A pause.
Then—
Something.
A sound.
Faint.
She froze, every muscle going rigid.
“There!” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure where “there” was. She held her breath, straining to listen past the ringing in her ears.
Another sound.
A low, broken moan.
Relief surged through her so suddenly it almost made her dizzy. “I hear you!” she called, urgency flooding her voice. “I’m here! Where are you?”
The response was incoherent, more pain than language, but it was enough.
She wasn’t alone.
“Hold on,” she said, though she had no idea if the person could hear her. “I’m coming—just… hold on.”
Coming.
The word felt absurd the moment she thought it.
She looked down at herself.
Her legs were pinned beneath a section of the seat in front of her, crushed at an angle that made her stomach turn. The metal frame had twisted inward, trapping her from mid-thigh down.
She swallowed hard.
“Okay,” she muttered. “Okay… think.”
Her hands were free.
That was something.
She reached down, her fingers trembling, and touched the metal pressing into her legs. It was warm—no, hot. She jerked her hand back with a hiss.
Heat meant fire.
The realization snapped through her like a live wire.
She lifted her head again, scanning more urgently now.
There—toward the rear of what remained of the cabin—a flicker of orange. Small, but growing. Smoke curled upward in thin, sinister strands, darkening as it climbed.
Her pulse spiked.
“No, no, no…”
She couldn’t stay here.
Pinned or not, injured or not—staying meant dying.
The urgency sharpened her thoughts.
“Okay,” she said again, louder this time, as if speaking more firmly might make it true. “We’re getting out. We’re getting out.”
She braced her hands against the floor—or what passed for a floor—and tried to push herself up.
Pain exploded through her legs.
A scream tore from her throat before she could stop it, raw and animal. Her vision blurred with tears as she collapsed back down, gasping.
“Okay,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Okay… not like that.”
She needed leverage.
She needed to move the seat.
She looked around, searching for anything she could use. Her gaze landed on a piece of metal tubing—part of a broken armrest, maybe—lying just within reach.
She stretched for it.
Her shoulder protested violently, sending a wave of nausea through her. She clenched her teeth and kept going, fingers brushing the cold surface before finally curling around it.
“Got you,” she breathed.
She pulled it closer, then positioned it beneath the edge of the seat frame pinning her legs.
“Come on,” she muttered, more to herself than anything. “Come on…”
She pushed.
At first, nothing happened.
The metal groaned faintly, but the seat didn’t budge.
“Come on!” she snapped, frustration flaring. She adjusted her grip, ignoring the pain screaming through her arms and shoulder, and pushed again—harder this time.
The frame shifted.
Just a fraction.
But it was enough.
“Yes—yes, okay—again—”
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