41
Breathe
This is the way the world ends / Not with a bang but a whimper.
—T.S. ELIOT
“Lucas!”
I flew to his side, my boot colliding with Miller’s motionless face as I tripped over him. My knees hit the ground hard, and I rolled Lucas onto his back.
Black smoke choked me, but I searched his neck for a pulse. I felt nothing beyond the throbbing pain in my hands. The knife in his chest was an angry, hateful thing. I didn’t dare touch it for fear of doing further damage. Instead, I leapt to my feet and took his wrists in my agonized hands. I tugged with all my might, dragging his six-foot-two frame of pure muscle toward the door.
The pain was unlike anything I’d ever felt, excruciating to the point of bursting black spots in my vision. Heat from the flames broke a sweat over my forehead that soon mixed with the tears.
I pulled, but he moved barely an inch, and I fell on my bottom.
Blood stained his skin and soaked his shirt. It may as well have beenmyblood. I was dying with him. That knife tore the life from my chest. My fingers dug into his carotid again.
Was that a pulse?
A moan caught my attention, and Adam stirred again, his hand clenching and unclenching.
“I’ll get you next!” I said, then swatted Lucas’s face. “Lucas!”
He didn’t move. I dug my knuckles into his breastbone. Nothing.
I tried to shift him again, but I only dragged him another few inches before I was retching on the smoke.
A second, louder moan from Adam, and my frustration came to a head with a howl. I succumbed to a fit of hacking coughs. My vision swooped.
I pulled again, but this time, my bloody hands slipped off his wrists.
Another fit of coughs.
I’d have better luck with his feet.
I pushed myself to standing, then lifted his legs, hooking my elbows around his ankles. I walked, my vision murky, my head swimming.
The fire lapped at the ceiling.
I sank to my knees.
Tears fell.
The door was ten feet away.
Just ten feet.
I coughed.
Smoke swirled.
Then I didn’t breathe at all.
42
Goodbye
