Chapter 81
Tristan
I’ve heard the stories about how massive waves of adrenaline can give someone near-superhuman strength, but I’ve never witnessed this or believed it.
Until today.
I don’t know what comes over me—desperation, fear, divine possession—but when I put my shoulder to an angled slab of concrete that leans against the pile of rubble trapping Mathilde, I can move it.
It takes a lot of groaning and straining, and maybe a pulled muscle, and my ankle is practically screaming at me, but the slab of concrete falls away, revealing a hole in the rubble.
Mathilde coughs from within the hole.
“I can see you!” she cries.
“Thank god. I’m going to pass my flashlight in so you can see how much space you have. Sound good?”
“Okay.”
“And I need you to take a look at your leg. I can’t see you from here, so I need you to tell me how bad it is. Can you do that?”
Her voice sounds less confident. “I can try.”
“That’s all I need. You’re doing great, Mathilde.”
I stretch my arm into the hole as far as I can, extending my flashlight. Seconds later, Mathilde grabs it and takes it from me.
“I don’t have enough room to stand,” she says. “My leg…well, I don’t see a bone sticking out, so that’s good.”
“How’s the pain from zero to ten?”
“I don’t fucking know,” she snaps. “What’s ten?”
“The worst imaginable pain possible, generally something that would leave you unable to speak.”
“Okay, not a ten. Zero is no pain?”
“Yep.” We don’t have time for a math lesson, but if this is what she needs to feel comfortable, so fucking be it.
“Okay, maybe a seven?”
“Do you think you can crawl through this hole?”
“I can try.”
“That’s the spirit. Pass me the light, and I’ll be waiting for you here. Be very careful.”
“No shit.”
Seconds later, the light waves in my direction. I take it carefully from Mathilde, clip it to my belt, and wait for her.
After a lot of grunting and swearing, Mathilde’s face, dirty and bloody, appears in front of me.
“I got you,” I say, “I got you.”
Carefully, I pull her the rest of the way out. She hisses in pain when her leg knocks against the concrete, but she doesn’t complain.
“Thank you,” she says, clinging to my chest and crying. “Thank you. I thought I was going to die.”
“You’re okay,” I repeat. “You’re okay. Look, Mathilde, we’ve gotta get out of here. As much as I’d like to examine your leg, this isn’t the time or place to do it. Is it weight-bearing?”
She tests her leg and almost collapses. “Nope.”
“Got it. I’m going to have to carry you.”
Her eyes widen. “You sure?”
“If you hold the light, yep.”
I give her the light and then scoop her up in my arms. My body is beyond exhausted, and everything hurts, but I don’t let myself listen to the pain.
I have a job to do, and it’s saving this woman’s life.
I will do whatever it takes.