Fourth Debt (Indebted #5)(33)

I’d never seen something so pure—as if I stared at the nucleus of the sun or the entrance to heaven.

Am I worthy of paradise, after all?

“Hurry. We need to leave.”

“Woman, give me a damn moment, okay?”

The light supernovaed. Hissing increased in decibels until it echoed in my teeth. Electricity sparked in my muscles, slowly bringing me back to life. I tried to move, to see what beast hissed so loudly, but my body was no longer mine to command. It was weak and broken and past listening to such requests.

My foggy mind wouldn’t focus; wisps of thoughts and flickers of images all faded with every failing heartbeat.

I didn’t know why I continued to cling to whatever semblance of life I had.

This was no life.

This was just damnation.

“Shit, it’s not cutting.”

“I know it’s not freaking cutting. You’ve got the ratio wrong!”

“If you’re such a f*cking know-it-all, you fix it.”

My ears rang with bickering.

I didn’t know the man, but the girl reminded me of my sister. A little girl who I’d loved since childhood but also drove me nuts. She’d constantly pinch my favourite toys and hide them where I could never find them.

She ran circles around Kes and me. Driving us mad, proving that love wasn’t enough to protect an infuriating sister from retaliation—usually in the form of frogs in her bed or beetles on her cereal.

I attempted a smile, thinking of happier times.

The light went out, followed by a scraping noise.

“Now, turn that gauge to the left and that to the right. See those two lines…that’s the ideal ratio.”

“Fine. Done. Now what?”

“Now, I want to work the wand.”

“What? No way.”

Something clanged off the earthen walls. My ears twitched, reminding me they still worked, even when other parts of me didn’t. I’d long since stopped feeling the soft splash of internment droplets on my forehead or tensing when a fresh wash of agony bathed my skin with fever.

“Pick me up and then give me the wand. Got it?”

“God, you’re such an arse.”

“Kind of you to notice. Now…pick me up.”

“But it should be me who—”

“Why? Because you’re male and playing with power tools is a man’s job?”

A heavy sigh. “No…because it’s—”

“Look, the original plan was for me to use the torch. If you hadn’t gone all ‘He-man’ on me, they’d be free and halfway to London by now.”

Silence again.

For a while, minutes swept me away, granting that odd sensation of no time passing but hours slipping anyway.

“They’re probably already dead. They haven’t moved since we started this.”

A livid curse littered the rank air. “If they don’t make it, our bargain is over. I promised Nila would be safe if you helped me rescue my brothers. If they die…why should I honour that?”

Nila…

The name…

Like an angel.

Nila…

My heart suddenly woke up. Shedding death, sending lethargic blood through my veins.

Nila.

Mine.

The woman I want but failed.

“Threads is walking out of here—regardless if they don’t.”

“Guess the only way to know for sure is to bust my brothers out of here before it’s too late.”

I sucked in a useless breath—it was like breathing cremated ash.

Before, the void I existed in had no emotion, no feeling to suck me dry. But these two people? Fuck. They had so much to say and no correct words in which to say it. The woman wept with helplessness and despair, hiding it beneath bluster and rage. The man…he was just as helpless and lost; only he wrapped his in confusion and disbelief.

“Alright, alright, I get your point.” Boots thudded on the dirt floor. “How should I do it again?”

A derisive laugh trilled, chasing back ghouls and monsters. “I told you how. Arms under my knees and around my shoulders. You can’t break me.”

“No, but I’ve heard about people like you—”

“People like me?”

“Shit, I just meant people with your—”

“My disability—is that what you were going to say? People like ‘me’ who can’t feel anything below their waist?”

An awkward cough. “I just meant, I know you can bruise easily and it’s not so simple to heal like a normal—”

“Wow, this just gets better and better. You’re saying I’m not normal?!”

“Whoa, f*cking chill—”

“You know what? I don’t have time for this. Pick me up, give me the damn torch, and shut the hell up. When they’re safe in the hospital then we can discuss the politically appropriate ways to discuss my condition. Got it?”

A deep sigh. “Fine.”

I couldn’t make sense of anything.

What the hell did this mean?

Was my brain playing tricks? Giving me an angst-loaded argument, all for what? To keep me strained enough to stay lucid? Or were there truly two people trying to save me?

“There. You okay?”