"Okay." I pour some onto the towel. "Okay, this is going to work. This has to work."
I press the soaked cloth against his face. His neck. Under his nose.
Nothing.
"Come on." I slap his cheek lightly. Then harder. "Wake up. Dante, wake up."
His eyelids flutter.
My heart lurches.
"That's it." I pour more whiskey on the towel, hold it under his nose. "Come back. I need you to come back."
A groan. Low, pained.
His eyes open.
For a moment, they're unfocused. Glassy. He stares at the ceiling like he doesn't know where he is.
Then his gaze finds mine.
"Marina." My name comes out broken. Barely a whisper.
"Can you hear me?" I lean closer, searching his face. "Dante, can you hear me?"
He nods. Barely. Just a slight dip of his chin, but it's enough.
"Good. Okay." I wipe my hands on my jeans, leaving dark smears. "You need to help me get you inside. Can you do that?"
Another nod.
"You have to stay awake. Just for a few minutes. Just until we're inside. Do you understand?"
His eyes hold mine.
"Yes." The word is barely audible.
"Okay." I hook my arm under his shoulder, brace myself. "On three. One, two?—"
He tries to rise.
His body lifts maybe two inches before his arms give out. He crashes back down with a grunt that sounds like it's ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.
"Fuck." He squeezes his eyes shut. "Can't."
"Yes, you can." I adjust my grip, pull harder. "Come on. However you can. Crawl if you have to. Just move."
He opens his eyes. Looks at me like I've lost my mind.
Maybe I have.
"Move," I repeat. "Now."
Something shifts in his expression. That stubborn set to his jaw I remember from before. From the compound. From the hospital.
He plants his palm on the floor. Pushes.
This time, he makes it to his knees.
