Page 28 of Of Sins and Sacrifice

I squeeze my eyes shut. I know I will regret this.

With a loud sigh, I swivel and in a few steps, I’m next to the soldier. I give him a nod and position my hands on the end of the slab of concrete. Understanding enters his gaze, and he grabs on the other end.

“One, two, three,” he says, at which point we both lift.

The slab moves, and we slide it to the side, revealing a hole between the big pieces of concrete. The child is at the bottom, barely visible. She’s buried under rubble and unable to move.

Soldier boy is the first to dive into the hole next to the child. He starts unloading the pieces of rubble to the side before grabbing the little girl and giving her to me.

Her clothes are dirty and torn. Her face and hair are covered in dust. There are small cuts all over her body, but otherwise, she will survive.

I grab her in my arms and take her to an empty area to the side.

“My mamma…” she whispers. “Where is my mamma?”

“We’ll find her, all right?”

What am I saying? Why am I promising such a thing when I don’t even know if her mother is alive? Yet the words are out of my mouth before I can think about the situation logically.

The girl gives me a tentative nod, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Yet there’s something else in her gaze. She’sputting her trust in me. Those words that I so carelessly threw around mean everything to her.

I force a smile as I slowly back away and head back to where the soldier is.

He’s digging through the rubble, and when I get near him, I note a hand sticking out of the sea of concrete.

Getting to my knees next to him, I touch the hand to feel for the pulse.

Nothing.

I meet his gaze and shake my head.

It takes him a moment to stop his efforts. He releases a harsh breath, followed by a loud groan of frustration. But he’s not done. He switches his focus to another area, all the while calling out for survivors.

It seems unlikely that there would be many, or that anyone would answer him.

But I am once more surprised when a succession of voices calls out for help. They’re faint. Barely audible.

Soldier boy doesn’t hear them. But I do.

I do and…

Another pivotal decision.

Do I point to him where the voices are coming from and help him save them, or do I ignore them and let fate play out as it should?

But as I see him rush around in an attempt to find any other survivors, my decision is made.

“Here,” I say and point out to where the sound is coming from.

He gives me a tight nod and gets to work.

His hands are beyond damaged now. The entire surface of his palms is covered in blood from the deep lacerations he suffered from the rusty metal bars. The backs of his hands are not faring much better, covered in scratches and scrapes as they are.

It must be painful.

But he’s not complaining.

Swallowing my discomfort at the situation, I set to help him as best as I can.

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