"You." Her voice cracked. "Why are you here?"
"I'm getting you out."
"Stone." Brian behind me. He hadn't left. "We need to go."
"Help me with this."
Brian looked at Rebecca. At the beam. At the fire.
Then he grabbed the other end.
We lifted. The beam shifted. Not much. But enough.
"Now. Move."
She didn't move.
"Rebecca.Move."
"Why are you saving me?" Tears streaming. "After what I did. After what I tried to do to her. Why?—"
"Because it's what I do." Rough. Honest. "I save people. That's the job."
"I don't deserve?—"
"I don't care what you deserve." I met her eyes. "Emma wouldn't want you to die in a fire."
A sob tore out of her throat.
"I miss her." Barely a whisper. "I miss her so much."
"I know." My arms shaking from the weight. "Now move. Please. Let me save you."
For a long moment, she just looked at me. The fire roared around us. The building groaned. Time running out.
Then she started to pull herself free.
She screamed as she dragged herself out from under the beam. Pain. Real pain. But she kept moving. Kept pulling. Until she was clear.
Brian and I dropped the beam. It crashed to the floor, sending up a shower of sparks.
I grabbed Rebecca under the arms. Hauled her up. Her legs buckled, deadweight from the hips down, the kind of collapse that meant the nerves weren't firing right.
Brian was already there. He took her weight onto his shoulder, one arm locked around her waist. His other hand found her wrist, two fingers on the pulse point, automatic, the paramedic overriding the firefighter.
Something in his face tightened.
"We need to move." Not urgent. Worse than urgent. Controlled. "Now. Go. Lead us out."
Slower now. The fire pressing from all sides. The building groaning. Every second borrowed.
Behind me, Rebecca's breathing had changed. Shallower. A wet rattle underneath that hadn't been there two floors ago. She'd stopped talking, not unconscious, but conserving. Her fingers gripping Brian's jacket had gone white-knuckled, then slack, then white-knuckled again.
"Stay with us," Brian said. Low. Steady. The voice he used on patients when the situation was worse than he was letting on. "Almost there."
But we kept moving.
Shane and Sloane at the bottom of the stairwell. The moment I came through the door, she was in my arms.
