61 Wasn't That Unlucky

61. Not That Unlucky

As the structure collapsed, dust spread like a thick fog, almost completely obscuring visibility.

Carl reacted the instant the collapse began, rolling sideways beneath a relatively stable metal frame. A massive chunk of concrete slammed down where she had been standing moments before with a deafening crash.

For several minutes, perhaps longer, Carl remained motionless and simply listened. Apart from the steady beat of her own heart and the faint sounds of gravel occasionally slipping loose, there was no other movement. Her communicator contained nothing but dead static. Jack and Oliver's signals had vanished completely.

Only when the final sounds of falling rocks gradually subsided, leaving only the occasional patter of debris, did Carl slowly rise from behind her shelter.

She slowly moved her limbs, confirming that she had sustained no serious injuries.

Everything else was fine, though her left shoulder joint had been slightly dislocated in the impact. Expressionless, she raised her hand and gave it a shove. With a soft click, she set it back into place.

The scene before her had changed completely.

She was in a section of corridor that had been almost entirely buried. The once-spacious passage was now packed with twisted metal beams and massive chunks of concrete, leaving only the small triangular space where she had taken shelter intact by sheer luck.

Above her, an enormous prefabricated slab had plunged down at an angle, its other end deeply embedded in the opposite wall. It formed a temporary support, but it also made the space unbearably cramped, with barely enough height for her to stand while bent over.

The air was filled with powerful smells: the dry grittiness of concrete dust, the scorched ozone from severed cables, the sickly sweetness of leaking coolant, and a faint but distinctive disinfectant scent