break back

I heard two people coughing and choking. They were trying to say, "Help!"
Something, maybe the little propane tank on Mrs. Spunkelcrief's grill, exploded with a noise like a dinosaur-sized watermelon hitting the ground. The concussion knocked Mrs. S down - and kicked the bottom of the ladder out from under me.
I fell. It was a horrible, helpless feeling, my body twisting uselessly as I tried to land well - but I'd had no warning at all, and it was a futile attempt. The small of my back hit the brick planter, and I achieved a new personal best for pain.
"Oh, God in Heaven," Mrs. Spunkelcrief said. She knelt beside me. "Harry?"
Somewhere, sirens had begun to wail. They wouldn't get there in time for the Willoughbys.
"Trapped," I choked out, as soon as I was able to breathe again. "They're up there, calling for help."
The fire roared louder and grew brighter.
Mrs. S stared up at the window. She grabbed the ladder and wrestled it all the way back up into position, though the effort left her panting. Then she tried to put a foot up on the first step. She grasped the ladder, began to shift her weight - and groaned as her leg buckled and she fell to the ground.
She screamed, agony in her quavering voice. "Oh, God in Heaven, help us!"
A young black man in a dark, knee-length coat hurdled the hedges at the back of the yard and bounded onto the ladder. He was built like a professional lineman, moved more quickly than a linebacker, and started up the ladder like it was a broad staircase. The planet's only Knight of the Cross flashed me a quick grin on the way up. "Dresden!"
"Sanya!" I howled. "Two! There're two of them in the bedroom!"
"Da, two!" he replied, his deep voice booming. The curving saber blade of Esperacchius rode at his hip and he managed it with thoughtless, instinctive skill as he went through the window. He was back a moment later, with Mrs. Willoughby draped over one shoulder, while he supported most of Mr. Willoughby's staggering body with the other.
Sanya went first, the old woman hanging limply over his shoulder, so that he could help Mr. Willoughby creep out the window and onto the ladder. They came down slowly and carefully, and as Sanya carefully laid the old woman out onto the grass, the first of the emergency response crews arrived.
"God in Heaven," Mr. S said, weeping openly as she put her hand on Sanya's arm. "He must have sent you to us, son."
Sanya smiled at her as he helped Mr. Willoughby lower himself to the ground. Then he turned to my landlady and said, his Russian accent less heavy than the last time I had seen him, "It was probably just a coincidence, ma'am."
"I don't believe in those," said Mrs. Spunkelcrief. "Bless you, son," she said, and hugged him hard. Her arms couldn't have gotten around half of him, but Sanya returned the hug gently for a moment.
"Ma'am," he said, "you should direct the medical technicians to come back here."
"Thank you, thank you," she said, releasing him. "But now I have to go get those ambulance boys over here." She paused and gave me a smile. "And thank you, Harry. Such a good boy." Then she hurried away.
Mouse came racing around the side of the house where Mrs. S had just gone, and rushed to stand over me, lapping at my face. Molly wasn't far behind. She let out a little cry and threw her arms around my shoulders. "Oh, God, Harry!" She shouldered Mouse aside and squeezed tight for several seconds. She looked up and said, "Sanya? What are you doing here?"
"Hey, hey," I said. "Take it easy."
Molly eased up on her hug. "Sorry."
"Sanya," I said, nodding to him. "Thanks for your help."
"Part of the job, da?" he replied, grinning. "Glad to help."
"All the same," I said, my voice rough, "thank you. If anything had happened to them . . ."
"Oh, Harry," Molly said. She hugged me again.
"Easy, padawan, easy," I said quietly. "Think you should be careful."
She drew back with a frown. "Why?"
I took a slow breath and said, very quietly, "I can't feel my legs."


Changes Chapter 28, Page 271-273