Hope struggled through the wreckage, her uniform charred and singed in many places, leaving patches of raw, red skin. Her eyebrows were beaded with sweat, and her heart felt like it was about to beat its way out of her chest.

“Thomas!” she yelled, trying to scatter the debris. Her hair was going hither tither, obstructing her vision, but right now, she had to find him. “Thomas!” she shouted again, and spotted a feeble movement through the rubble.
Hope got down on her hands and knees, and sorted through the dust until her partner was visible.
“Thomas!” she said; it seemed to be the only thing she could speak.
He coughed, and a small spatter of blood exited his mouth and landed on Hope’s pants.

“Not too peachy keen, am I?” he joked, his voice raspy. Hope propped him up and tried to find a place where he was not cut or wounded so she could pick him up.
“Leave me here,” he rasped.

“No way, Thomas! We’ve come so far together!” she yelled through her tears.

“Hope dies last,” he smiled, and closed his eyes.