Dust coated Arron's helmet and he had to wipe it away repeatedly with his sleeve. His gloves split, so did his nails and skin underneath. He kept going. Lynn was alive down there. She was. She had to be.
Let her be all right. Please. Jesus, God, Allah, Mary, Joseph, Isis, Odin, Mithras, Patrick, Jehovah, Yahweh, Mothers, oh, Mothers, please, Buddha …
“I hear them!” shouted one of the listeners. She pressed her head against a jumble of broken concrete. “Under here!”
So many sisters descended on the pile, Arron found himself pushed back. He stood behind them, panting hard. His hands flexed and trembled. Tears mixed with the sweat running down his face. He became aware that the shore guns were still firing, the planes were still roaring overhead, and the shattering, crumbling explosion of dropping bombs still went on, and on.
Stones passed down to the relatively clear streets. Someone brought in a crowbar. Someone else brought in a brace. He couldn't see what was going on. He couldn't make himself move.
“She's Human!” unidentifiable voices called and answered one another. “There was a Human.” “Where is she?” “Get her down there!” “Human! A sister of yours is down here!”
Arron dived into the center of the crowd. He heard a few gasps of “Scholar Arron!” behind him. In front of him, the broken concrete had been cleared to expose a jagged, black hole. Someone shined a light into it. He saw a flash of light, brown skin, a frightened eye, a hand.
“Lynn!”
A rope came from somewhere. Arron tied it around his waist. A light tube was pressed into his hand.
Carefully, one step at a time, he picked his way down the rubble. It shifted and crumbled under his feet, showering Lynn with stones and dust. The ruin cut off the daylight. His boots found semifirm purchase, and he crouched beside her, afraid to move and bring the rest of the building down on top of them.
“Okay, I'm here. We'll get you out.” He saw what had happened. A support beam had fallen against one of the remains of the foundation wall, creating a small pocket, just enough for them to …
Them? Where's Res?
He saw Lynn's hand, flung toward the interior of the ruined building. He saw it clutching Resaime's hand. He saw the end of the beam that had sheltered Lynn, and he saw the blood.
His stomach heaved hard, forcing bile up his throat until he choked.
“Ca … can you move?”
“Yes,” whispered Lynn. She tucked her legs under her. Slowly, she let go of Resaime's hand.
Arron wrapped an arm tightly around her shoulders and helped her to her knees. She was shaking violently. Shock. Shock without a doubt.
“We need some blankets!” he shouted up the hole. “Come on, Lynn.” He placed her hands, pointed out where she could put her feet, and boosted her from the side.
At last, they emerged into daylight. Lynn stumbled and leaned against him as he helped her down to the street. Hands held out blankets to wrap her in. Someone else held out a mug of something green. Arron tasted it. It was a cold tea he'd drunk a thousand times. He pressed it into Lynn's hands.
Her face was a disaster. Her bandage had been torn away along with half the skin on her cheek. Dirt, blood, pus, and mucus caked her face and empty orb. More ran down her cheek and neck, while she sat oblivious with the clay cup clutched in her hands. Her scalp was a mass of cuts and blood. He could see her torn and jagged implant under the cut in her temple. Her clothes were cut to ribbons, exposing shoulder, breast, torso, and knee.
“I had a bag,” he said to the cluster of anxious sisters. “Can anyone see my bag?”
It was handed to him. He tore it open and found the medikit. “There's a boat in the harbor. A Human boat. It belongs to Trader Cabal. She was waiting for us. Can anyone run to the harbor and tell her what happened? Tell her she must wait.” His own hands shook as he opened the kit. “We'll be there, but she must wait.” A pair of sisters volunteered and scampered off.
In the kit he found sterile pads, temporary skin, fungicides, antibacterials, and painkillers. He handed two of the painkillers to Lynn. She stared at them in her scratched and dirty palm. He put her hand to her mouth. She swallowed the pills. He raised the cup for her. She drank.
Arron's stomach rebelled again. He gritted his teeth in fierce concentration as he swabbed and disinfected the worst of Lynn's wounds. He laid patches of temporary skin across her face and temple and wrapped bandages on top of that. Someone had brought plain water and a towel. He was able to wash down the rest of her face and scalp.
Her lips started moving. One word, over and over, with no sound behind it.
“Lynn, I can't hear you. What do you want?” He bent down until her lips brushed his helmet.