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Tyler’s leg was impaled on a steel bar—which was attached to a slab of concrete.
Hannah sent back a text.
DON’T MOVE BAR. Could bleed out. Conscious?
Yes.
Keep him talking. What else you got?
“She says we have to leave it,” said Michael.
“Fuck that!” Sweat bloomed on Tyler’s forehead despite the chill in the air. “Get it out!”
“She said you could bleed to death. Your call.”
Tyler inhaled a long breath. It mixed with a sob. “Damn you, Merrick.” He coughed and cried out. His fingers dug into the dirt surrounding him. “I need a fire. Sunlight. Anything.”
“I know. I know.” Michael slid his fingers along the face of the phone.
I smell gas. Open line maybe?
They’re getting BG&E to kill the line. Anyone else hurt?
Everyone.
Michael held up his phone and took a picture. In the flash, he saw movement, but he couldn’t identify the source. Had something fallen into the ravine? Or was that another survivor? He sent the picture, then turned on the flashlight again.
No motion. “Are you okay?” he called out to whatever he’d seen. “Move again. I’ll try to get to you.”
Nothing.
Dirt shifted and skittered from above, and Michael put a hand out, sliding his fingers along the wall. He sent power into the earth, begging for stability. This ravine might have saved his life, but it could just as easily end it for everyone else if it collapsed.
The sliding dirt stopped.
He took a long breath. His head pounded, and he wondered if he’d been hit by something in the fall.
Another text from Hannah.
Can you send me more injury pics?
I’ll try.
We want to prep for rescue. Waiting on bomb squad. Need clearance before we can enter.
“Don’t move,” he said to Tyler.
The response was slow, but it came. “You’re funny, dickhead.”
Michael crawled through the dirt to the next body he could find. An older man, his legs bent at unnatural angles. Unconscious, but he was breathing, though it was shallow. He had a pulse. No bleeding that Michael could see.
Michael took a picture and sent it.
Another man in a T-shirt and jeans, crumpled just beside the first. The light reflected off his eyes, and Michael jumped.
Then he recognized the unnatural angle of his neck. Specks of dirt clung to the eyeballs. No breathing at all.
He took another picture and added text.
