Whitewashed

Heart in the Middle

Chapter 8: Heart in the Middle

The first word that hits my mind is 'bomb,' followed closely by 'explosion.'

Had something gone wrong? Is he alright?

The image of the blonde Irishman flashes behind my eyelids.

Oh no...

As soon as we get outside, I can see the black smoke billowing into the air. The acrid smell hits my nose next. It causes me to stop, the sheer magnitude of the situation sinking in.

Oh NO.

I don't wait for Prints as I race forward, sprinting towards ground zero. I know it probably isn't the best idea to go TOWARDS the bomb, but you know what? If POGs is alive, he needs help and I'm not going to make him rely on Tommo or the fire department that might never get called.

Rounding the corner, my eyes find the blackened side of the half collapsed warehouse.

I beat everyone else there, my heart hammering in my chest from both the physical exertion and the prospect of finding the guy dead.

"POGs?" I scream, my voice cracking.

The only answer is footsteps as the other members of Head Rush run towards the smoldering wreckage.

I know there is only one way the Irishman would get out alive- someone will have to go in there and there is no way any professional help is coming in time. The worst part is the portion over the door had collapsed, leaving only a small gap in the rubble where one of the support beams caved in, leaning on top of something inside. There are only two people here that can fit through that.

Little Man skids to a halt next to me and we exchange a look.

Before I can say anything, he dives and scrambles inside the gap.

"Little Man!" Tats barks, getting on his knees to try and crawl after him.

He is too big. He will never fit and he knows it.

"I'll go get him," I offer hastily, tearing the bandana off of Haz's head as he joins us. I have a hard time unfolding it with my shaking hands, "You guys work on making our exit larger."

"Ozzie, you can't go in there," Haz protests, his long fingers wrapping around my upper arm.

"No one else can fit."

"That doesn't mean you have to," his green eyes rapidly search my face for any sign of how to stop me.

I shake my head, "Little Man can't do it by himself and I'm not leaving POGs in there."

Our gazes stay locked only for a moment, the unspoken "if he's still alive" eliciting an understanding nod from my companion, and he lets me go.

Tying the piece of cloth around my face, I sprint forward, drop to the ground, and take a deep breath before inching into the darkness of the destroyed building. Instantly, I am swallowed whole by a thick smoke and the sharp smell of burning drywall and seared plaster.

The only thing that keeps me from wanting to throw up is the almost unnoticeable scent of Haz I receive every time I inhale.

"POGs? Little Man?" I call, trying to listen for sounds other than a nearby open flame.

Tucking my hair into my shirt so it won't get caught on something or burned, I give a harsh cough as my lungs try to dispel the toxic air.

"GUYS?" I yell, watching the light from the place that I entered disappear as I shimmy my way up a pile of a gravel like substance. Sliding to the bottom at the other side, I am about to keep crawling, but I stop.