Page 104 of Choke

Two.Do. Not. Stop.One.

I burst through the exit—fresh air, crisp and cold. The pain it brings takes me by surprise. I was expecting relief, but instead, it stabs at my airway, and my head spins from the sudden rush of oxygen; I struggle against my body not to double over, pushing myself forward toward the medics. Sweat drips down my back, inside my gear, and it feels like spiders crawling on me.

“Here! I need a fucking medic!” I boom.

Every head within earshot turns my way, and two medics grab their kits and sprint toward me. I return my attention to her face—to her chest. I can’t tell if she’s breathing. I stoop and lay her flat on the ground; all movement from her has stopped. Dropping to my knees, I lean my face next to her mouth and nose, focusing to see if I can feel anything. There’s nothing. I rip my gloves off and press two trembling fingers to her neck, looking for her pulse.

No. No. No. No. No.

I can’t find her fucking pulse. I press harder, so hard she’ll have a bruise. If her heart still beats. I pop my thumb into my mouth, wetting it, and use it to wipe the blackened soot off her lips.

Her lips—

Jesus, they’re blue.

FUCK. No. Not her.

Please, God. Not her.

“Oxygen. Get her oxygen, now!” My voice is hoarse.

Paramedics reach us, shoving me out of the way. I stumble backward, landing on my ass on the pavement, and for a moment, I’m transported back to that day in TD Gardens and paralyzed and unable to help my dad, cold pavement rushing up to meet me.

“Step back, man. We got her.”

I need more time.

My gaze falls upon my hands, and I notice how they shake. I look back at her, and I see them working on her. They speak calmly to each other, and I strain to hear what they say.

“What’s going on? What the fuck is happening?”

They’re too slow. I move to take over, to do something—anything—but a firm hand slams into my chest, holding me back.

“Give them space,” Harrington says. His voice is calm. Mine is breaking apart.

His grip is firm, but he doesn’t make me walk away.

They call for a stretcher, and I watch as they push a tube down her airway.

Fuck.

I was too late.

Within minutes, she’s on a stretcher, hooked up to oxygen, not moving. Eyes closed.

She looks dead.

The medic looks at me.

“You’re staying here.”

It’s a statement, not a question, and I know I can’t leave. I nod, and they take off toward the ambulances. My stomach flips, my heart shatters. I haven’t earned the right to be with her.

I wasted so much time.

Turning back to the building, I put on my mask again before running back into the fire.

She can’t be gone.

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