Page 27 of The Hotshot's Prize
“Carter’s safe—he’s with medical,” Nate says, grabbing me by the shoulder. “Worry about yourself, man. You look half dead.”
They haul me up, supporting most of my weight, dragging me through heat and falling ash. My boots scrape against the charred ground, my legs mostly useless now. The air is thick, but they don’t stop moving.
We make it past the worst of it just as the flames leap into the spot we were standing seconds ago.
As the medics rush forward, I hear Nate panting, “Next time you try playing martyr, I’m duct-taping your ass to the truck.”
I would laugh, but everything hurts too much.
I feel my body being launched onto a stretcher and into an ambulance. The paramedics get to work, hooking me on machines and IV lines. My head feels like it’s been pressed down with lead, pain shooting through every part of my body. I taste metal. My vision swims.
A paramedic’s face comes into view—female, mid-thirties, brown ponytail.
“You’re lucky, Jenkins. Minutes more and you’d be toast. Literally.”
But my thoughts are somewhere else entirely.
Ella.
“I need…to get out of here,” I whisper, fingers clawing at the IV line in my arm.
“Sir, stop.” She grabs my wrist gently. “You’re in no condition to move.”
“No, you don’t understand. I—I left someone. I didn’t say—”
“You have second-degree burns on your hands, you’re severely dehydrated, and you’re on the edge of full respiratory failure. You’re not going anywhere.”
I yank at the wires anyway. One rips free. The machines beep furiously.
“Get me out—”
The oxygen mask falls from my face. I can barely sit up now, but I’m still trying. Desperation burns harder than the fire did.
“I need to see her…”
But the lights blur, and gravity wins. The stretcher fades beneath me as my mind spirals into nothingness.
Even as I black out, the last thought on my mind is her name.
Ella.
Chapter Nine
Ella
It’s been two days.
Two long, dragging, miserable days.
I haven’t heard from Zack. Not a word, not even a smoke signal—ironic, considering.
Every part of me wants to curl into a blanket burrito and never leave my bed again. But I can’t do that. Not when I still have this conservation project to finish. Not when I still have work. Not when I’m still trying to convince myself that what happened between us was just…a moment.
Nothing more.
Right?
I shove that thought deep down as I push open the door to the research building and walk through the quiet hallway, the fluorescent lights a harsh spotlight on my mood. I give the receptionist a weak smile and head straight for my office, keeping my eyes low.
