No one had to tell him twice. Gabriel ran, and Merc was right next to him. The street looked like a warzone. Wounded struggled to their feet, and the dead lay in pools of their own blood. The lucky ones. More body parts were strewn around, and the front face of the hotel was a gaping, debris-strewn hole. Papers, cash, coins, and detritus floated down amidst the ash and crumbling stonework. Metal girders were twisted, melted in some places.
Copper had been on the second floor, at the epicenter of the destruction. Agony ripped through his chest and squeezed off his oxygen. Refusing the evidence in front of his eyes, he kept running. The closer they drew, the more hell rained down. A fire burst up like Satan’s breath, igniting a gas line and shooting skyward. Merc dodged the twisted metal, and they circled to where the lobby had been. Sirens howled in the distance, and survivors were stumbling out, leaning on each other when possible.
Both men looked up to where the ceiling had been and up… “Three, maybe four floors.” Terror pitted his gut.
“She’s not dead,” Merc said, then stared at the pile of debris. Large chunks of ceiling and stone were stacked atop each other. Overhead, a vicious crack resounded and fresh screams echoed as a huge slab of cement slid down to crash into the secondary hole.
Bellows of dust exploded upward.
Tugging a utility knife from his pocket, Gabriel sliced off the sleeve of his shirt. Ignoring the blood, he wrapped it around the lower half of his face. It helped cut down the dust inhalation. Next to him, Merc did the same thing. They shared a look, and as one, they headed into hell.
First responders were pouring in and ordered them out, but neither he nor Merc listened. They attacked the stacked debris and started pulling away what they could. Ten minutes in, the blond joined them.
“I have a signal,” he said. He motioned them from the stack and pointed toward the rear. Following him, they climbed over the debris and headed deeper into the burning casino. Fires still cropped up, and the media was everywhere. Cops, firemen, and first aid workers, along with dazed looking hotel staff, continued the evacuation. Bomb Squad and SWAT passed them, but they didn’t stop. Where the blond told them to dig, they dug.
“You sure, Plat?” Merc asked, even as he worked to loosen the debris.
“Signal’s right below us. Their GPS chips are still active.” Those were the last words they spoke. Gabriel concentrated on lifting cement blocks. Some had shattered into pieces, others were slabs.
A ton of building had come down on them. The sharp edges sliced into his fingers. He wrapped cloth around his palms and kept going. A crew of construction workers appeared, and they brought equipment. Plat and Merc wasted no time co-opting the men into helping them.
Minutes bled into hours and day segued into night. Huge power lamps were brought in and rescue efforts increased as aid poured in. Men appeared that Merc recognized, and they began to tunnel beside the debris, going at an angle from where he worked.
One of them was called Chrome. Beyond a nod, they didn’t say much else. Everyone focused on getting to the survivors.
There had to be survivors. A shout went up from another crew and a woman was pulled from beneath the mass. They all froze, and everyone watched—the woman was blonde and wore a hotel uniform.
Not Copper.
The digging resumed.
Exhaustion wore at him, but he ignored it. Ignored everything. A hard hand on his shoulder jerked him up and water was pressed into his bloody grasp. He stared at the man offering it, then nodded and drank. Another hour trickled away, and more bodies were located in the debris. Dogs were brought in. No one bothered them, him and his silent band of men working tirelessly to dislodge the rubble.
“Here!” Plat shouted. The silent, ruthless energy surged as they abandoned their stacks to converge on his position. Using a wedge and braces to keep the ceiling above them in place, they opened the debris to reveal a pocket below. Shifting the lights, they went silent as they searched the pocket. A phone chirped below amidst the rubble.
The dust moved, and they zeroed in on a hand moving in the debris. Merc dropped into the hole, and Gabriel pushed off right behind him. They landed away from the hand and then began to clear the smaller rubble.
Black hair.
Blood.
“Copper,” Merc said, his low, gravelly voice brutal. “You better fucking answer me.”
Gabriel was on his hands and knees, wiping away more pebbles, and he tugged the black hair, and the wig came away. Tossing it, he located her head and ran his fingers lightly over her skull.
“Don’t move her,” Plat said as he lowered into the hole along with a pair of bright orange backboards. More followed. “Don’t move either of them.”
More words than he’d heard the man speak.Come on, where is her breathing?He got the hair away from her face, then he and Merc leaned in closer. Extending his palm before her lips, he waited.
Breath.
“She’s breathing,” he yelled. “Move it.”
"Open your fucking eyes," Merc snarled. Gabriel wanted to slug him—then she did. The gray dust shifted slightly as her eyelids fluttered.
“We’re moving.” Plat was beside him, and then he was there. Gabriel shifted over, making room for him and continuing to shed the debris off of her. She was wedged just below a huge concrete slab. A metal piling had caught the top of it. Another inch in either direction, and it would have landed on her directly. He dug out her legs.
“Status report,” Chrome snapped, as he too dropped into the pit. The man was covered in filth and dirt like the rest of them, but he commanded attention.