Page 126 of No Good Fight

Her body doesn’t move.

Casey shoves past my shoulder. “Move.”

The command gets through because it has to. Otherwise, I’m going to shatter.

I pry Alex’s fingers loose from Mrs. Vance’s housecoat as gently as gloves allow, and Casey takes the older woman first. Mrs. Vance coughs when he lifts her, a weak, wet sound that means she’s alive. Alive matters. Alive is a word I understand.

Alex is silent, and I don’t see her chest rising.

I get one arm beneath her shoulders and one beneath her knees. She’s too limp. I’ve carried people out of smoke before. Dead weight has a language that’s easy and complicated all at the same time. My body knows it before my mind is willing to let it be true.

My head smacks the window frame on the way out. I barely feel it.

Hands reach for us from outside. Josh takes the back of my coat. Someone else yells for EMS. I keep Alex against my chest until Casey’s voice cuts through the mask and rain and sirens.

“Put her down, Cook.”

I drop to my knees in the wet grass with her still in my arms.

“Now.”

I lay her on the stretcher they shove under us. My gloves go to her neck before anyone can stop me. Pulse. Find it. Find it now.

Casey’s hand knocks mine aside.

I almost hit him.

Josh gets there first.

His hand clamps around the shoulder strap of my air pack and hauls me back just enough for Casey to get in. Josh doesn’t look at me. His face is wrecked, eyes locked on Alex while EMS moves around her with oxygen and shears and practiced hands that do not belong to me.

“Don’t make them work around you,” he says quietly.

The words are rough. Almost gone under the noise.

I stay on my knees.

I should be fighting this fire. I should be running back into the building to help. But I can’t move from this spot. I can’t let the last time I see her be this.

Casey has two fingers at Alex’s throat. Another medic fits oxygen over her face. Someone cuts through the sweatshirt at her collar. Her arm falls away from her side, slack and wrong, palm open to the rain.

“Pulse,” Casey calls. “I’ve got a weak pulse.”

My breath comes back wrong.

Weak pulse. Not enough. Better than nothing. Not good enough.

They lift her onto the stretcher. I stand too fast and nearly go after them before Josh’s hand locks around my coat again. This time he looks at me. His eyes are red, wild, and familiar in their terror.

Behind him, Mrs. Vance is on a second stretcher, oxygen mask fogging over her mouth. Her hand shoots out when they roll her past, catching my sleeve with surprising strength.

I lean close before anyone tells me not to.

“She wouldn’t leave me,” Mrs. Vance rasps beneath the mask.

Her fingers dig into my coat.

“Window,” she coughs. “Hit the alarm. Put sleeve over my mouth.” Her eyes sharpen for one second, watery and fierce. “Stubborn girl.”