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Underneath the rubble, commander Fox was starting to regret wearing his helmet.
It protected him from the broken pieces of the durocrete pinging of the plastoid like drops of rain, but that was it. The filters of the guard’s helmets weren’t good even when brand new, not to mention a couple of tendays after they were supposed to be changed, and he could taste the burning plastoid on the back of his throat. No wonder nothing tasted right those days. Fine dust settled in his eyes and nose,l.
Somewhere above him, people were crying for help.
A piece of broken wall panel was digging into the small of his back, right into the space between the back plate and the skidplate. He shifted just a little, trying to find a position that would be more comfortable, but it only send pins and needles through his nerves, making his frozen, numb limbs burn and twitch uncontrollably as blood returned to them, making more durocrete rain down on him, making more dust leak through the filters and through cracks in the old, brittle plastoid of the armor, making his eyes water even more, making his skin itch even more, making his arms twitch even more, making the nerves burn…
He closed his eyes, taking a slow breath through his nose.
He wasn't going to die. The ruins weren't going to shift and crush him underneath him. There was enough air in the little cavern around him, so he wasn't going to suffocate. His legs were aching just from being stuck motionless for too long, and because his legs were always aching. It wasn't a sign that the muscles were starting to break down from the pressure and the lack of blood, turning into poison that was going to flood his body the second they would get him out.
He was safe.
His breathing quickened and he started to cough, lungs burning.
He was safe.
His head started to spin, his hands and feet getting cold, and he kept telling himself it was just anxiety, but what if some pipe burst during the explosion and he was breathing in something else than air.
He was safe.
He was shaking and couldn't stop.
He was safe.
His throat was hurting and it took far too long to realize that he was screaming.
“Have you found someone? That's a good girl, Grizzer, that's a good girl!”
Light broke through between the rubble and he was suddenly free, sitting up and gasping for air. The massiff next to him was huffing and grunting and slobbering and trying to lick the faceplate of his helmet until Hound pulled her back by her harness.
“Leave him alone, Grizzer…”
He tilted his head.
“Are you okay?”
Fox wanted to answer, or at least nod, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a broken wail. Hound grabbed him around his shoulders.
“I’m so sorry, Fox,” he whispered, pulling the helmet off of Fox’s head: “I wanted to get you out as soon as possible, but the blue guys showed up and I needed to take care of them…”
Fox wiped his nose. “I’m…”His voice shook, and he swallowed the rest of the lie. “Grizzer is happy, right?”
The air was full of smoke and dust and the iron smell of blood.
Hound nodded.
“It’s just so hard on her to keep finding one dead after another…”