out to stop a woman with short brown hair; she slaps it away. Her terrified gaze travels straight through me. I’m just another obstacle in her fight for survival.
So much for that idea. I’d need a damn megaphone to punch through all this chaos.
Huh. There’s a thought.
As soon as we reach Medical, we’re welcomed by a gust of clean air—or clean
er
air. The faint, acrid odor of hot metal, sweat, and smoke invade even this level, delivered along with the many bodies currently flocking through its open doors. Adrenaline makes the scene feel a little unreal, like I’ve accidentally stepped onto a movie set. Part of my brain refuses to acknowledge that this is happening, this is
actually happening,
and Rankin…
I pass Hanna off to Zelda, urging my friend’s body gently into the other woman’s arms. “Get her to a doctor,” I order, trying not to hack up the rest of my lungs. “Ask for Matsuki Shigeru.”
“Water?” A man cuts in between us, his arms laden with bottles of water.
“Yes, thank you,” I say, my throat feeling more than ever like a desert. I’m touched by the thoughtfulness. He’s not the only one reaching out, either. There are others going around with water and bandages, trying to help the influx of victims.
Zelda snatches a water bottle without thanks, uncaps it, and throws it back like a shot. “And where do you think you’re going?” she rasps, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. I expect her expression to be fierce or irritated—typical Zelda attitude—but instead she looks a little afraid. Her eyes scan the crowd around us, searching all the faces stained with soot and dust and blood. I know she’s looking for her
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