Page 3 of Burn

I know those eyes.

Adrian.

My mouth moves, but no sound comes out. My tongue feels thick and heavy, and my throat feels raw and charred. His lips are moving, but I can’t hear him over the ringing in my ears. The world tilts, and my legs give out. His arms are the only thing keeping me upright.

I feel like I’m sinking.

His eyes are the last thing I see as my head slips under the black water.

Adrian

The crew is inside by the time I run for the doors. She’s still in her unit. I secure my mask and head straight to the stairs. McCoy went up first. I’m passing the fourth floor when I hear him come across the radio.

“I have one female who was passed out in the hall. Woke up and kicked the shit out of me and took off running.” He sounds winded.

If I weren’t so fucking scared, I’d love this. Love that she fought.

The rest of the crew provides status updates.

“Floor 6, clean.”

“Floor 7, clean.”

“Floor 8, dirty.”

I continue, passing the fire on the eighth floor, the smoke so thick in the stairwell that I can’t see anything beyond me. I count the doors as I pass, nearly missing the door to the ninth floor.

“She’s running, man!” McCoy shouts through the radio.

I reach for the handle, preparing to run to her. I pull so hard that I’m shocked it doesn’t come off the hinges. She’s there — she barrels into me. Her face is blackened by soot, and evenwithout being able to hear clearly, I know her breathing is rough. Her wild eyes meet mine, and her lips lift into a weak smile before she loses consciousness.

No.

I pull my mask off my face and put it over hers. Right away, noticing the heavy smoke and fighting back a cough. Once the mask is secured, I pull her into my arms, and she feels so light and weightless and too fucking still. I turn and run for the first floor. I move like a machine. Each step is precise and methodical, and her head lolls against my chest.

Seven. Six. Five.

I cough, my lungs tearing apart.

I shouldn’t have let her go. I shouldn’t have given her space. I thought she just needed time to come around and make her want me the way I want her.

Four. Three.

Fuck, move. MOVE.

I should have protected her.

Two.Do. Not. Stop.One.

I burst through the exit — fresh air, crisp and cold. The pain it brings takes me by surprise. I was expecting relief, but instead, it stabs at my airway, and my head spins from the sudden rush of oxygen; I struggle against my body not to double over, pushing myself forward toward the medics. Sweat drips down my back, inside my gear, and it feels like spiders crawling on me.

“Here! I need a fucking medic!” I boom.

Every head within earshot turns my way, and two medics grab their kits and sprint toward me. I return my attention to her face, to her chest. I can’t tell if she’s breathing. I stoop and lay her flat on the ground; all movement from her has stopped. Dropping to my knees, I lean my face next to her mouth and nose, focusing to see if I can feel anything. There’s nothing. Irip my gloves off and press two trembling fingers to her neck, looking for her pulse.

No. No. No. No. No.

I can’t find her fucking pulse. I press harder, so hard she’ll have a bruise. If her heart still beats. I pop my thumb into my mouth, wetting it, and use it to wipe the blackened soot off her lips.

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