Chapter 36 · Pulse Under Ash

The gun was still hot when I dropped it. I felt the burn in my palm the whole way down three flights of concrete stairs.

My bare feet slapped wet across the floor. Half of it was somebody else's blood.

The bunker door stood wide open. Inside, the medical monitor was screaming one continuous, flat note.

Dante lay on the steel table with his shirt shredded. The hole under his collarbone was packed with gauze that had already turned black. Under the harsh halogen lights, his skin looked like ash.

Katia was up on the frame, hands locked over his breastbone, throwing her entire weight down.

"One, two, three, four," she rasped. The scar across her throat stretched taut on every count. "Come on, you arrogant son of a bitch. Come on."

"Move," I said.

"Lucia—"

"Move! Charge the paddles."

She looked up. Whatever she saw in my eyes made her shut her mouth and drop off the table.

I stepped into her spot. I locked my elbows and hit his chest. His ribs gave under my palms—way too soft, like splintered wood ready to snap.