Page 103 of Rupture

Get out. Get out.

Fresh air slammed into her face as she tumbled free. She rolled onto her back, lungs heaving, the endless night sky, black velvet scattered with stars above her.

Her arms shook. Her legs wouldn’t move. She twisted her head. “Luca? You okay? Finn?”

Someone coughed.

“We’re alive, Doc.” A ragged inhale. “And officially done with caves.”

She let her head fall back, breathing in the cooling night. The breeze carried only the scent of heated rock and dust—no metallic tang, no electric hum. No whisper of microscopic hunters.

The swarm was gone.

57

Finn opened his eyes.

Brilliant light stabbed his retinas. He squinted against the glare. Harsh Kalahari sunlight streamed through a tall window. He blinked, his vision clearing. A ceiling fan spun lazily above him, its blades cutting through the hot, dry air with a gentle whump-whump that seemed to match the throbbing in his head.

He was lying in a narrow bed with crisp white sheets pulled up to his chest, the fabric scratchy against his skin. An IV drip hung beside him, its clear tube snaking down to disappear beneath the sheet. He lifted his arm. The tube was attached to him by surgical tape.

I’m in a hospital.

He lifted his head, wincing as the throb in his head intensified. The room was sparse. Just his bed, a metal side table, and a plastic chair with a threadbare cushion. On the wall, a faded poster about malaria prevention hung slightly askew, its corners curling in the heat. He threw the sheet off his body. Thick bandages swathed his right leg from the knee down.

He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it, a wave of dizziness washing over him. He lay back waiting for the nausea to pass, listening to the squeak of rubber-soled shoes pass by his room, the occasional bleating of goats from somewhere outside. The sounds anchored him as he struggled to piece together what had happened.

Snippets rushed back. The nanobots massing outside the cave. Luca at his side, cursing and digging frantically atsomething. Rose’s warning shout echoing off the ancient walls. After that? Nothing but darkness.

Rose.

Where was she? What happened after everything went black?

He tried again to sit up, this time fighting through the giddiness that threatened to pull him back. The room tilted, but he forced himself to stay upright.

He had to find her. Had to know she was okay.

He pulled the IV needle from the back of his hand, wincing at the sharp sting, then swung his legs out of bed. Angry black bruises mottled his thighs and the tops of his feet like blotched ink.

The cave collapsed.

The memory hit him hard, and he swayed.Shit.He gripped the edge of the bed, steadying himself as a cool breeze caressed his back where the hospital gown failed to close over the width of his body.

“Finn.”

She was in the doorway, her eyes wide, clutching a paper cup. Her face was scratched, a butterfly bandage holding together a cut above her eyebrow, but she was alive.

Whole.

“Rose.” His heart quickened. Each breath came shallow. He wanted to cross the room to her, but his legs were water.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Her voice was stern, but he could hear the tremor in it. Her shoulders dropped, the line between her brows softening as she crossed the room in quick strides, setting the cup down on the side table with enough force that coffee splashed over the rim. “You need to rest.”

Her arm went around his waist, sliding into the gap and against his bare skin. The warmth of her touch sent a shiver through him.

Looking up at him, her lips danced around a small smile. “Don’t they make these gowns in lumberjack sizes?”

He grinned back sheepishly. “Guess not. Let me look at you.” He cupped her cheek, hating the tiny cuts that marred her skin. “Are you okay?”

---