No response.
Lena crawled faster, her knees scraping against debris, her hands finding purchase on whatever solid surfaces remained. The distance felt infinite—ten feet that might as well have been ten miles while the structure groaned ominously overhead.
She reached Erin and pressed her fingers to her neck, searching for a pulse through the thick material of her gear. She found one, faint and thready but steady.
Unconscious, but alive.
Erin's breathing was shallow, labored, but she was breathing. Her gear had protected her from the worst of the heat, but the toxic air had done its work anyway.
A beam crashed down twenty feet away, sending sparks and debris flying. The building was running out of structural integrity, deciding moment by moment whether to let them live or die.
Time to go.
Lena grabbed Erin under her arms and started dragging her toward what she hoped was the way out. Erin was heavier than expected—all that gear, all that dead weight—but adrenaline spiked her awareness and her muscles complied. She pulled and crawled and pulled again, following the air currents that would lead them to a safe escape route.
The hallway she'd used to enter was blocked now, a ceiling beam having collapsed across the path. But there was another way—a window blown out by the explosion, large enough to crawl through if she could get Erin that far.
Ten feet. Five feet. Three.
The building shuddered around them, a deep groan that guaranteed imminent collapse. Lena hauled Erin's unconscious body toward the window, ignoring the glass that cut through her clothing, ignoring the heat that felt like it was cooking her alive.
Fresh air hit her face as she reached the opening.
She pushed Erin through first, letting her fall onto the grass outside before following, both of them tumbling away from the structure just as another section of roof gave way with a thunderous crash.
They were out.
They were alive.
And Erin still wasn't waking up.
14
Consciousness returned in fragments, like pieces of a broken mirror reflecting disconnected images. White ceiling tiles, the steady beep of machines, a chemical smell that wasn't quite antiseptic but wasn't quite smoke.
Erin tried to swallow and discovered her throat felt like she'd been gargling gravel. The sensation triggered a cascade of memories—heat pressing down like a physical weight, gray smoke turning the world into a maze, Richard Ashford's voice cutting through her mental static before everything went silent.
Her eyes opened fully, pupils adjusting to afternoon light streaming through hospital room windows. The Phoenix Ridge Hospital logo on the wall confirmed where she was, but everything felt distant, wrapped in cotton.
How long had she been here?
The oxygen mask covering her nose and mouth fogged with each breath. Monitoring equipment surrounded her bed like electronic sentries, tracking heartbeat and blood pressure and functions she couldn't identify. An IV line snaked into her left arm, connecting her to the mechanical rhythm of a drip bag.
She turned her head carefully, her muscles protesting the movement, and froze.
Another hospital bed sat three feet away, and in it lay Lena, propped up against pillows but clearly asleep. Her left hand was bandaged, small cuts visible along her forearms, and even unconscious, she looked exhausted. The same soot-stained clothes from Friday morning lay folded on the chair between their beds.
She'd been hurt, too, in the rescue.
Erin tried to speak and managed only a whispered croak, but the sound was enough. Lena's eyes opened immediately, her trained reflexes bringing her alert despite obvious fatigue.
"You're awake." Lena's voice was rough, probably from smoke exposure, but carried profound relief. "Thank god, you're awake."
Erin reached toward her, careful of the IV line and monitoring cables. Lena shifted in her bed, extending her unbandaged hand to meet Erin's fingers. The touch grounded the floating sensation and fear she hadn't recognized until it started receding.
"How long?" Erin managed, the words scraping past her damaged vocal cords.
"Thirty-six hours. Since Friday morning." Lena's thumb traced across Erin's knuckles. "You've been unconscious since they brought you in. The doctors said it was from severe smoke inhalation and chemical exposure from the accelerants."
