Page 36 of Alphas Like Us
I’ve never been happier to hear my middle name. I flip up the deflated side airbag. Rain soaks Oscar as he crouches, curly pieces of his hair stuck to hisforehead.
He’s assessingme.
“I’m fine! Take Winona!” I call through the roaring storm. “Charlie has a fractured leg in the passenger seat! Ben may have aconcussion!”
“Ambulance won’t be here for a while!” Oscar shouts back while I help Winona near the window. “Maybe thirty minutes! Most are in use because of thestorm!”
I carry the weight of this shit situation in myeyes.
Oscar nods back and tries to rub water off his face. “I know! You’re it,Redford!”
Meaning, no one else on site has this level of medical training. Oscar has some experience from studying sports therapy at Yale, but it’s not exactly thesame.
Oscar yells over a crack of lightning, “We should get them outfast!”
I nod, agreeing. Oscar grips Winona by the armpits and pulls her out through the window. She’s still in a slight fog or else she’d most likely want to stay withBen.
Once Oscar has her, I call out, “Maximoff!”
He’s more coherent and currently trying to unbuckle himself. But he can’t move his rightarm.
“Farrow,” he says, frustrated and raspy. “Are you…okay? Oscar has Winona?” It’s like he’s ensuring he didn’t just hallucinatethat.
“I’m fine. She’s okay,” I confirm. “Don’tmove—”
“Charlie and Ben?” he asks and grits down, pain wrenching hisface.
“Don’t move yet,” I say deeply with an outstretched hand. “Just wait.” It’s hard for him, but he physically has no choice, and I shift carefully and quickly towards thefront.
Both Cobalts hang upsidedown.
“Charlie,” Icall.
Charlie winces, and he keeps looking at his brother inconcern.
“Talk to me,” I tell Charlie while I take Ben’s vitals, my fingers to his carotid pulse. I listen to his chest with my ear. Normal breathsounds.
“My leg is broken,” Charlie states through his teeth, and he wraps his arm around the seatbelt before unbuckling—I reach out and help him slide to the bottom of thecar.
“Ben, do you know where you are?” I ask, and I snap the seatbelt. Careful with his head and neck, I hold all his weight. Shit, the youngest guy in this car is the tallest at six-foot-five.
He blinks, still dazed. I check his eyes, and then I lean him against his intact door, the window alreadyshattered.
At this point, I understand clearly who’s critical and whoisn’t.
One person iscritical.
Justone.
I return to the back at the same time Maximoff drops down too easily, like he’s done this before with a brokencollarbone.
He hasn’t, by theway.
His Timberlands hit the shattered bottom, and he clutches his forearm to hischest.
I can’t even surface a glare as I say, “You stubbornidiot.”
He crouches, his breath shortened. “I’m feeling great. Thanks for…asking.”
