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Chapter 98
Chapter 98:
She grabbed the door handle. Locked. Jammed.
The fire was growing. She could feel the heat on her face. “Wake up!” she screamed, pounding on the metal.
She looked around. She grabbed a piece of jagged metal debris from the road, part of the truck’s bumper, and jammed it into the gap of the door frame.
She pulled. She put her foot against the car and pulled with every ounce of strength she possessed. The adrenaline of a woman who had already died once surged through her veins.
Screech.
The door popped open.
She reached in and unbuckled him. He was heavy, dead weight.
“Come on, you idiot,” she grunted, grabbing him under the arms. “You don’t get to die like a hero. Not yet p>
She dragged him out. He slid onto the asphalt, limp.
The fire roared.
Whoosh.
“Move!” Skye yelled at herself.
She hooked her arms under his shoulders and dragged him backward. Her heels broke. She kicked them off. She dragged him barefoot across the rough tarmac, her lungs burning.
Ten feet. Twenty feet.
Boom.
The gas tank ignited. The shockwave knocked Skye off her feet. She fell over Liam, shielding his head with her body as debris rained down around them.
She lay there for a moment, the heat searing her back. She looked down at Liam.
His face was pale, streaked with blood and soot. He looked young. Vulnerable.
His eyelids fluttered. He groaned.
𝗙i𝗇𝗱 𝘺𝗼u𝘳 𝖿𝖺𝘃𝘰r𝘪𝘵𝗲 𝗀e𝘯𝗋𝘦 𝗼𝗇 𝘣е.с𝗈m
“Skye…” he rasped. His eyes focused on her face, hazy and unfocused.
“I’m here,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Did I…” Liam coughed, blood bubbling at his lips. “Did I save you p>
Skye felt a tear track through the soot on her cheek. It wasn’t forgiveness. It was grief for the man he could have been.
“Yes,” she whispered. “You saved me p>
“Good,” Liam breathed. “Don’t… don’t be afraid p>
His eyes rolled back. He went limp.
Sirens wailed in the distance, getting louder.
Skye looked toward the cliff. The truck was empty. Victor was gone. He had crawled out and run into the woods like the coward he was.
Skye looked back at Liam. She pressed her hand to his chest. His heart was beating. Weak, but there.
“You owe me,” she whispered fiercely. “You owe me a life p>
The hospital smell was always the same: antiseptic, floor wax, and stale coffee. It was the smell of death trying to be polite.
