Page 64 of On Fire

“Stay with me,” I whisper.

Suddenly Bryce yells, “Clear!” rising quickly from the floor, wiping sweat from his face with his forearm. The heat inside is brutal. A wide “I” of sweat drenches the front of this shirt. Mateus pivots and he and Finn are on either side of us again. This time, it’s to rip that bomb off.

Mateus reaches for the knife strapped to his leg and immediately cuts the vest at both shoulder seams. There’s so much tension, they open with a pop. Next comes the side. He slides the knife underneath and makes one broad stroke. Before Finn can rip the vest off, I drop the second wire, kick that damn box away, thrust my head through Nic’s arms, straighten my legs, and lift him off the hook.

Finn tears the vest off as Nic’s arms come down around my neck. All one hundred and ninety pounds of him is dead weight. I take a step back and wrap both arms around his waist.

Swiftly moving the vest with the bomb to a far corner, Finn then turns and yells “Everybody move. Together.” This is in case we are being watched. That maniac outside might hit the trigger the moment he sees one of us exit. We have to leave together, at one time.

He doesn’t have to repeat the order.

Bryce wrenches the door open. We stand there for a nanosecond to regroup, then run in a huddle, with me half dragging Nic to the outside. Finn’s right behind us. Mateus throws the latch on the door and then I catch a glimpse of Bryce hauling his partner out of there. In half a second, we’re scrambling around the front bumper. The large fire engine is behind the cars, her lights flashing. I don’t see McKinley or anyone anywhere.

“Everybody down!” yells Finn.

I slam Nic to the ground, my arm under his head, and hunker down over him, trying to cover him with my body.

The first thing I feel is the ground rumbling, buckling and then the sound, the roar, the clatter of metal hitting the car and the smell of gunpowder, steel, dirt filling everything. And then, it’s over. My ears ring afterward, a kind of temporary tinnitus but we’re all alive. Alive, and that’s all that matters right now.

Bryce and Mateus scramble next to us, and I climb off Nic’s prone body, dipping my head out from under his arms. Bryce and Mateus catch his wrists and lower them gently. McKinley materializes, running over with a fence cutter, while Finn fishes around for a handcuff key, his “Fuck Fuck FUCK,” getting louder every second he can’t find it.

The fence cutter is faster. McKinley snaps the cuffs off like twigs. Nic’s wrists are scraped raw and he’s nearly unconscious. I glance up in appreciation and McKinley’s gone completely white.

His gaze drops to me. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Get him on his side,” Bryce says as soon as the cuffs are gone. Bryce and Mateus are former SEAL medics. They know what they’re doing.

Finn helps and we roll him to his side. I rub his hands as much as I can. They are a swollen, blue mess. More sirens rise in the wind, this time with an ambulance chorus. Mateus takes his pulse and tells me to keep rubbing his arms. Finn works on his legs.

“Keep talking to him,” Mateus says. Bryce rises to wave the paramedics over. Carlson’s battered Volvo pulls up and three squad cars follow.

I know they’re worried about an active shooter scenario. I also know they are pretty sure Graham is still on the premises. There might be more explosives. Police scatter with guns drawn. The whole place could be booby trapped. But I don’t think so. This was a specific attack.

Carlson takes one look at Nic lying on the ground and curses. “Bomb unit is a minute behind us.” Then he kneels and puts a hand on Nic’s brow.

“Everyone’s here, Nic.”

Nic’s entire body starts to shake, and his breathing seems no better. I look at Mateus.

“It’s like harness syndrome. The blood pools in the legs and without the lungs getting oxygen, toxins build up. He’s not out of the woods.” Then he sees my face. “Hey. But he’s with you right now. Tell him what you need to tell him.”

Tell him what you need to tell him.

I need to tell him everything.

I need to tell him about the life we will have together. I need to tell him about how our children will adore him. I need to tell him I love him.

More vehicles arrive.

Three paramedics descend, push us away, and start working on him. Their radios crackle and I hear phrases like “orthostatic shock,” while Mateus reports stats: how long we think he might have been there, a fluttering weak pulse, probable use of chloroform. Finn hands them a bag with the soaked rag then stands next to me with Bryce and Mateus on the other side.

The paramedics drop an IV line, someone rips a blood pressure cuff off him and says to her partner, “50 over 20, we need to transport.”

None of us can speak. Nic Silvano, the foundation of Colton Security, the rock, the guy who comes out taking bullets for his team, lies struggling to breathe.

They quickly shift him to a gurney, fix an oxygen mask over his face, and hoist him into the ambulance.

The paramedic signals they’re ready to transport. Only one of us can go.

My chest is tight when Finn pats me on the back. “This is all you,” he says and folds his arms. The driver slams his door and the two inside with Nic wait a moment.

“Are you sure?”

He nods without speaking, swallows hard, then regains his voice. “He needs you right now. You go.”