Still holding what remained of her breath, Lacey grabbed Margo's arm and pulled her back toward the main examination room. Maybe they could break one of the larger windows there, or find something to help them breathe until help arrived.
But as they stumbled back into the main room, the gas was now everywhere, creating a thick gray haze that made it impossible to see clearly. Lacey's chest felt like it was on fire, and black spots were beginning to dance at the edges of her vision.
She tried to signal to Margo, pointing toward the examination table where they kept emergency equipment, but her movements were becoming sluggish and uncoordinated. The need to breathe was overwhelming every other thought.
Margo grabbed her good arm, trying to guide her toward what looked like clearer air near the far wall, but they were both stumbling now, their coordination failing as their bodies desperately demanded oxygen.
Lacey's vision was blurring badly, and she could feel her legs becoming weak. She tried to hold onto consciousness, knowing that if they passed out, whoever had done this to them would probably make sure they never woke up.
But the gray haze was everywhere now, and her body's need for air was overriding her will to stay awake. She felt herself sinking toward the floor, Margo's hand still clutched in hers, as darkness closed in around them.
The last coherent thought she had was wondering if anyone would find them in time, or if Dean would ever know how she really felt about him.
Then everything went black.
Voices filtered through the haze, distant and unclear. Someone was calling her name, the sound echoing strangely as if she were hearing it from underwater.
"Lacey. Lacey, can you hear me?"
The voice was deep, familiar, but her mind couldn't quite place it. Her eyes felt impossibly heavy, and there was something wrong with her throat. She tried to speak but only managed a weak cough.
A gentle hand touched her cheek, warm and reassuring. "That's it. Come on back to us."
Suddenly, through the haze of confusion and disorientation, memory came rushing back. The canister. The gas. The flames. Someone had trapped her and Margo in the vet clinic.
She felt herself being lifted, strong arms supporting her weight as someone carried her. Through her blurred vision, she could make out a firefighter's jacket and mask, but something about the way he moved, the careful way he held her, was achingly familiar.
"Dean?" she tried to say, but it came out as barely a whisper.
As he carried her toward what she hoped was safety, full awareness of what had happened crashed over her.
"Margo," she managed to gasp, her throat raw and burning. "Where is Margo?"
"She's safe," Dean's voice assured her through the mask. "They got her out first. She's going to be okay."
Relief flooded through her, followed immediately by another wave of dizziness. She tried to stay conscious, tried to help him by keeping her weight centered, but her body felt like it belonged to someone else.
The next few minutes passed in a blur of sirens, flashing lights, and concerned voices. She was aware of being placed on a stretcher, of an oxygen mask being fitted over her face, of the ambulance doors closing with a solid thunk.
She drifted in and out of consciousness during the ride, occasionally opening her eyes to see familiar faces looking down at her with worry. At one point, she saw Lucy's concerned expression hovering above her.
"Lacey, you're going to be fine," Lucy was saying. "Just rest now."
But rest seemed impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw those canisters rolling across the floor, felt again that desperate need for air, remembered the terror of being trapped with no way out.
Hours later, consciousness filtered back gradually, like water slowly filling a basin. She was in a hospital bed, she realized, recognizing the antiseptic smell and the too-bright lighting that seemed to be standard in medical facilities.
As the events of the evening came back to her fully, she tried to sit up, needing to know that Margo was really all right, needing to understand what had happened.
But suddenly someone loomed over her, gentle hands pressing her back down onto the pillows.
"No," Dean's voice said, rough with emotion. "Don't move. Just lie still. You're safe now."
She looked up into his worried face, seeing exhaustion and fear in his eyes that spoke to how close they'd come to losing everything.
"Margo?" she asked again, needing to hear it one more time.
"She's fine," Dean assured her, his voice steadier now. "Better than you are, actually."
