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“Nick,” he corrected her. He grabbed Irish’s arm. “Stop.”
Irish didn’t stop—though his efforts lacked the fervor of his initial attempts to save Michael’s life. Hannah could read it in his expression. It had been at least three minutes.
The ground rumbled and shifted again. Irish swore and fought to keep his balance. “Kid, you need to get out of here before that house falls.”
“It’s his brother,” Hannah said. Her voice broke. “Nick—Nick, I need—”
“Stop. Both of you stop.” Nick’s voice was rushed and panicked. He grabbed Irish’s arm again and almost shoved. “I said stop.”
Irish stopped. Time seemed to hold still, the earth shifting below them, the wind slamming into them.
“Just stop,” Nick said again, his voice more steady. Wind whipped at their clothes and made Hannah shiver. The house behind them gave another loud creak. “Wait.”
She stopped. Held her breath.
For an instant, she thought maybe Nick knew something they didn’t, that all Michael needed was his brother’s presence and he’d sit up and ask what was going on.
Michael didn’t move.
Stupid, she told herself. She knew the limits of the human body as well as anyone else. Her eyes wanted to fill, but she could hold it together for his little brother.
Nick put a hand on his brother’s neck. “Michael,” he said softly, his words somehow carrying over the wind. “Mike. Wake up.”
Irish looked at her over Nick’s head. He shook his head.
“Nick,” she said, putting a hand over his. “Nick, the smoke—it works fast. His lungs may be too badly damaged—”
Nick sucked in a deep breath and pressed his mouth over his brother’s before she could even finish that thought.
Michael’s chest rose from the pressure and fell when Nick drew back.
And then rose again.
“He’s breathing!” Hannah grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse. Irish reached for his neck.
Michael’s eyes opened. He squeezed them shut and blinked a few times. His arm jerked out of her hand.
“Take it easy, man,” said Irish. “We’re just—”
Michael shoved him away and fought to get off the ground. Irish and Oscar tried to hold him there.
“Let me go. Let me go.” His voice was like crushed stone, rough and painful to her ears. He sounded disoriented and afraid. “Someone was in the house. My brothers—” His voice broke. “I need to get my brothers. I need to get them before they’re found.”
“Hey. Mike.” Nick put a hand on his shoulder and got in his brother’s face. “We’re okay. Look at me. We’re okay.”
Michael went still. The rumbling earth slowed and went still. “Nick. Hannah.”
“Yeah. It’s okay. We’re okay.”
“Gabriel?”
“Everyone is okay.”
For the longest instant, Michael just stared at them, the wind blowing fiercely between them. His eyes shifted past his brother, to the destruction of the houses on the court, to the fire hydrant spraying water high into the air. Fires still burned everywhere, and emergency lights flickered off everything.
He glanced at his own house, barely standing.
Then his face crumpled and he threw his arms around his little brother’s neck. “Not okay, Nick. It’s not okay.”
