Cain skidded the truck to a stop at the edge of the collapse zone. The road was gone. Nothing ahead but rubble, mud, and uprooted trees.He got out and started moving stones by hand.When he pried the first boulder from the mud, the nail on his right middle finger tore clean off. Blood mixed with dirt and smeared across his palm. He didn't stop.Lift. Move. Lift again.Memories surged in the gaps between exhaustion, unstoppable. Ivy at eighteen, the night of her first shift, curled in the mud of the backyard, shaking, terror in her eyes. On her knees in front of him, bloodstained fingers carefully cleaning the gash that ran from his collarbone to his ribs. The full moon ceremony — her standing alone all night, wind blowing her hair across half her face. She didn't reach up to push it away.A rescue worker tapped his shoulder, pointed at his hands, told him to stop.Cain ignored him.Night fell.His hands were wrapped in three layers of makeshift bandages. Beneath them, the wounds were
Magbasa pa