Page 32 of The Space Between Heartbeats
Knox’s hand tightens around mine. “Yes,” he answers for both of us, because I still can’t seem to make words come out right.
“Good.” She’s studying us and the surroundings, most likely taking mental notes on our positions, our injuries, how lucid we are. “First, I need you to tell me if either of you are seriously hurt. Any bleeding you can see, any broken bones, anything that needs immediate attention.”
“I don’t know,” I manage. “Everything hurts but I don’t—I can’t tell…”
“That’s okay. That’s normal. The adrenaline masks a lot.” She sounds like she’s done this a million times before. So calm. Italmost makes me believe we’ll be okay. “What about you?” She’s looking at Knox now.
“Maybe cracked ribs,” he says. “I hit my head, it’s cut somewhere. But I’m—we’re still here. We’re okay.” He pauses, and I feel him tense. “There were people behind us. Row four. Are they?—”
Without their screaming, I almost forgot about the couple directly behind us. Oh God- Did they?
“We’re working on everyone,” she says, which isn’t really an answer but maybe it’s the only one she can give. “Right now I need you both to stay absolutely still. The structure you’re on isn’t stable. We’re in the process of securing it, but any sudden movement could cause further collapse. Do you understand?”
Further collapse.
We could still fall. After everything, after surviving when Owen didn’t, we could still fall. And with people right here to save us.
“How long?” Knox asks.
She glances down and speaks into her radio—words I can’t make out over the helicopter circling above. She looks back at us, and there’s nothing in her expression that tells me exactly how screwed we are. She’s calm and collected.
“We need approximately ten more minutes to fully stabilize the track section you’re on. Then we’ll begin extraction. I know that seems like a long time, but I need you to trust the process. Can you hold on for ten more minutes?”
Ten minutes.
How long have we been up here already? Five minutes? Twenty? An hour? Time has completely lost meaning. It feels like we’ve been suspended here forever, but also like Owen was just screaming my name seconds ago.
Owen.
A sob tries to claw its way out of my throat but I force it down.
“We can hold on,” Knox says.
The woman nods, and gives us a tight smile. “I’m going to stay right here where you can see me. You’re not alone, okay? If anything changes, if you feel any shifting or hear anything that concerns you, you call out to me immediately. My name is Ellen. Okay?”
“Okay,” we say together.
Ellen stays close but starts speaking to someone on her radio, turning her face away from us. I know we’re not alone…but it feels like we are again.
“Knox,” I whisper.
“I’m here. I’m right here.”
“I’m so scared.”
His thumb moves against my palm, that same small circle he’s been tracing this whole time. “Me too, Thorne. Me too.”
They’re working below us. So many people shouting instructions, clearing the way for equipment, emergency response crews moving in. There’s tarps, big blue ones, covering the wreckage. Covering?—
“Keep talking to me,” I beg him. I can’t have silence because then I’ll think, and if I think I’ll remember the sound of him screaming. The moment it stopped. The excruciating crash that followed. “Please. I can’t…If I stop and think about it I’ll?—”
“Okay.” Knox’s voice shakes but he pushes through. “Okay. What do you want me to talk about?”
“Anything.” I’m crying again, or maybe I never stopped. “Everything. Just…don’t stop talking. Please don’t stop.”
So he doesn’t.
I brace myself to hear more stories about Owen. More trips down memory lane, that’ll leave me shattered into a hundred pieces. But instead he starts rattling off random facts.
