Chapter Text
January 25th, 2026.
For a fraction of a second, Abby Langdon’s body hung weightless in the air. Gravity slammed her onto a mercifully soft surface, nausea quick to greet her. Something pressed tightly over her face, trapping the rising bile. She clawed at her mouth frantically.
Hands seized her wrists, hard enough to bruise. As she desperately struggled against the grip, the pressure over her mouth abruptly receded, allowing the bitter fluid to escape. By the time she'd stopped her violent retching, her throat felt like sandpaper.
She tried to speak, to yell, only for harsh coughs to rack her body, stealing her voice before it could call for help.
Yet, through pain and panic, she had no trouble recognising the feeling of soft hands enveloping hers. She clung back like it was a lifeline.
“Mom!” her daughter sobbed, the voice a clear beacon in her mental haze.
With great effort, she forced her eyes open. Sharp, bright lights threatened to make her sick again, but she refused to keep them closed for a second longer. When the glare dimmed, nothing mattered except for Penny.
She pushed herself up, ignoring the vertigo, so she could brush away the tear tracks painting Penny’s cheek.
“I’m okay, sweetheart,” she croaked, the words burning her abused throat. It was more than worth it to see the tremulous smile on her daughter’s face.
The momentary relief turned to wild panic when she realised who was missing.
“Your brother-where is he?”
Penny pointed to her left, and Abby whipped her head in the same direction. Tanner, her darling son, lay still at her side, pale but breathing. A clear plastic mask covered his mouth and nose, a connected bag rising and collapsing in a steady rhythm.
Trembling, she slowly moved her hands from her Penny's cheek to stroke the soft curls on her son's head. A fleeting solace washed over her at the touch.
“He’s okay,” a calm voice said from behind her. “Just resting for now.”
Startled, Abby turned to find a woman in blue watching her. Before she could respond, the woman leaned forward and wiped her chin clean with a damp cloth.
“I know you’ve got questions,” the woman said, putting a warm hand on Abby's shoulder. “But I need you to lie back and stay still for me. I’m just going to put a mask on you to help you breathe and then I’ll explain everything.”
Abby hesitantly nodded before scanning her surroundings now that her eyes had acclimatised to the light. White panelling and cabinets fitted with medical equipment ran along the walls. Monitors bleeped incessantly, blending in with the rumbling of an engine. It didn't take long to determine where she was.
When her eyes moved back to Penny, her daughter's face was partially obscured by mask tubing.
“That’s it. Just breathe in and out like normal,” the woman soothed. Abby tried, but the remaining adrenaline in her veins made it impossible.
“You’re doing good, Abby. My name’s Sam and I’m a paramedic. You’ve been in an accident, but you're safe now. Your kids are, too.”
Sam fiddled with Abby's mask, adjusting it slightly. “We’re concerned that you may have been exposed to carbon monoxide in your car. This one,” she pointed to Penny, “called us when she couldn't wake you up. That was a very smart thing to do.”
As the words registered, memories rushed into her mind in jumbled fragments. She was driving from the kids’ visit with Frank. There was a crash somewhere ahead, traffic crawling to a standstill for what felt like forever. She’d forgotten to bring warm clothes. The cold permeated the car with relentless ferocity. Shivering, she'd turned up the heating as high as it could go, vents blasting but never quite catching up to the chill. Deciding to rest, just for a moment, hoping for a reprieve from the cold. Nothing else.
The realisation struck her harder than any weapon could. She could have killed her children.
Abby looked at Penny and Tanner, her chest painfully tight. They were alive, and it wasn't because of her protection. Penny had stepped up while she had slipped away. A surge of pride for her daughter curdled into shame.
“Did you hear that, sweetheart? You saved us,” she rasped through the mask.
Penny's eyes widened. “I–all I did was call because you wouldn’t wake up. And Tanner said he had a headache and wasn’t feeling good, and–”
Abby blinked against stinging eyes. She squeezed Penny’s hand gently. “And you did exactly the right thing.”
Penny hesitated, then gave a small, uncertain nod. “I called daddy too, but he didn’t answer.”
For the first time since waking up, Abby thought about her husband. They'd visited him today, despite the weather. Frank had been so happy to see the kids, and so devastated when the facility's visiting hours ended. The whole time, the two of them had barely interacted. Of course, she was grateful that Frank had committed himself to rehab, but whatever remained between them had been fractured beyond repair. Maybe, when Penny called, he’d seen Abby's name and let the call ring out.
“It’s okay. I’m sure he’ll call back when he can,” she said, hoping it was reassuring. The paramedic put up a hand in front of her before she could continue.
“Sorry, but I’m going to need you to stop talking so your throat can rest. We’re only a few minutes off PTMC.”
She hadn't realised they were so close to the hospital. At least it would all be over soon.
“Oh, and sorry for waking you up,” the paramedic said sheepishly. “We hit a nasty pothole. Not easy to see in this weather.”
When Abby turned to one of the ambulance windows, the outside world had indeed dissolved into a white blur of streaking snow. She was glad that they were nearly off the road. As if in answer, a frustrated sigh came from the front of the vehicle.
“Sorry folks, it looks like we’ve picked a busy day. There are a few ambulances ahead of us, but we’ll get you moving as soon as we can.”
Abby turned to Sam, who only offered an apologetic shrug. Rather than ruminate on the change in events, Abby decided to monitor Tanner, who was still sleeping soundlessly beside her. Sam had assured her that he was okay, but how could they know for certain unless an actual doctor examined him? She didn’t know a whole lot about carbon monoxide poisoning, only that it sounded serious. The memory of waking up, and the intense nausea and dizziness, returned with unwelcome clarity. What if Tanner experienced the same? Or worse.
The harsh clatter of the rear ambulance doors opening cut through her worry. Cold air rushed in, stealing the ambulance's warmth in an instant. Abby looked up as a young woman in blue scrubs climbed in confidently.
“Hi, I’m Dr King. I’m just going to take a quick look at you before we take you in.”
King? The name sounded surprisingly familiar. Frank might have mentioned it before.
Dr King leaned in, beginning her assessment. A few stray brown hairs slipped free as she worked.
“Alright,” she said, adjusting her stance beside the stretcher. “Airway seems fine. We’re going to take you inside for monitoring and testing."
Despite her efficiency, Abby could tell that there was a deep tiredness hidden beneath her projected calm. Penny, at least, looked more relaxed now that a doctor was here.
Dr King was soon joined by Sam, and a second paramedic she didn't know. Together, they moved trio's gurney towards the hospital entrance, passing an unsettling number of patients and parked ambulances. Abby didn't feel any more relieved when they entered the building.
Beds covered virtually every inch of the floor, patients crammed together like human sardines. Around her, the sounds of voices, footsteps and machines combined into a chaotic static.
Dr King swivelled her head around, brows pinched tight in concentration. When she spotted what she was looking for, she rushed towards a man that Abby did recognise.
Robby, Frank’s attending. The man he now refused to talk about, despite how close they’d once been not long ago. Abby didn’t understand how something so solid could crumble so quickly. For whatever reason, Frank studiously avoided the subject, careful with his words, as if an ordinary conversation threatened consequences he wasn’t willing to face.
He looked worse than she remembered. Shoulders hunched low, sweat dampening his forehead, moving with the jerky urgency of someone running purely on stress. When his eyes found her, she saw a flash of something unguarded, almost grief-stricken, before his expression hardened and he strode over.
“Abby. Sorry to see you under these circumstances.” His gaze snagged on Penny and Tanner for a moment before he sharply looked away. Abby flinched when he removed her mask, rougher than when Sam had done it.
“Dr King told me that you’ve all had some carbon monoxide exposure. How are you feeling right now?”
“I’m fine,” Abby replied quickly, eager for his attention to go to her children. “The paramedic said Penny’s okay, but they won't know for certain until they do more tests. Tanner's still asleep, and they don't know why, and–”
“Okay,” Robby interjected. “That all sounds consistent with a mild exposure.” He stroked his beard absently, hard enough that it looked painful. A nurse hurried over.
"Robby, we’ve got two critical inbound. One's fourteen."
Robby squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck. Okay, I’ll be there in a second.”
“Trauma bays are full. Where do you want us to put them?”
“Check trauma two. Might be able to move them to the hallway.” The nurse nodded, racing away.
He exhaled slowly, like a man steeling himself. Abby clung to her children reflexively.
“Look, the hospital is completely overloaded right now. I’d admit you for monitoring any other day, but we’ve got too many people coming in and no available beds.”
He fixed his eyes somewhere above her head, refusing to make eye contact. A part of her had hoped she might get preferential treatment as the wife of a man Robby once considered a friend. That thought dissipated, replaced with impending dread.
“Our best option is to transfer you to Presby. They’ll be able to see you much quicker than we can.”
Sweat gathered in her palms where they clasped her children’s hands. “No, like I said, Tanner hasn’t woken up yet. Dr, King said that he needed to be checked. You can’t just-”.
“I’m sorry Abby, but we just don’t have the beds. "Presby's hyperbaric unit still has capacity. It’s only thirty minutes away, and you’ll be fine until you get there.” He spoke with unmistakeable remorse but Abby couldn't find it in herself to care.
“Carbon monoxide cases need constant observation,” Dr King argued, fingers fidgeting at her side. “We should run blood tests and monitor for any neurological symptoms. And there’s a risk of delayed deterioration.”
“Dr. King, that’s my decision,” Robby said, though it almost sounded like a question. “You’ve got other patients, go take care of them.”
“You can’t seriously be thinking of discharging them like this?” a new voice cut in. Another woman in scrubs stared at Robby in disbelief. She had black hair and kind eyes, not unlike Dr King’s.
Robby aggressively rubbed at his face. “Dr Mohan, if you hadn’t noticed, we have multiple patients requiring critical care right now, and more incoming. I need you to be treating patients, not arguing with your attending.”
Dr Mohan opened her mouth to retort, but Robby continued before she could. “We’re at full capacity and we have patients who will die in the next hour if they don't get a bed. That means we aren't accepting patients who can safely be treated elsewhere. They’ll get a bed quicker at Presby’s than we ever could. And I will personally check on their wellbeing when all of this is over.” Robby’s face twisted bitterly. “If this is ever over.”
Abby tightened her grip around Penny and Tanner. She hoped that Dr King might argue in her defence further, but when she looked, the doctor was busy furiously typing on her phone.
“Brother, what’s going on?” another man with silver hair asked. Robby didn’t even look at him.
“I was just reminding Dr Mohan and Dr King that we are redirecting non-critical cases to Presby,” Robby replied through gritted teeth.
“It’s Dr Langdon’s wife,” Dr King said without glancing up from her phone. Abby didn’t remember mentioning that fact to her.
“And, like all non-critical cases, they are being transferred to the nearest hospital with available beds. No exceptions.”
Abby knew that wasn’t true. Frank had told her several times about friends and family getting special treatment in the ER. Maybe it was just Frank's family who didn't have the privilege.
“Robby”, the silver-hair man began, cautiously stepping closer as if he was approaching a frightened animal. “If this is about Frank-”
Robby’s expression cracked with an awful mixture of rage and sorrow.
“Nope, we are not doing this.” The words came out strangled, as if uttering them had broken something within. He tore away from the group towards the paramedics who waited at the ambulance bay entrance.
“Sam. Brett. Please take Mrs Langdon and her kids to Presby. Now.”
Without another word, he stormed off and didn’t look back. Abby watched a young man with a brown mullet try to catch his attention only to be roughly brushed off.
Robby disappeared into a room, and Abby stared at the door as it slammed. She waited, barely breathing, for him to come back out, to stroll over and tell her he'd made a terrible mistake and of course they had a bed for them. The door remained firmly closed.
It didn't take long to realise that her chances of getting admitted by Robby were as good as dead. She looked at the other doctors around her pleadingly. The resigned expressions they all shared brought no comfort.
The silver haired man took pity and attempted a reassuring smile. “Don't mind him. It's been a hard day, and clearly-” He stared wistfully towards Robby’s direction. “It's getting the better of him.”
“Jack, don't make excuses for him,” Dr Mohan hissed. She was clearly ready to press the point, but stopped when Abbot shook his head.
"I don't like it either. But he's not wrong about the lack of beds.” Abbot stepped closer to Dr Mohan and exchanged a few quiet words that Abby couldn’t parse. His expression was apologetic, but firm. After a moment of eye contact, Dr Mohan let out a frustrated breath, looking at Abby apologetically before striding away.
Abbot's eyes lingered on Dr Mohan's retreating form, even after she started speaking to another patient. When Sam and Brett arrived, he slipped back into calm professionalism.
"These fine people are going to take you to Presby as soon as they can,” he said. “They have everything they need to look after you. And hey, if you aren’t happy with your experience, you can always let us know in your patient satisfaction survey.”
Under different circumstances, Abby might have laughed. Frank was always complaining to her about those damn satisfaction scores. How they were bullshit metrics that pushed staff to prioritise speed over anything else. How they gave assholes an outlet to take out their frustrations on the very people that were trying to help them. How Robby always agreed with him.
Despite their decaying love, she wanted Frank to be here. Maybe he’d be able to convince someone to let them stay? Maybe he still could.
Abby frantically dug into her pockets and pulled out her phone, which Sam had returned to her during the ride to the hospital. Sure, it was the same one Penny had used to ring Frank earlier, to little effect, but she was running out of options.
Penny tugged worriedly at Abby’s arm. “Mom, are they really not going to look at Tanner? What if–”
“Hey, hey. It's okay, sweetheart. Didn’t you hear the doctor? Everything’s going to be alright.”
All she wanted was for her children to be safe. For someone to examine Tanner and make sure he was going to wake up. For this nightmare to finally end. Her hands trembled when she called Frank. It didn’t ring through.
Abby offered no resistance as they wheeled the three of them back into the same ambulance as before. She briefly considered causing a scene, but what would it achieve? If the hospital had no beds, there was nothing she could say or do that would change that. And none of the doctors, even those who’d disagreed with Robby, seemed willing to overrule him.
Abby tried to call Frank once more before they departed. Nothing.
“When there’s a bad snowstorm, it can damage cell towers,” Sam explained gently as Abby stared in resignation at her phone. “It doesn’t usually take too long to go back to normal, though.”
Abby didn't respond. Penny climbed up beside Tanner, hugging his side, leaving her alone to try and steady her whirling thoughts.
The silence gave them too much room to spiral, so she tried focusing on the raging storm outside. Time dragged sluggishly as she watched the blur of passing traffic, barely perceptible outside of streaking headlights. At one point, she could have sworn she spotted the distinctly ugly green of Frank’s battered sedan. When she blinked and looked again, the colour was gone. Probably just her mind playing cruel tricks.
At first, Penny sat quietly with her brother, fingers tapping in an uneven rhythm against her thigh. She kept glancing between Tanner and the ambulance door, as if expecting another doctor to appear.
Eventually, Penny twisted out of her seat to peer out the rear windows, craning her neck to see through the traffic.
"How much longer?" she asked every few minutes. Abby never knew what to say.
Perhaps sensing Abby’s fraying patience, Sam clapped her hands.
"Hey Penny," she said casually, leaning against the side of the gurney, "want to hear something interesting?"
"Yes please."
Sam pointed down to the ambulance floor. "Did you know that there are old mine tunnels under Presby?"
Penny tilted her head. “Mines? Like for rocks?”
"Yeah, exactly. Long before the hospital was built, the whole area was full of ‘em. My great-uncle actually worked in one before it got shut down.”
Abby scoffed. "You're just making that up."
"I wish I was. Hospitals are creepy enough without secret underground tunnels. At least nobody’s wandering around down there anymore."
“Why was it shut down?” Penny asked. She’d now fully abandoned the window, eyes fixed entirely on Sam.
Sam hesitated, glancing briefly at Abby before answering. “I think the company decided it wasn't worth keeping open. Too expensive to run."
Penny's shoulders immediately drooped. On a different day, Abby would have found it amusing.
“Oh. That’s cool, I guess.” Penny swung back towards the window, interest drained.
Now, Abby wasn’t particularly well-versed in Pittsburgh’s mining history, but something about Sam’s explanation didn’t sound right. From what she could recall, the reason most of the mines in the area closed was due to safety concerns and widespread strikes.
Once Penny was absorbed in the window again, Abby edged closer to Sam, keeping her voice low. “If you don’t mind me asking, what really happened?”
Sam chewed her lip, as if weighing her words. “There was an accident,” she finally whispered. “I didn’t think it was something Penny needed to hear.”
“What kind of accident?”
“A cave-in. Bunch of miners got trapped. When they tried to get them out–” Sam stopped, her eyes going distant, “not everyone came back. They closed it down for good after that.”
“Is that what your great-uncle told you?” Abby asked, curiosity overcoming her unease.
Sam shrugged. “He won’t talk about it. The most I ever got out of him was that the ones who made it out weren’t quite the same afterwards. Neither was he, really.”
Abby shivered, though the ambulance was warm. Sam was right, Penny didn’t need to hear that. She wasn’t entirely sure she had needed to, either.
“Thanks for trying to distract her,” Abby said, trying to sound at least a little grateful.
Sam smiled weakly, posture tight. She looked as if she wished she hadn’t said anything at all.
Brett’s voice broke the ensuing silence. "Hey, can I get a status update on Bigelow? Visibility out here is pretty much zero."
A radio crackled and unintelligible static answered.
"Right. Copy that,” Brett said with a sigh.
Abby peered through the narrow gap between the front cab and her current position. She could barely make out the front of the windscreen. Wipers swept back and forth in a frantic rhythm, struggling to keep up with the snow shrouding the road ahead.
"How much further?" Abby asked through chattering teeth.
"Four minutes. Maybe five,” Brett said. "Assuming there’s no obstr-."
The impact came without warning.
A piercing shriek that sounded not of this earth. Crunching metal and shattered glass flowing like rain. The world turning over.
For a second time, Abby Langdon's body hung weightless in the air. She floated, her children's hands no longer in hers.
Her last thoughts were of Frank and his ugly, green sedan, Penny's warm, familiar hand and the feeling of Tanner's curls beneath her palm. She hoped he was still breathing.
Then she thought of nothing more.
The cold was a cruel mistress, dragging her awake into the hungry jaws of pain.
Her eyes opened to a hellish sight.
The ambulance had folded in on itself. Walls buckled at impossible angles, cabinets torn loose and scattered across what once resembled a floor. Above her, the ceiling had collapsed, crushed down into a jagged tangle of metal and shattered plastic. Snow hissed through gaps in the wreckage, covering everything it touched.
Something heavy and unyielding pinned her chest - a cabinet, maybe, or part of the wall. She struggled to breath, each attempt stabbing at her ribs.
When she first tried to move, the debris barely shifted. Before panic could well and truly take over, she heard a quiet voice.
“Mom?”
It was full of terror and the best thing she’d ever heard.
Gritting her teeth, she turned her head as far as the wreckage allowed, desperate to see her son.
“Tanner? Sweetheart, where are you?” she called. At the edge of her vision, she finally saw him.
He was wedged into the far corner under a collapsed shelf, his mask long gone. A cut above his eyebrow bled freely down the side of his face, painting his pale skin red. But at least his eyes were open, and they were on her.
Something animalistic surged at the sight of him, numbing the pain. With as much strength as she could muster, she pushed upwards and by some miracle, the debris gave way with a grinding crash.
The moment she was free, she crawled over to her son, paying no mind to the pieces of glass shredding at her knees. She cupped Tanner's face as gently as she could, and he leaned into it immediately.
"My arm hurts." His murmured, deathly quiet. "It hurts a lot, Mom."
"I know, sweetheart. I’m going to get you out, okay? Just stay still for me.”
As carefully as she could, she cleared through the debris piece by piece, her hands slicing against serrated edges. Tears streamed down her cheeks as Tanner’s cries of pain began to increase in pitch.
By the time she’d removed most of it, Tanner was barely making a sound. He looked half-asleep, almost peaceful, like he had when she first woke up. His left arm was bent in a way that made her stomach turn, but she was powerless to do anything except find help. She pulled a strip of fabric from the torn lining of a cabinet door and fashioned a rough support over the arm, her hands steadier than she had any right to expect.
“Hey, wake up for me, sweetheart,” she choked, patting at his cheek.
Tanner eyes opened blearily, his nod so faint she wasn’t sure it was real.
"Good boy.” She pressed her forehead against his briefly. “Do you know where your sister is?"
His eyes shifted to something behind her. When she looked, Penny was by the rear doors.
She was on her back, one arm stretched above her head as though she'd been reaching for the door handle. There was blood, too much of it, soaking through her jacket and pooling beneath her.
Blood was okay, it just meant you had a wound. Doctors could fix that.
"Tanner, can you stand for me? We need to go help your sister." Abby thought he might have shook his head, although it was hard to tell, so she put an arm around him and shuffled towards her daughter. Tanner leaned heavily on her side, practically being dragged along.
"Penny.” She dropped to her knees beside her daughter and pushed the hair back from her face with trembling hands. "Penny, wake up for me."
Penny's face was so white that the snow on her nose camouflaged into her skin.
"Penny." She pressed two fingers to her daughter's neck the way she'd seen Frank do. Nothing. That was fine, she was just doing it wrong. If Frank was here, he’d be able to find a pulse.
She gathered her daughter up against her chest, one hand cradling the back of her head. Penny was warm. She was still warm, which meant she was alive.
"We're going," Abby said. "We're all going together."
Her children didn't answer.
She became aware, at that point, of Sam.
The paramedic was slumped against a far wall, half-buried by a fallen cabinet. One arm was twisted behind her back, the elbow jutting in the wrong direction, her neck listed at an impossible angle. Her chest appeared crushed inward on one side, her legs tangled beneath her like broken branches. The familiar shape of a person was still there, but it had been warped into something almost unrecognisable.
"I'm sorry," she said to no one. She looked away and didn't look back.
Getting out of the wreckage took no effort at all. She simply kicked the buckled remains of the rear door, the blizzard pouring in like it had been waiting the entire time.
The snow was all-encompassing. It erased the road, the tree line, the sky - everything beyond arm's reach dissolved into a featureless white that gave no hint of direction or distance. She took a few steps forward, and when she looked back, the ambulance behind them was already disappearing, its colours swallowed by the storm.
"Stay close to me," she said. Tanner pressed heavily against her hip. Penny didn't react at all, cradled in Abby's arm just like when she was a baby.
She picked a direction, prayed for it all to be finally over, and walked.
The ground was uneven beneath the snow, invisible until it shifted under her feet. Twice she stumbled. Once, Tanner went down on his good arm and Abby hauled him up without breaking stride.
She didn't know how long they walked.
She was aware of Penny's weight against her chest. Of the warmth that was gradually diminishing.
She was aware of Tanner's breaths beside her, laboured but present, his small shoulder against her arm.
She was aware of the snow, which did not stop.
Something moved to her right. At first, she thought it a trick of the storm. Then, she heard it.
She ran, dragging Penny and Tanner along, stumbling through drifts, boots punching through hidden pockets beneath the snow. Heart pounding, she looked over her shoulder, expecting something to emerge from the blizzard behind them.
She wasn’t aware of the edge until it wasn't there anymore.
The ground simply ended. One step it was solid beneath her foot, the next there was nothing. Abby Langdon's body hung weightless in the air for a third time, and she couldn't tell if Tanner's scream was above or below her. She saw something that wasn’t white. The grey edge of a rock rushing towards her. She was no longer cold.