Ethan shrugged, drenched but determined. “I can help, though.”
With a strength born from necessity, Ethan turned and sprinted back towards the overpass. His feet slipped on the slick pavement, but he kept moving, driven by something more powerful than the storm raging around him. Under the bridge, he found the old wheelbarrow he’d seen earlier, rusted but still functional. It was one of the many things discarded by the city, much like himself, but now it had a purpose.
He wheeled it back to the woman, struggling against the wind and rain. When he reached her, he extended a hand, his eyes wide with concern. “Please,” he urged. “Let me help you.”
