Yearnin thang

Nata's ears rang. The air smelled of chemicals and smoke. She groaned, trying to push herself off the metal ground. Her arms gave way and she collapsed onto the metal grating. Somewhere in the distance a man screamed, sirens wailed, but there was something else.
A child.
Nata pushed herself off the ground with as much strength and will as she could muster. She swore as a loose blade of metal dug into her kneecap, sending a jolt of red-hot pain through her body.
She drew a long breath, and forced herself to stand. The ringing in her ears began to fade, and she finally took in her surroundings.
Men and women lay sprawled across the floor of the massive factory. hunks of metal and machinery burned in the open spaces, the emergency sirens wailed louder.
Nata stumbled across the factory floor, the weak gravity of the station helped her to move on legs covered in red gashes and burns.
She listened, desperately trying to hear even the faintest whispers. Nata struggled past an old man in workers garbs, his frail voice calling out to her.
She ignored him.
Then she heard him, the voice was weak, but she heard him.
Nata turned towards the source of the sound, a desperation in her eyes she couldn't begin to explain.
She saw a small, callaced hand reaching out from behind a smoking chunk of metal. She heard the metal blast doors being pried open, voices of the rescue workers calling out into the factory. Nata paid no attention to them.
She approached the metal wreckage, and instinctively reache dout to use it to steady herself, the metal burned like a hot stove.
Nata screamed and pulled her hand away, falling to her knees in front of the boy.
The nine-year old boy she hardly knew. The one she saw everyday, begging for change outside her appartment. His bones were long and weak from living in low-gravity all his life.
Nata sobbed.
She should have saved him. She needed to have saved him.
But she didn't.