His eyes flew open. Darkness surrounded him. What the hell was going on?
He reached up to wipe the tears away, but his arm never reached his face. He tried again; it didn’t move at all.
Was he paralyzed?
Panic swelled again and Killian sucked in air with short, shallow breaths.
Shit! At this rate, he’d hyperventilate and pass out. Again. He didn’t want that.
Killian forced himself to take deep breaths. In and out.
In.
Out.
With each breath, his breathing slowed and his head cleared.
Suddenly, the darkness around him gave way to an eerie glow, the light made hazy by the bad visibility.
“I think…something…here.”
Rescuers?
“Over here!” His shout dissolved into a cough from the fine particles coating his throat. The thick air burned his lungs. Was he loud enough to be heard?
More bits of muffled conversation floated his way. Pinned down flat on his back, in near darkness, Killian had no idea if they were anywhere near him. He had to try.
“Hey, over here!” That was louder. Maybe. His throat still burned.
He tried to raise his arm to wave them over but couldn’t.
The light moved away.
“Dammit!” The only way to get their attention would be to make a louder noise.
He reached out for something—anything—he could use and discovered he could shift his left arm a little, but his right arm was completely immobile.
His fingers scrabbled over loose gravel-size rocks. If there were bigger chunks, they were out of reach.
The darkness was back. The voices gone. Had he imagined them?
He needed to take action. Rescue himself. Remaining here, trapped in the darkness…
Even thinking about it caused the panic to rise. He couldn’t lay here and wait for rescue. Not again.
Gathering his strength, he tried to sit up and barely moved. He was pinned from at least the waist down and one arm.
“Fuck!”
A buzz echoed in the space around him and the emergency lighting kicked on. The pale light wasn’t much and there was no way to know how long it would last.
Clenching his abs, Killian lifted his upper body up as high as possible—inches, maybe—and twisted sideways. He lifted his head, neck muscles straining to hold the position. In the dim, dusty light, he saw a metal bar above his chest. He wasn’t dead, so something else must be taking the weight.
His head drifted back down to the ground and processed what he’d seen. The metal beam wasn’t on his left arm. That was good.
Really good.
He didn’t want a metal arm to match his metal leg. That shit was for either the kids desperate to turn themselves into cyborgs or for the super soldiers who had to have multiple replacement limbs. Not him. Never for him.
