"Dalia, stay here with Jolene, please. I’ll look for the others," John said.
Dalia nodded and put Jolene’s arm around her neck, helping her to sit down. She watched as John’s broad back disappeared around a building.
"Stephanie! Octavia!" John shouted, but there was no response. He rested his hand on his waist and cupped his chin to ponder for a minute. He had to assume that they were either dead or unconscious, probably inside a building or trapped by debris.
John continued his search by including the ruined buildings. Everything was littered with the debris of destruction: massive chunks of concrete, unrecognizable wooden furniture and rotting corpses, monsters and humans alike.
The only sounds were the sound of John’s hard boots crunching against the gravel and the distant rumble of thunder. John could not see the end of the destruction, and the thought of his friends and lovers lying among the rubble, possibly injured or worse, filled him with dread.
John clenched his fists and grit his teeth, his face twisted with determination. He would not give up until he found them.
The sound of footsteps, which was initially subtle, gradually grew louder and closer. John paused and crouched down, his eyes scanning the area. The footsteps seemed to be coming from his left, and as John strained his ears, he could make out the distinct sound of shards of glass crunching underfoot.
John’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. He knew that sound all too well, and it sent a shiver down his spine. It was the sound of someone who was not afraid of being heard, and it meant that whoever was approaching was either very confident or very stupid.
He waited, his heart pounding in his chest and his palms damp. He could hear the footsteps drawing closer, and he could feel his muscles tensing.
He reached for his Venomlash and gripped it tightly, his knuckles turning white and his body rigid. As the footsteps grew louder, he could make out the soft rustling of clothing and the soft rasp of breathing.
He glanced behind him and saw a figure emerging from the shadows of a building.
John lashed out, his Venomlash cutting through the air and missing the shadow by inches. The shadow stepped back, its form blurry and indistinct in the dim light.
"Who the fuck are you?" John growled, his eyes glinting with danger and his face twisted in a scowl.
The shadow stepped forward, its form becoming clearer.
"John, it’s me," a familiar voice called out, and John felt his body sag in relief.
It was August, his face pale and his hair matted.
John took a deep breath and spoke up, "have you seen any of the others?"
August shook his head and looked around.
"No, I haven’t seen anyone," he answered, his voice thick and gravelly.
"What about the girls?"
"I think they were caught in the blast. I’m not sure where they are," August said, his eyes sad and his expression grim.
John swallowed, his throat tight and his chest aching.
"Keep looking, let’s spread out."
"Right," August agreed, his voice strained and his eyes heavy.
Th𝗲 most uptodate novels are published on ƒгeewёbnovel.com.
John resumed his search, his steps hurried and his pulse racing.
He continued to shout their names, his voice carrying through the still air and echoing off the ruins. There was no response.
John paused and rubbed his temples, his mind racing and his heart pounding. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was starting to lose hope. The longer he went without finding anyone, the more likely it was that they were all dead.
He stepped inside a building. The room was dark and dust occupied every nook and cranny. He explored deeper into building, avoiding stepping on the most precarious parts of the floor. He reached a staircase and began to climb. The stairs creaked and groaned under his weight, but he pressed forward.
A flash of lightning illuminated the room for a brief moment, revealing a large, empty space. There was nothing left except piles of broken furniture and debris. He moved cautiously, his eyes darting from corner to corner and his Venomlash at the ready.
He walked around a pile of broken wood and came to a stop. A familiar face stared up at him, its eyes wide and its mouth agape. It was Stephanie, her body mangled and her life drained.
He knelt beside her, his hands trembling and his throat dry.
"Oh, no..." he whispered, his voice heavy and his heart aching.
Stephanie lay there, her face pale and her skin cold. Her hair was matted and her clothes were torn. She must have been close to the blast, John thought.
John knelt down and brushed the dirt and blood from her cheek. He had no tears to shed. He had seen so much death and destruction, and had lost so many loved ones, that he was numb to it all. He felt his heart breaking and his soul shattering into pieces.
His hand trembled as he reached for Stephanie’s neck. He placed his fingers gently against her skin, and felt her pulse.
It was weak and irregular, but it was there.
He sighed in relief and lifted her limp body into his arms. She was injured and in desperate need of medical attention, but she was alive.
"John! What did you find?" a familiar voice called out, and he glanced behind him to see Dalia standing there, her face pale and her eyes wide.
"Stephanie. She’s injured and needs help," John replied and in the silence that followed his reply, the pain of his weakness swarmed the dusty room. With Stephanie in his arms, he stepped out, his failure still gripping tight at his heart.
"She’s alive?" Dalia cried, her voice laced in relief and shock.
"Yes. We have to find the others."
"Right."
John looked down at Stephanie’s battered body, her state was a painful reminder of his failure, but for now, he had to push those thoughts aside. First, he would take care of them and then he would just have to do better next time.