Page 29 of The Pakhan's Arranged Bride
“Thank you so much,” I mutter, standing up—and coming face-to-face with Benedikt, the injured man leaning against him, groaning in pain.
The shock on Benedikt’s face mirrors mine. We both stare at each other for a moment, disbelief washing over him as though he’s looking at my ghost.
“What are you? How? Why aren’t you at home?” he blurts out.
“Get him outside,” I say with urgency. “His leg is bleeding badly, I don’t know how long the tourniquet will hold.”
Benedikt narrows his eyes towards me and nods.
Then he’s gone.
I’m drowning in relief. He’s alive. He’s okay.
But there’s no time to enjoy it.
I run over to a man who is walking blindly in no direction at all. He’s shouting for help.
I get to his side and take his hand. “What’s wrong? Where are you hurt?”
“I got it in my eyes.” He turns towards me and his eyes look burnt, chemical burns, bloodshot and oozing thick watery substance. The skin around his eyes is red and peeling.
“Let me get you outside,” I say loudly, wrapping my arm around his waist.
He holds on to me and puts his trust in me as I lead him around obstacles towards the front.
As I’m walking out, Benedikt passes me again and takes the man from me. “Ulyana, don’t go back in there—"
But I’m already running back into the warehouse to find someone else to help. There are people in here in pain, suffering, I can’t just leave them.
I’m kneeling next to a man who is struggling to breathe.
He’s panicking and searching his pockets, sitting on the ground, gagging on the thick smoke.
“What do you need?” I say, taking his face in my hands and forcing him to look at me.
He shakes his head, slapping his chest. I don’t understand.
Benedikt squats next to me.
“He’s asthmatic,” he shouts over the noise around us.
Immediately, I start searching the man’s pockets, but I can’t find an inhaler. Panic washes through me. I scramble to my feet and spot it behind him, on the ground, fallen out of his pocket.
I grab it and press it to his lips, and he grabs my hand as though it’s his lifeline.
Benedikt brushes his hand over my back. I glance at him and his eyes are filled with warmth.
“Can you get him outside?” he asks.
I nod. “Just help me get him on his feet.”
Benedikt helps the man up before he rushes away, and I hold him steady as I lead him out.
He takes another breath of his inhaler outside in the clear air.
I pause before going back in. My throat is so dry I can barely swallow. My eyes are burning. My hands are shaking.
But there are still people who are worse off than me, so I have no time to think about that.
