Breath 28-Finale

Nick ran forward, deeper inside the desert.

He stumbled up the final dune, breath ragged, dust searing his throat.

Below, half-buried in sand, stood the trailer—gray, rusting, and humming like a dying animal.

Three men in gas masks moved like shadows around it,

tinkering with vats of chemical sludge.

One of them cursed as the steam from the engine hits his hand.

The other turned towards Nick’s direction.

He spotted him.

The first bullet snapped past Nick’s shoulder.

He dove into the brush, thorns biting his skin.

Another shot cracked.

Sand exploded near his legs. Then—silence.

Heart pounding, Nick closed his eyes.

The only thought on his head was….

Tom. Tom.

He broke from cover and sprinted toward the trailer, gun raised.

The masked men barely had time to turn.

One. Two. Three.

Each shot found its mark.

They dropped.

All three men, dead on the spot.

Smoke curled around the trailer.

Nick grabbed one of the fallen men’s masks,

yanked it on—but the moment he inhaled, he knew.

Too late. The gas was already everywhere.

Acid stung his throat.

Nick coughed.

“Fuck, that hurts.”

He threw the mask aside and kicked at the trailer’s frame.

He noticed that there were huge contrive bolts

that held the walls on both sides of the trailer

He pushed all bolts to release its hold on the trailer’s walls

Bolts snapped. Screws whined.

The side of the trailer groaned—then collapsed like a dying lung.

And what it revealed made Nick stagger back.

He vomits.

Bodies. Piled like meat.

Twisted. Naked.

Stained in blood and bile and soot.

Men, women, teens—eyes frozen, mouths open in silent screams.

A chemical tomb.

“Tom!” Nick choked out.

He climbed on top of the bodies, searching for Tom.

“Tom—where are you? I came, I’m here! Tom!”

Silence. Then—

At the corner of his eyes, he sensed a movement on his side.

A twitch. A cough.

A hand, pale and trembling, moved beneath the pile.

It was Tom.

He rushed and pushed the bodies that buried Tom.

“Jesus,” Nick whispered.

He scrambled forward, clawing bodies aside until he saw the face beneath.

Ash-smeared. Lips blue. Eyes fluttering open.

Tom.

“Nick…” he croaked.

Nick pulled him up, arms locking around him like armor.

“Tom! You’re alive! Thank God! You’re…alive…I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Tom.”

Tom wheezed and coughed, then—finally—breathed.

“You came,” he whispered. “I knew you would.”

Nick kissed him. A desperate, broken kiss full of ash and relief.

He gently guided Tom out of the trailer

“How long have you been holding your breath?”

Tom looked at him. A single tear slid down his cheek.

“As long as I could,” he whispered.

“For as long as it took. Because I knew… you would come.”

Sirens wailed in the distance.

Nick turned. Red lights far behind the dunes. ‘

He gripped Tom tighter.

“We have to go,” he said. “Now.”

He hoisted Tom over his back, staggering to one of the fallen men’s dirt bikes.

He fired up the engine. “Hold on,” he said. “Just hold on tight.”

Tom wrapped his arms around Nick’s waist, his face pressed into his back.

They rode into the sun that’s trying to find its own morning.

Behind them, Crab Point disappeared beneath the windblown sand,

its horror buried for no one to remember.

But Tom would never forget.

As they fled, Tom took another breath.

This time, not out of fear.

But out of love.

THE END