Chapter 445
[ 516 words ]
Chapter 445:
As they carried him away, Sterling twisted his head, his last glimpse of the dark hole a vision of Caroline’s pale, still form, left alone in the darkness. His eyes burned with a helpless, desperate rage.
Cole’s team vanished into the shadows just as Jarrod Romero and his unit scrambled over the pile of debris. He was covered in filth, his tactical vest scarred, his eyes shot through with red from hours of sleepless searching.
“Report!” he snarled into his comms, his voice raw with anxiety.
K.C. Bell’s voice crackled back. “Sir, life signs detected in this sector! Very faint! No distress beacon, but we’ve got a personal locator beacon sporadically pinging—could be a civilian marker.”
Jarrod’s heart hammered against his ribs. The comms had been a nightmare for the past hour, fragmented reports and static drowning out half the traffic. If anyone had called in a civilian’s position, it could have easily been lost in the noise. He shoved past his men, leading the way toward the source of the signal—the dark opening Cole’s team had just vacated.
For the past twelve hours, he had been a man possessed, tearing through the ruins of Zone A, his sanity fraying with every passing minute.
He pushed K.C. aside and aimed his own flashlight into the hole.
I𝗇t𝗲nѕ𝘦 r𝗈𝘮а𝘯𝘤e 𝗼n 𝘨𝘢𝘭𝗻𝘰𝗏𝗲𝘭𝘴.c𝘰𝘮
The beam landed on a face. Pale, still, and terrifyingly familiar. It was Caroline. She was lying motionless, not even a flicker of breath visible in the cold air.
For a single, silent moment, Jarrod’s world stopped. He felt the air leave his lungs, his heart seizing in his chest.
“Caroline!” The name was a raw, agonized roar. He threw himself down the slope of rubble, not caring about the unstable ground.
He fell to his knees beside her, his fingers, shaking uncontrollably, pressing against the side of her neck, searching for a pulse.
He felt it. A faint, thready flutter against his fingertips.
The tension that had held him rigid for hours snapped. He almost collapsed with the force of his relief. She was alive.
He gathered her into his arms, but his face tightened into a mask of pure agony. His right arm, still locked securely against his ribs in its protective splint, gave a jarring throb of protest, and his shattered left fingers flared with white-hot pain as he tried to shift her weight.
“Medic!” he bellowed, his voice straining under the effort. “Get over here now! I cannot move her safely—get the litter!”
He stripped off his own jacket with his one functional limb and wrapped it tightly around her, tucking it in with his elbows to avoid the agony of using his fingers. He knelt over her, shielding her with his own body as his men rushed in.
When the medic and K.C. slid the stretcher down the slope, Jarrod reluctantly allowed them to lift her onto it. He stood over them, his braced arm throbbing rhythmically against his chest, his breathing ragged from the physical toll of his own injuries combined with the adrenaline crash.
He strode out of the ruins toward the military transport vehicle, staying close to the litter, his eyes never leaving her face.
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