Page 40 of Creatures that Breathe

Messy. A spring of nausea buds in my stomach.

He sighs, attention darting between me and the street. “Just … close your eyes and focus on your breathing.” A line of teeth dig into his lip, and pull angrily, like he doesn’t want to say this next part. “If you just keep breathing, I promise I’ll take care of the rest.”

8

Cross

within Blast Radius

The Fates really love fucking me over, but this is a new record. Because I’m two minutes into a promise I never hoped to keep when the Ballasts explode, and we’re too close.

Ever wondered how massive a blast must be to throw a cement block twenty yards?

Want to know how much it fucking hurts to take one to the fifth vertebrae?

Fuck.

All thoughts of the shooter, their hesitation, the bright red dot darting back and forth between Leni and I as if unsure which of us to lobotomize, evaporate.

I enter triage mode. Staunch the bleeding, then worry about prying out the bullet.

“Leni? Leni!” On my fifth try, I hear my own shout, scratchy and rough.

She’s cradled beneath me, armored between my arms and chest, bent over a crumbling curb.

I rise up to an elbow, knees crunching on broken glass, and push the singed hood off from her head, shove blue out of the way of her face.

Softly closed eyes, held breath.

“Good girl,” I mutter as I help her up.

The air is clogged with the stench of burning metal and smoke, and I can’t tell if it’s snowing or raining chalked-stone down on us.

I struggle to my feet, ignoring the sear of a splattered kidney and cup my hand on the base of Leni’s neck, holding her still, a sinking ache slashing through me as I press my forehead to hers.

It was instinct to shield her, but we went down hard and fast. “Are you okay?” I ask. “Are you hurt?”

A pinch propagates between her eyebrows. She’s squeezing her eyes shut, pinching them tight. “Is it over?”

I drag her into my chest, holding back a trapped feeling in my throat.

She’s fine.

No. She’s tough.

No time to dissect the pride and worry swirling in my stomach.

A cracked telephone pole pitches over, spitting up blue sparks.

The blast hit hard, and judging from the flames whipping at the sky, I’d guess someone bombed the Ballasts.

No question about it, someone wants me dead. Bad enough to risk the Argos wrath.

Leni’s the one who brought you to the Ballasts, my curse points out. Didn’t she take you inside the shop the shooters just happened to infiltrate? She even took your Sig.

“Cross?” Leni whispers.

“You have sixty seconds to tell me who wants me dead.”

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