It lurches.
Hard.
My knees buckle completely.
“Oh,” I whisper, stupidly.
The world tilts.
My side explodes with pain as I fall forward again, this time face-first, and my cheek hits tile still warm from the blast.
I taste blood.
My own heartbeat is deafening now, thudding in my ears like a drum being played badly and too loud.
The thing is moving again.
Toward me.
Slow this time.
Deliberate.
Heavy footsteps through broken glass and debris.
I try to crawl.
I get maybe six inches.
My fingers slide uselessly in blood and condensation.
“No, no, no,” I mumble, my words slurring together. “I don’t… I don’t consent to this part of the apocalypse.”
The thing stops right in front of me.
Smoke swirls around its legs.
The heat is unbearable this close.
I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for claws or teeth or whatever the hell it’s about to use to finish me off.
Nothing happens.
A shadow falls over me.
Then something enormous and warm slides under my shoulders and knees at the same time.
I yelp in surprise as my body lifts clean off the floor.
“Oh my God,” I wheeze. “Okay, listen, I don’t know what your deal is, but I am extremely not on the menu today?—”
The words die in my throat.
Because the arms holding me are shaking.
Not violently.
Not out of control.
