Playing Heart Games

Boss Level 68: Save Her

AXEL

The moment I shoved through the doors, I regretted it.

The room was choked with smoke so thick that I could hardly see. There were no flames downstairs, but I had a feeling that wouldn't last long Heat beat down on my skin—like I'd stepped into a furnace. I moved forward anyway, pressing my forearm to my nose.

"Brielle!" I yelled.

I coughed as my lungs filled with smoke.

"Sir—are you inside the house?" the dispatcher's voice shifted into disbelief.

I nearly stumbled. I squinted at the ground—a large chunk of wood. I looked up at the ceiling. The plaster had fallen apart, a crack splintered down the centre of the painting of the sun. A wooden beam hung precariously from the gaping hole. Jagged splinters covered its end, where the chunk had broken off.

"Sir—you need to leave immediately—"

"One second—Brielle!" I crossed the room, my eyes burning. "Brielle!"

"Sir, please leave the—"

Her voice faded. My eyes locked on a figure lying at the bottom of the stairs, barely a smudge in the smoke.

"Brielle?"

I moved forward. And froze.

A beam hung from the ceiling, its end pinning one corner of her top to the ground. Hair covered her face, and a small pool of blood surrounded her head.

For a second, I thought she was dead.

Then she groaned.

"She's alive."

I crouched next to her, wrapping my arm around her waist and yanking her out from beneath the beam. It wasn't crushing her—it must have fallen on her way down the stairs. Probably hit her on the head. I rolled my eyes.

What idiot stays in a house after lighting it on fire?

Her head lolled against my shoulder. Her face was pale and covered in sweat, soot and blood.

I shook her. "Wake up you idiot."

She didn't move. Bloody hell. The burning sensation in my throat was becoming unbearable.

"Sir—please leave the building."

I'd completely forgotten about the dispatcher.

The house released a loud groan. The ceiling splintered, and something white rained down on us. Several pieces caught in Brielle's hair:

Plaster.

Not a good sign.

I lifted Brielle in my arms and sprinted towards the doors.

A loud crack.

A second later, my head slammed against the ground. The world went dark.

*

"Sir—are you there?"

I tore my eyes open.

The world was a liquid blur of black and red. I blinked, but it didn't clear.

"Sir, are you there?"

"Here," I slurred.

Where was here?

I was staring at the ground, the painting of the boy beneath me, half-covered by a chunk of plaster. Something was digging into my back. Something else was digging into my stomach.