I heard someone crying in pain, somewhere in the dark. Beside me, Liza's breathing betrayed her calm demeanor. Ragged and shallow, I gripped her hand. "Stay down." I whispered.
I moved to crawl forward, her hand tightened. She stared ahead, eyes locked onto the shattered bottles in front of us. "Don't." She croaked, "Don't go" So hysterical she could barely speak.
I gave her a seconds smile. More despair and anxiety shined on her face. Staying wouldn't help her, no more than leaving her would. Especially not with my own mounting anxiety, the fear had a strangle hold on me. I jerked out of her vice grip and crawled to the wall.
Tom. It was a chant in my mind. Tom. Tom. Tom. It was a mix of desperate deep-rooted worry about the man I loved, his safety and at the same time in contrast to m
