In Spite of the flames surrounding them, Karen Frost felt colder than she had ever felt in her life, but at the same time she sensed his warmth, his strength, as he carried her away from danger, away from those faceless men clutching machine guns.
She felt his heavy breathing on her face as he ran, as he suddenly cut left before opening fire on an unseen enemy. Karen tried to see, tried to help, but the blood loss had not only tunneled her vision; it had robbed her of her energy, purging her strength, leaving her fate in the hands of Tom Grant.
The gunfire intensified, mixed with the shouts of Tom and Rachel as they fought back the enemy, as they gained ground, as they struggled to get away. But for some reason the reports seemed distant, as if the weapons were discharging a hundred feet away, not next to her.
Her hearing loss intensified, until the point where she could not hear Tom or Rachel, could no longer listen to their voices as they zigzagged through the burning kitchen.
But she could still feel his arms, those powerful arms that had hugged her so many nights so long ago. And she could still see, although her sight was narrowed not just by her weakened condition but also because of the way Tom was carrying her, blocking her field of view with his upper chest and neck, where she rested her head as he fought to escape.
Walls, ceilings, chandeliers, flames, and smoke rushed by, like in a silent movie.
Or am I dreaming this?
Am I really just bleeding to death in that living room?
But the heartbeat—his heartbeat—intense and unyielding, continued to throb against the side of her face as he fought against staggering odds, with unwavering determination, rushing through room after room, some ablaze, others smoking, and still others clear.
A burning pressure built in her lungs, in her throat, forcing tears to her eyes, making her realize that the smoke was beginning to—
More gunfire, again distant, conflicted with the rhythmic trembling in his arms, which told her that Tom Grant was firing the machine gun, and she could barely hear it, as it sounded more like popping corn inside a microwave in the next room.
But she also felt another vibration in his chest overlapping those from his arms. He was shouting.
Finding it harder and harder to breathe through the thickening smoke swirling around her, Karen pressed her face against his vest, trying to inhale through it slowly, trying to control her shivering body as Tom picked up his pace, as he raced into another room, which led to—
Fresh air.
Karen filled her lungs with the cool night air. They were outside, running away from the house. The sky and the stars replaced the burning walls, the whirling smoke, the havoc created by Troy Savage’s incendiary bomb.