Page 269 of Alchemised
“Stop it,” she gasped, realising that Kaine was making no distinction between the Undying and the Eternal Flame. He was killing everyone. “Stop it! You can’t kill them! Stop!”
She tried to wrench away as Luc’s eyes rolled back and he slumped in the water.
The invisible wave reached the walls. Penny collapsed. Alister followed.
The struggle was coming to an end.
“Stop. Stop! Stop!” She fought to get free. “Stop!”
“Shut up,” he snarled through his helmet, letting go of her. “Wait here.”
He stormed over to Sebastian and Luc, Penny and Alister and even Wagner, although she hardly cared if he died. He placed a hand on their chests, and one at the back of their heads, and she watched them jerk and start breathing again without regaining consciousness.
She tried to stand up, but her legs wouldn’t hold her. By the time Kaine was coming to her again, everything was swaying.
He dragged her to the far wall, where several tunnels disappeared into darkness.
“Can’t leave them,” she rasped, trying to pull free.
“Shut up.” The water was only to their ankles, and there was a ladder leading up to a walkway that was shoulder height.
“You can’t leave them,” she said, struggling. “Bring them, or I won’t go.”
He turned without a word and went back, kicking most of the necrothralls into the current, but pausing beside a few dead Aspirants and reanimating them. They crawled to their feet and began helping to carry Luc and the others over and shoving them up onto the walkway while Kaine lifted her as gently as he could. She nearly bit through her lip at the pressure on her ribs. His palms were red with her blood, but he said nothing as he swung up the ladder and scooped her up again.
The necrothralls hauled the rest of the rescue team up over their shoulders and followed.
Helena faded in and out of consciousness in the dark, briefly coming to as she heard the sound of grinding metal and a loud roar of rushing, rising water coming from the flood cathedral before they continued on.
Kaine stopped walking and kicked the wall. A door almost invisible along the endless passages swung open. He carried her into a small room.
There was a table against one wall, and he laid her on it. He turned away, shoving the door closed, and reached up to rip off his helmet. His face was twisted with fury.
“Tell me you can last long enough for me to get a doctor.” His voice was shaking.
She shook her head.
He was breathing fast, but he swallowed. “Then you’ll have to tell me how. Can you still do that?”
“All right,” she said unsteadily, even though she wanted to pass out more than anything. “The first is—my liver. It’s where the blood is coming from. I think. There’s air—in my chest, collapsing my lung. After—after you—fix my liver, you can—stimulate blood generation. I don’t have the tonic, but you should be able to manage some.”
He unbuckled the straps on her satchel and cut away her soaking clothes so he had clear access to the wound between her ribs that had been ripped wide.
She flinched, trying not to recoil as he staunched the bleeding. He listened carefully as she described what he needed to sense to identify and repair biliary ducts.
Without her hands working, without resonance, it was like instructing the blind.
“Shut up,” he told her when she apologised for not being sure of what was wrong. He reached into his cloak, pulling something out. “This one’s for blood, right? Does it work for you?”
He held up a familiar green-blue vial.
Her throat tightened and she nodded. “Yes. That works for me.”
The process of siphoning the air collapsing her lung was difficult because she didn’t have the supplies for it. She swallowed hard. “There’s a tube in my satchel.”
He found it, and she gingerly indicated where to numb and puncture, giving only a small whimpering gasp as it sank through the tissue and into her chest cavity.
She swallowed, staring up at the ceiling overhead, able to think more clearly as breathing grew easier. “You need to look for damage to the lung tissue next, then you wash the wound and close the diaphragmatic muscle and—”
