Page 16 of Burn Like An Angel

The awkward silence is broken by the sound of more glass smashing outside the medical wing. Hoots and screams float through the windows, permeating the heavy air.

I glance at Xander, his attention now focused outside. “What’s going on out there?”

He shrugs. “They’ve been securing the institute for a few hours. Barricading, bolting doors. The front gate’s been chained shut to hold the authorities back.”

Langley sighs, his attention focused on the bag of fluids hanging above me. “That isn’t gonna keep management from sending a tactical unit in to retake control. There will be casualties.”

“Are we safe in here?” I wince at another wave of pain.

“As safe as anywhere. You’re both hooked up to IV antibiotics and need to rest. We can’t risk moving yet.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

With an eye roll, Langley finishes fussing over me. “You look it.”

“Once the fatigue and hunger set in, the novelty of rebellion will wear off,” Xander inserts. “Sides will form. They’ll soon forget the enemy and turn on each other.”

“Well… shit,” I deadpan.

If Incendia were planning on sending in the cavalry to stamp out any resistance and retake control of Harrowdean, they would’ve done so by now. We must have enough hostages to stop them from storming the place.

We’re on our own.

And I can’t lift a damn finger.

“We should all get cleaned up,” Langley suggests. “Then we’ll make a plan.”

“Help me up.”

He shoots me a scathing look. “Fuck off, Lennox.”

“What’s your problem?”

“My goodwill only extends so far when it comes to assholes.”

“Mind telling me what exactly I’ve done?” I ask caustically.

“Where should I begin?”

Temper flaring, I glower at the prickly son of a bitch. “By all means, from the top.”

“Believe me, there aren’t enough hours in the day to cover all the reasons why you deserved to be dragged into that basement. Ripley should’ve left you there to rot.”

“Then why help me?” I fire back.

His gaze briefly strays to Ripley before he looks away. “I’m not here for you.”

Turning away, he moves to pick through a cupboard of medical supplies on the opposite side of the room. Xander turns away from the window, frowning at Langley before he looks around the empty wing.

“They must keep spare clothes here for discharged patients.”

“You could use some yourself.” I jerk my chin, indicating his bloodied state.

Xander plucks the hem of his soiled shirt with a look of distaste. “He did bleed rather a lot.”

“Who, exactly?”

“Davis,” he answers casually.

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