Once the rescue workers had cleared away as much of the rubble as they could, Dave pushed himself up, shrugging off the final slab of concrete from his back. It landed on the rest of the debris with a loud thud, and Dave fell into a sitting position beside it. It took a lot of self-control to keep his back straight and not just lie down in the middle of the disaster zone. His arms felt like silly string, his back and legs as stiff as a corpse with rigor mortis. Then there was his nose, which was throbbing so strongly he was starting to worry it was broken.
The workers clapped and cheered. Dave would have to thank each of them personally once he was actually able to stand up. Then another pair of hands started clapping, slow and deliberate. The Black Valentine had sat up, posed atop the rubble like a model in a photo shoot, never mind that she was covered in gray dust. It sat in her hair like powder and stuck to her clapping hands, hiding her deep burgundy nail polish. Dave looked down and found it covered him, too. His uniform could no longer be called white by any definition of the word.
“Well, look who’s not dead,” Moreen said.
She was standing on the rubble to Dave’s right, sleeves rolled up and hands scraped and dirty.
Dave returned her grin. “I’m surprised, too.”
“I knew we’d be fine,” said Val—the Black Valentine. When Dave gave her a look, she winked at him.
“Which reminds me.” Moreen signaled a couple of police officers behind her and led them across the rubble to the Black Valentine. “Valentina Belmonte, you’re under arrest.” Continue reading “Tick, Tick, Boom!” – Part 10