Page 138 of Pucked Around and Found Out

Beams crash behind us.

The window explodes to my left.

I don't care.

Only Toren matters.

I burst through the front door into blessed cool air.

My lungs seize, trying to cough and breathe at the same time.

But I'm still holding Toren.

Still trying to get her to breathe.

“Medic!” someone's screaming—it might be me. “She’s not breathing!”

Paramedics swarm us. They're trying to take her from me.

“Sir, we need to⁠—”

“She's not breathing!” I roar. “Fix it!”

They lay her on the ground, immediately starting to work. Oxygen mask. Bag valve mask. Chest compressions.

“We have a pulse,” one says. “Weak but present. Respirations absent. Administering oxygen⁠—”

I'm frozen.

Just standing there, watching them work on her. Watching her not breathe. Watching her lie there lifeless except for that faint pulse.

“She's not breathing,” I repeat numbly.

“Sir, we need you to step back⁠—”

“She's not breathing.”

“Xaden.” Carnage appears beside me, his hand on my shoulder. “Let them work.”

“She's not⁠—”

“I know,” he says in a tone thick with anguish. “Let them work.”

The paramedics are moving fast, coordinated, and professional.

One's bagging her, forcing air into her lungs manually. Another's checking vitals, calling out numbers I don't understand. A third is preparing the gurney.

“We need to transport now,” one says urgently. “She needs a hospital.” They lift her onto the gurney, still bagging her, still calling out vitals.

I try to follow.

My legs don't work.

I'm just... standing there.

Frozen.

Watching them load her into the ambulance.