Page 25 of Fated to the Dragon Alien

She shoved both hands against the large rock pinning her leg. It budged, sending searing pain up her leg to her hip. She pushed harder, digging the back of her helmet into the wall behind her.

Every limb shook from exertion as she tried to free her leg. The dust was a blur, layers thick. She could barely see where the corridor had stood. The lights on her helmet and chest didn’t offer enough illumination to reveal how badly damaged the tunnel was.

Cerani dug her heels into the dirt and shoved at the rock again. It shifted—finally. Her thigh burned. The weight pinned her calf hard enough that she couldn’t feel her boot. Still, she pushed, and with a rough cry, she rolled her knee and threw her body sideways.

The rock gave. It thudded to the side. She hissed as pain shot up her shin, but she couldn’t tell if it was broken or bruised. She crawled toward Jorr, squinting through the settling dust. “Jorr?”

A moan came from the left and she dragged herself toward the sound. The air filter kept whining inside her suit, slower now. Something snapped loose near the edge of her visor.

Then she saw him lying beneath a support beam.

“Jorr?” she said, dropping beside him.

His eyes flickered open. “Look at that,” he mumbled. “I’m bleeding inside my favorite coffin.”

“Save your energy,” she said as her gaze moved over him, assessing the damage. The tear in the side of his suit exposed a gash just above his waist—deep and wet. Blood bloomed fast at his left side. She needed to cover it and slow the bleeding. She needed to find a way to seal up the breaks in his suit. She tried to work the seams of his suit, to draw the edges together, but her gloves wouldn’t let her work precisely enough. Her hands shook as she tried to press her palm over the bleeding.

“I can’t…” she muttered. “I can’t do this like this.”

She sat back on her heels and tore at the seal down the side of her EP suit. The seal released fast, hot air licking her skin as she peeled it down to her waist.Fek, it was cold in the mine. And dangerous. But it was dangerous with or without the EP suit. Cerani pulled the seal below her chin. The strip unzipped with a faint hiss and she yanked off the helmet. The mine air rushed in.

Immediately, her lungs flinched. Not from pain, but from the shock of unfiltered air hitting her nostrils. It felt like metal scraped over fire and smelled like burned ozone, rust, and something sharp—like wet stone and bitter ash. The scent of pressure and death. This was the smell everyone feared. The one they said melted lungs and clothed breath in blood.

Cerani dragged in a slow breath. Then another.

It shouldn’t have been possible. Dust choked the air, thick as smoke, but her chest didn’t burn. Her throat didn’t close. Her vision didn’t go dark.

Her fingers moved faster now. The top half of the EP suit bunched around her waist as she pulled at the stretchable fabric bodysuit beneath. Her under-suit clung to her skin, sweat and dust caught in the seams, but she barely noticed. Cerani ripped the left sleeve off with her teeth and one hand, the fabric tearing with a wet sound.

She hastily folded the cloth and pressed it over Jorr’s wound.

Jorr gasped.

“Hold it here,” she said, forcing his hand up. “Keep the pressure steady. Tight as you can.”

“Feels like I swallowed a shovel,” he wheezed, his fingers curling over the cloth. “Don’t like this plan.”

“Yeah, well, I like your guts inside you, so do as you’re told,” she said.

He gave a weak nod, then coughed. More blood. Cerani swallowed hard.

Her skin tingled. The air prickled across her face and arms, but she wasn’t burning up. No dizziness. No headache.

She pushed upright. Her leg throbbed, but she could walk.

Down the tunnel, another moan sounded. Then another. She squinted through the dust. Three more forms, all slumped or crawling, illuminated by their suits’ lights. One miner dragged herself over a pile of rock debris, her foot bent at an angle that was all wrong.

Cerani turned back to Jorr. His gray face was pale and mottled under the cracked mask.

“Keep pressing on it, alright?” she said. “You let go and I swear I’ll drag you back from the dead and yell at you.”

He gave her a look that might’ve been a grin. “Bossy.”

“Stay alive,” she shot back, and limped toward the others.

Each step hurt, but she ignored it. She had to.

The first body belonged to Rinter, one of the newer miners—thin, wiry, barely grown into his bones. He was breathing fast, shallow, and bleeding from the side of his head. His eyes fluttered, unfocused.

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