Page 48 of Rogue Hope
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Blackness.Pressure. Disorientation.
Zara couldn’t breathe. Something heavy pressed against her chest, constricting her lungs as an unusual, blue-tinged dust filled her nostrils with each desperate attempt to draw air. Her ears rang with a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else, disorienting her completely in the darkness.
Fragments of awareness gradually penetrated her shocked senses. The weight was Finn. He was lying on top of her. His elbow dug painfully into her ribs, his body curved protectively over hers like a human shield.
Was he?
She couldn’t bear to even think the word. Struggling against his weight, she managed to snake one hand out from between them. She pressed the pads of her fingers against his neck.
He stiffened, shaking his head as if coming up for air and raised himself onto his forearms, taking some of the weight off her. The healing black eye from their first encounter days ago was barely visible now beneath the strange bluish dust that coated half his face. Blood from a superficial cut ran down his temple, but his features were animated, at least. He stared into her eyes, lips moving.
But she couldn’t hear a word. She shook her head.
Clearly, he misunderstood her. Panic lit his features. He rolled off her immediately, talking fast now.
She shook her head again and pointed to her ears.
He paused. Then nodded, making the sign for okay.
She mirrored the signal and pointed at his chest. You?
He sagged onto the floor and nodded.
She closed her eyes, lifting a shaky prayer of thanks.
The relief sent a rush of dusty air into her lungs, triggering a violent coughing fit that wracked her body with pain.
“—ara? Zara!” Finn’s voice gradually penetrated the ringing in her ears, sounding distant and distorted. His face hovered above hers, eyes wide with concern as he wiped the strange-colored dust from her face.
She blinked, trying to clear the grit from her eyes. Where once stood tables and chairs now lay an odd scene of knocked-over furniture and a fine layer of blue-tinged dust covering everything. The wood table Finn had pulled over them remained largely intact, just dented along one side. The walls stood firm though the windows were blown out, suggesting a blast more designed to disorient than destroy.
Shafts of late afternoon sunlight penetrated through the blown-out windows, illuminating swirling colored dust particles that gave the space strange quality.
“Can you hear me?” Finn’s voice became clearer as her hearing gradually returned. “We need to move. Now. Can you stand?”
Zara performed a quick inventory as she sat up. Everything felt shaken and bruised, but nothing seemed broken. “I’m functional,” she managed, coughing again. “That wasn’t a normal explosion.”
Finn helped her to her feet, his touch firm but careful. The blast had amplified her lupus symptoms, transforming theusual background discomfort into sharp pain that threatened to buckle her knees.
“Comms are down.” Finn tapped his earbud. “Some kind of signal jammer or specialized EMP. Not typical blast interference.”
Zara tried her own comm unit, confirming his assessment with a frustrated tap.
He eyed the unnaturally colored dust. “We need to get clear. This feels staged. Like we’re being corralled.”
He guided her toward the side exit, navigating through the scattered furniture with cautious steps. Zara focused on placing one foot in front of the other, fighting the dizziness that suggested the blast had been specifically designed to incapacitate.
The kitchen showed signs of being the blast epicenter, though strangely contained—scorched but not obliterated. Finn paused, examining the pattern briefly. “This doesn’t add up,” he muttered. “Concussive force without the thermal damage you’d expect.”
The back door hung open, perfectly functional despite the rest of the chaos. Finn paused, drawing his sidearm and positioning himself protectively in front of her. He peered cautiously around the doorframe before motioning her forward.
They emerged into an eerily quiet alleyway with minimal debris. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, transforming ordinary trash containers into potential hiding places.
Distant sirens wailed, growing steadily louder, but something felt off about the otherwise deserted area.
“No curious onlookers,” Zara whispered. “No one comes running after an explosion?”
