Page 46 of Storm of Stars
Devrin knelt beside Ezra. I watched, helpless, as he began, his hands pressing into Ezra’s chest, each motion cracking through the silence. Blood welled beneath his palms, the burns splitting further with every pump. It was horrifying. But necessary. We’d focus on the burns when he was breathing. One horrible problem at a time.
He paused, then leaned in to breathe into Ezra’s mouth. His chest rose, just a little. Then again.
Then again.
And then?—
“There,” Devrin said, his fingers pressed to Ezra’s throat. “He’s got a pulse.”
Bex let out a sound between a sob and a laugh, collapsing against the nearest seat. My body sagged with relief, knees shaking.
“He needs more than I can give him,” Devrin added, glancing up. “But he’s alive.”
“Thank you,” Bex said, her voice barely audible through her tears.
The bus rolled to a stop beneath a broad, crumbling awning. A massive building loomed ahead, once grand, now shadowed in dust and decay.
“What now?” Briar asked, scanning the space.
“I think… we get off,” Lark said. He was already standing.
Devrin followed. The rest of us lifted Ezra carefully, moving down the aisle, out into the open air.
The building before us was huge, long, grey, skeletal in its abandonment. But the layout, the shape of the entrance…
“This is a hospital,” I breathed.
Bex pushed forward, hope reigniting in her eyes. “Help! Somebody help us!” Her voice echoed down the hollow corridors as we stepped inside.
The abandoned hospital was dark, cold, and humming faintly with a low pulse of electricity that vibrated through the floor beneath our feet. A few overhead lights flickered, casting long, twitching shadows down the hallway. Discarded machines sat in corners like dead animals, their screens black, wires trailing like veins. The beds were coated in thick dust, untouched for years.
In the far corner, however, several trays of medical instruments gleamed, clean, orderly, and suspiciously dust-free. Vials of medicine. Bandages. Scalpels. Burn cream. Syringes. Everything looked untouched… or perhaps, recently touched.
“Thisis the trial,” I breathed, eyes scanning the corners of the ceiling. Cameras blinked red in every corner. Watching.
“What?” Briar asked, trying to follow my gaze.
I adjusted Ezra’s weight in my arms, his body unnaturally limp. “This is the medical trial. We’re already in it.”
The words sank like stones into the room.
Bex’s face paled as realization struck. “Nobody’s coming to help us save him, are they?” Her voice wavered, but it wasn’t a question. Not really.
I shook my head slowly. “No.”
“Oh my God,” she whispered, choking back a sob.
“Bry, strip that bed,” I ordered. “We need something clean to lay him on. Infection’s the last thing he needs right now.”
Briar nodded and got to work, yanking the linens off with furious precision.
“Are we… all supposed to help?” Lark asked, inching closer, uncertain.
“They probably didn’t know who would be injured, or how,” Briar muttered, teeth clenched. “I’m sure Praxis intended for us to save ourselves if it came to that.” She yanked the last sheet free, then turned to one of the cameras, her glare cold. “But we’re not that selfish.”
Bex was already at the trays, hands flying through instruments and supplies. “I don’t know what any of this is for,” she admitted, voice tight with panic as she picked up a tube with a needle attached then set it down just as fast.
I laid Ezra gently on the stripped mattress, fingers pressing against his throat. There, faint, but present. A pulse. I let out a shaky breath.
