Page 26 of Fated to the Dragon Alien
Cerani crouched beside him and tapped his jaw gently.
“Rinter. Hey, need you to stay with me.”
His eyes rolled toward her and then blinked. “Trying to.”
She checked his suit. The visor was cracked, but still sealed. A chunk of ceiling had slammed into his shoulder. His right arm just hung. Useless.
She stripped off her other under-sleeve and wound a makeshift brace around his forearm, tying it against his chest.
“Don’t move that arm,” she said. “Do you understand?”
He nodded. “You…no mask,” he ground out.
“Don’t worry about me.” She patted the side of his face. “Stay still. Help will be here soon.”
She didn’t know if that was true, but it needed to be said. Everyone who was injured down here needed to believe it.
Behind her, another cough scraped through the dark.
Cerani turned fast. Sema. She was hunched against the far tunnel wall, holding her foot in both hands. Her suit was torn across the thigh.
The filter on her pack blinked red, and the ground under her glistened darkly.
Cerani limped over. Her own breath scraped at her throat now, dry from dust, but not strained. Not like the others’.
“Sema?”
Sema’s mouth moved, but no sound came. Her mask was still sealed, but her suit filter was cracked wide open along her thigh—the radiation leak marker flashing in urgent red pulses. The injury ran deep, and the set of her shoulders said she could barely keep from screaming.
Cerani dropped to one knee beside her. “You with me?”
Sema blinked slowly. Her whole body trembled as her mouth moved, but no sound came out.
“Fek,” Cerani breathed out. She peeled back the torn edge of the suit just enough to see the damage. Her stomach turned. The gash had sliced clean through the inner lining, and her skin was blackened and puckered—burned straight through by exposed cable heat or a hit from falling metal.
Sema tried to lift her head. “Too…hot,” she choked out with clear difficulty.
Don’t move,” Cerani said, ripping the last bit of her bodysuit’s sleeve and pressing it gently over the wound. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly. “This’ll hold for a minute. Maybe two.”
Sema grabbed her wrist. “Others—help them first.”
“You need help right now,” Cerani said. “Don’t be noble. Not now.”
But she knew. Sema was fading fast. Her skin was too cold, her eyes already unable to focus. The way she clung to Cerani’s wrist made something sharp lodge in Cerani’s throat.
“Don’t close your eyes,” Cerani said. “Hey. Look here. Right here.”
Sema’s gaze flicked toward her, barely. Her breath rattled.
Cerani pressed both hands down over the cloth and made herself stay still, just long enough to slow the bleeding. It wasn’t working. The rip in the suit wouldn’t hold. Radiation seared too fast, and Sema’s face was pale beneath the grime, her lips parchment-dry.
“Sema, just stay awake,” Cerani said again. “Help is on the way. Medics will be here any moment to get you out of here and treat your injuries.” Lies. They couldn’t. Not in time.
Another tremor rocked the ground beneath them—small this time, just a reminder. The mine groaned loud above as though daring them to hope for escape. Cerani’s knee slid in the dirt from the vibration, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t—not until someone pulled her off this suffering female or the tunnel caved completely.
Then—movement. Hard-pounding footsteps.
A figure. She looked sharply to her left and saw a shape pushing through rubble. He was obscured from the dust that still hung like fog in the air.
