Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(86)

Taking off his mask for a moment, he screamed, “JOSIAH!” at the top of his lungs, then replaced the mask.

More debris fell from the center of the barn—parts of the roof that hadn’t collapsed yet, but were fixing to at any moment. He was at the exact spot where he’d found Logan, and he could go left, right, or forward. He opted for left, then heard Woodman scream his name again from the opposite direction.

“Caaaain!” he heard, weaker than before.

He whipped off his oxygen mask and screamed, “Josiah! I’m comin’!”

Reminding himself to step carefully, lest he upset any more of the unstable structure, he made his way toward the sound of his cousin’s voice, his body on autopilot, only one goal in mind: to find and save Woodman.

Finding him proved to be simple. He was also facedown on the floor without a mask, but across his back was a support beam that must have fallen when the roof caved in.

Cain tore his mask from his mouth and knelt down, placing it over Josiah’s mouth and nose.

“I’m here, but you’re pinned. I’ma push it off.”

Standing back up, he leaned down and took hold of the beam with his gloved hands, grunting with the effort it took to move it an inch or two off of Woodman’s spine.

“Crawl, Woodman!” he screamed, but Woodman remained immobile, and Cain watched in horror as another beam fell, not ten feet from them.

He was breathing in soot and smoke now, and his eyes were burning so bad, he could feel the tears trailing down his face. As gently as he could, he replaced the beam on his cousin’s back and leaned down close to Woodman’s ear.

“Can you hear me?” he yelled, coughing over the last two words. “If you can hear me, listen, Josiah. I will lift, but you have to crawl out. You are one tough sumbitch. When I tell you to, you f*ckin’ move your ass!”

Josiah’s eyes opened and closed, and he made a sick gurgling sound that Cain took for a yes.

Leaning down again, Cain gripped the beam on either side of Woodman and used every drop of strength in his body to lift up, his arms shaking, his muscles burning. Josiah’s fingers curled into the concrete floor, and he pulled himself, inch by f*cking inch, out from under the beam.

As soon as his cousin was clear, Cain dropped the beam and reached down for his cousin, turning him onto his back first, then putting his hands under Woodman’s shoulders to drag him out.

Another beam cracked overhead and fell, flames and sparks spitting above them. Cain stumbled as he walked backward, trying to look back at where he was going, but the smoke was thicker than before and the heat felt hotter. And f*ck but his lungs burned like the devil had set up shop, and f*ck, maybe he had.

“Cain!” He turned with relief to see Scott Hayes coming toward him. “I’ll take him!”

Scott put his hands under Woodman’s arms, and Cain staggered back, his energy reserves almost depleted.

“Get out of here!” yelled Scott.

Cain turned toward the entrance and directed Scott where to step as he made his way out. Until finally, finally, gravel crunched beneath his feet, and he knew they’d made it to safety.

Scott pulled Woodman over to a grassy patch to the left of the burning barn and laid him gently on the ground. Cain unbuttoned and unzipped his jacket, shrugged off his O2 tank, and balled up his coat as best he could to squeeze it under Woodman’s head. His cousin’s face was covered in soot and ash, there was a bad burn over his left eye, and his left glove was charred to a crisp. His oxygen mask was askew, and Cain knelt down beside his cousin to straighten it.

“We made it,” he told Woodman, coughing up black mucus and spitting it onto the grass.

He felt Scott’s hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get an ambulance.”

He vaguely heard Scott’s voice on his radio behind him saying, “10-45. 10-45, Code two. I need a f*ckin’ ambulance. Now. Back of the f*ckin’ barn. Sector Charlie. Now.”

“Cain . . . ,” Woodman rasped, his green eyes wide and wild. They weren’t focused on anything or anyone, just searching and blinking. And then Cain realized: Woodman had been blinded by the smoke and heat. He couldn’t see.

“I’m . . . oh Jesus . . . I’m here, Josiah.” He reached for his right hand and pulled off his cousin’s glove so he could hold his hand.

“Cain . . . listen . . . ” His voice was so soft, Cain could barely hear him, so he shifted his position on the grass, dropping Woodman’s hand and gently lifting his cousin’s head from the bunker coat onto his lap. Woodman had lost his helmet at some point, and as Cain looked down more closely, he realized that Woodman’s mask was partially melted onto the left side of his face.

Cain gasped at the terrible sight of melted skin, fear rolling inside him, gathering, growing stronger and bigger with every passing moment. “St-stop talkin’, okay? I . . . I need you to save your strength. They’re gonna bring you some oxygen. Scott’s got the ambulance comin’ and—”

“She loves . . . you,” Woodman said softly, his green eyes searching desperately for Cain’s blue.

She. Ginger. Because in Josiah’s entire life, there had only ever been one she.

Cain’s eyes burned with tears as he tenderly stroked Josiah’s hair off the right side of his face. “No. No, she don’t. She loves you. Stop talkin’ crazy. Just hold on. They’re gonna . . . you’re gonna be just . . .”