Snippet #2384070

A wave of coughing overcame Chris and he doubled over. An inner war raged inside him. He wanted to try and get more people out, but every fibre of his being was screaming at him to get out. He knew all the airborne dust was coating his lungs, and that the building was far from safe. When he could catch his breath, he screamed at the kids to get out, to move it. But that was becoming scarily less common as his body was racked with heaves and coughs. His shoulder wasn't getting better, and he was pretty sure that the cut on his brow was still bleeding.

He started to move, but his feet gave way from underneath him. How long had he been in the building? How much dust had he inhaled? He knew that it was the coughing making him weak. He pushed himself up, clambering back to his feet, but he stumbled, leaning against a wall as his body tried to repel everything that was in his body that shouldn't be. Something glass shattered and he felt jagged pieces of glass dig into his skin.

Was it his imagination? Or could he hear a siren wailing somewhere? Or was it just the panic alarm, undoubtedly triggered by the headmaster before he got out?

Even as Chris leaned against the wall, choking on the dust in his lungs, he started to worry about Amy. He hadn't exactly been the most popular guy in school- something about being too much of a show-off. Amy was the only friend he had seen since leaving school, and he hoped that she was going to be alright, no matter what was wrong with her.

He managed to start moving, despite the coughing that was on the verge of becoming dry heaving. The glass in his arm reminded him of his ordeal the day before. Corentine Quellen. He tasted something bitter in his mouth. For a second, he thought it was at the memory of her. Then, he realized that it was more salty than bitter- blood. He didn't know if somewhere, his lungs had been damaged, if it was just from the still bleeding wound on his forehead or if it was from all the coughing. He had heard that when a person was coughing as vigorously as he was for as long as he was, their windpipe could be damaged.

He found himself in the ruined lobby. It's grandeur and professionalism was gone, instead looking like a building site gone to ruin. He had to lean on what had once been the desk as his head started to swim and the floor lurched beneath his feet. His feet lead him out the the suddenly blinding sunlight. They carried him to the lawn and declared their job done, depositing him abruptly to the ground. He continued to cough, but the clean air he sucked in with every breath made a slight difference, replacing the dust-clouded air of his lungs with clean, fresh air.

Before long, he managed to sit up, looking around. He raised a hand to the wound on his brow, touching it tenderly and looking at his hand when he lifted it away. Sure enough, there was blood in his fingers. His body suddenly became aware of new wounds, and a fresh wave of pain rolled through his body as he examined the new cuts in his arm. The adrenaline started to fade, leaving him feeling achy and shaken. His shoulder felt slightly swollen and stiff.

Relief suddenly filled him as he realized how lucky he was. He wasn't that badly injured. He had escaped with mild injuries compared to a lot of the students. He wanted to help those who seemed in a bad way, but he still continued to cough, and he didn't particularly feel up to being a hero any more. He instead took a breather and waited for the coughing to subside.