Chapter 83
Conin
Iwould’ve killed Thax. I could have, but I didn’t. There’s been enough bloodshed today to last a lifetime.
Ezra weighs nothing in my arms. His eyes flutter—his agape mouth struggles to siphon air from the suit’s ventilation system.
If he perishes because of smoke inhalation, I’ll never forgive myself.
I could’ve run faster, held him back, kept him close before he dove into the battlements of a blazing building.
That was preventable. Now, I’ll have to live with the repercussions of Ezra’s fate.
The healer ushers us into an Angelic vehicle as Leeanne shouts commands to her crew.
I hear the Angelic say something about doing what she can to help, but every word uttered afterwards flies over my head into oblivion.
Atlas perches beside me as we lower Ezra onto a cot.
The healer presses down on his suit’s emblem.
When the entirety of the armor vanishes, I watch Ezra’s face, painted with ash and soot, grapple with the fight for air.
Several more Angelics file in, Mafu, Ofa, and Gavin recognizable amongst them.
They take the empty seats on each side of the van, watching Ezra’s deep struggle in the center with ashen expressions.
“Will he be okay?” Mafu asks, thinking about what must be on everyone’s mind—what’s plaguing me and Atlas to our very cores.
“I’m not sure yet,” the healer says.
Her hands emit a golden light. It radiates a pleasant warmth that overtakes the vehicle.
I try not to let hope overcome me, but I cling on to it with the last dregs of my strength, and watch the bitter rise and fall of Ezra’s chest. Atlas grips my hand and doesn’t let go.
His glasses are shattered, and coagulated blood smears his upper lip, but he’s alive and he’s here.
I squeeze to remind him that I’m alive too, and that I’m not going anywhere.
My fears claw their way up. They scream and slash, cut and try to outlast my waning strength, but I won’t let them.
If the past year has taught me anything, it’s the undeniable knowledge that I can’t control everything—I simply can’t, no matter how hard I wish that not to be the unequivocal truth.
I was always so afraid of what I didn’t know, of what the future held, of it spiraling from my grasp into a path I couldn’t move away from.
If there’s one thing I know for sure, one fragment of consolation I can hold on to, it’s that regardless of the outcome, the goal is worth fighting for.
Ezra is worth fighting for. He was worth leaving my life behind and entering into one shrouded with uncertainty.
He gave me his truth and I discovered mine.
We met Atlas and lived an amazing nine months together.
The more I reflect, the more I know that I need him alive.
I need a future with him, whatever future we can dig out of the rubble, with Atlas by our side.
The van roars to life. It powers ahead, through the remnants of a forgotten land, and leaves behind a haven once teeming with life—a life survivors created to endure.
Where we’ll go now, I’m afraid none of us know.
I suppose, the more I think about it, the more I realize we’ll be alright.
The Angelics have each other. Together, we’ll tackle the world—face whatever obstacles come our way.
An image of Mom takes precedence for a moment.
I wonder if I’ll be able to return home one day, if I’ll ever be able to see her again.
That fear of what I don’t know resurfaces, but I fight back, and I hold it at bay.
What I can control is promising myself that I’ll do whatever it takes to make our reunion a possibility.
The idea of Atlas meeting her excites me and I cling to that feeling.
I also cling to the idea that Ezra will see her again, too.
Atlas and I hold hands for an eternity. We watch Ezra, the healer’s hands traveling up and down the length of his body. His breaths are labored, though he still breathes, and together Atlas and I hope.
I guess when it really boils down to it, hope is all we have.