The Huntress Descent

The Storm: Chapter Twenty

Maya's soft sobs reverberated in the air, punctuating the heavy silence that enveloped us. We clung to each other tightly, seeking solace in our shared embrace. Her scent was tainted with smoke, her tear-streaked face a canvas of dust and dried blood.

Time seemed to blur together since the moment of devastation. Yet, amidst the chaos, I remained trapped in a void of emotions. Instead of succumbing to the overwhelming sadness like Maya, I found myself grappling with a profound numbness. It was as if my ability to feel had been stripped away, leaving behind an eerie calm in its wake.

My thoughts swirled in a foggy haze, a persistent headache throbbing at the base of my skull. Nausea churned in the pit of my stomach, a constant reminder of the dread that lingered within me. But the worst sensation was the dull ache in the centre of my back. The place where they extracted the liquid from my lungs. It pulsed with my heartbeat. Reminding me of all the moments that I encountered near death. Too many.

Brenda's voice cut through the haze, her words a distant echo in my ears. She tended to the wound on my hand, her touch gentle yet firm. Despite her reassurances that it wouldn't require stitches, I couldn't shake the feeling of failure that gnawed at me. I withdrew my arm, cradling it against my chest, unwilling to face the reality of my own vulnerability.

"The arm," she sighed. "Feeling will come back eventually. I dunno how long it will be."

I pulled it away from her and tucked it into my chest. I didn't care what she had to say. I wanted her to go. A white jagged scar marred its way from the back of my hand up my arm to my elbow, a stark symbol of the chaos that seemed to follow me wherever I went. Every glance at it served as a painful reminder that I was incapable of preventing the tragedies that unfolded around me.

Everything felt numb.

Why couldn't I force myself to grab hold of him?

Everything's your fault.

Everything's my fault.

***

An hour slipped by unnoticed, marked only by the gentle rise and fall of Maya's sleeping form against my shoulder. Somewhere in that passage of time, Newt had joined us, his presence a silent comfort in the midst of chaos. I couldn't pinpoint the exact moment he arrived; time seemed to fold in on itself, blurring into a single indistinct memory.

My gaze flickered briefly to where Newt had assisted Minho with Brenda and Thomas, their figures now nestled on cots further inside the Berg. Minho stood sentinel over them, a silent guardian in the dimly lit space. Meanwhile, Newt settled beside me, his arm draped reassuringly around my waist.

We hadn't moved from the ramp. We both couldn't bear it.

Not a word passed between anyone.

Only the sound of the engine broke through the silence.

Newt's voice pierced the stillness, his question hanging in the air like a whispered prayer. "Where do you think we are?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the far end of the hold.

I didn't respond. I had no words left to exhaust.

"I wanna say somewhere over a rocky mountain," Newt's voice broke through the heavy silence, his words a stark contrast to the mechanical hum of the engine. "Where there's actual snow on top of it. Do you remember what snow was like?"

His voice held a wistful tone, a yearning for memories long buried beneath the weight of our current reality. But my mind remained stubbornly silent, refusing to engage in the whimsical nostalgia he attempted to evoke.

No reply.

"Me either," he remarked, undeterred by my silence. "All I remember was that it's white and fluffy and super cold."