Page 9 of The Last Man on Earth
“I got you,” I choke out, hauling cases and broken metal off her, panic pushing through me faster.
“Don’t move her!”
I whip my head toward Ariana’s voice.
She’s half-buried under a collapsed panel, her face bloody and determined. “Not yet,” she grits out. “She might have internal injuries.”
I bring my eyes back to Ms. K, putting a hand on her cheek. “Where does it hurt?”
Her eyes roll slightly. “I don’t know.”
“If I don’t move her, how do I get her outta here?”
Ariana coughs so hard and so long, it sounds like she’s choking. I don’t know how to help Ms. K just yet, so I go to Ariana, heart in my throat.
“You hurt?”
“My leg’s stuck,” she says, her face frozen in a grimace.
I heave the heavy piece of panel off her. My stomach turns when I see her leg—swollen, cut open, blood pooling onto the floor below her.
She shifts in her seat, grimacing from the pain. “I need you to check on the pilots.”
“Youdo it.”
Her eyes flash with something…anger maybe. But mostly disappointment. Just that quick.
Even with all this shit going on, I can’t handle her disapproval, so I move toward the cockpit, hating every second of it.
I don’t even need to open the door all the way. Peeking through the crack in the cockpit door, it’s plain to see they’re dead. One is slumped over the controls. The other is facedown under his chair, blood pooling under him.
When I turn back around, and Ariana sees my face, she bursts into tears. I hate to interrupt her grief, but Ms. K is my priority.
“Sorry,” I say. “For your loss.”
She nods, swiping a hand across her eyes. It seems like a switch flips, because the tears are gone now, replaced with strength and a plan.
“We need to get out of this wreckage,” she says. “The smoke will kill us if the plane doesn’t catch on fire first.” She coughs hard. “Find something flat that’s strong enough to support Ms. Kiara.”
My eyes dart around, past the bags and glass and motionless human-shaped objects in the seats. I finally spot a broken panel wedge against the wall. I drag it free, muscles screaming, head pounding. Ariana eases back to where I am, her leg dripping blood the whole way.
“Ms. Kiara, do you feel any pain?” she asks.
Ms. K’s eyes aren’t focusing just yet, but she manages to say, “No. I feel…heavy.”
Ariana swallows hard. “Let her seat all the way back.”
I do as I’m told.
“When I roll her over, slide that under her,” she says, pointing to the panel. “I’ll try my best to help you carry her out.”
We manage to get Ms. K on the board without disturbing her too much, but getting her out is harder. Ariana is strongenough to carry some of the load, but her leg wound limits her movements. We move slow, creeping down the aisle.
Finally, we’re outside. The thick, humid air slams into me, heavy with salt and heat. I catch the low hiss of waves, crashing and sucking back against the shore somewhere close that’s hard to pinpoint. The smell is sharp and green, which makes sense given all the trees around us. I can’t even begin to guess where we’re at. It’s still hitting me that we crashed.
With Ms. K on the ground, I wipe a hand across my forehead, which is already slick with sweat. Ariana studies my face, then her eyes drift upward as she asks, “Does your head hurt?”
“Yeah. Why?”
