Slow Burn (16 page)

I scrambled the other way, so that the trunk blocked me from the road.

But now I was close enough that the lights from the house illuminated me.

I clung to the tree, going motionless. I would play dead, like a small, wild animal. They wouldn’t see me if I didn’t move.

The car roared down the road, and I heard a snatch of Beatles music floating to me where I crouched.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

And the lights went out.

I jumped, startled. I’d nearly forgotten I was waiting for it. I ran for the door into the garage. But it was pitch black, and I’d been recently blinded by car headlights. I couldn’t see where I was going.

I thudded into the outside wall of the house and began feeling for the door.

For several seconds, I only felt siding. Where was it? Was I feeling in the wrong direction?

And then my fingers touched the cold smoothness of the door. I found the knob and threw myself inside.

Griffin caught me just inside the door.

I knew it was him because I could smell him. I wanted to hold him and beg him never to leave me alone again, but I figured it would be a bad idea to talk. So I didn’t say anything.

He took my hand, gripping it tightly.

We started up the steps to the upper level of the house.

To me, our footfalls were abominably loud, echoing through the garage. But I don’t know if they were in actuality. My own breath also sounded as loud as a steam engine to me.

Griffin tugged me close to him when he opened the door at the top of the stairs.

It creaked as it swung out.

I held my breath, waiting for the Op Wraith guys to jump out at us.

But everything was silent and dark.

We stepped out into the kitchen, which was where the steps from the garage came up. The sky outside was starting to lighten, and enough light came in through the windows that we could see the familiar outlines of the inside of Stacey’s and Jack’s house.

The kitchen counter was cluttered with liquor bottles and glasses. The blender was still out, sticky remnants of some sweet concoction stuck to the inside of the glass. The sink was cluttered full of dirty dishes.

I felt Griffin’s hand pull on mine.

We walked into the living room.

The couches hadn’t been moved back yet. They were still pushed up against the wall, and the wide dance floor that Stacey and I had taken advantage of yawned before us, gray and empty. The stereo was dark and silent, a hulking shadow against the far wall. Its “on” button didn’t even blink. Griffin had turned off the electricity.

I turned to the hallway where the bedroom was.

Griffin yanked on me, trying to move me away.

But not before I saw it.

There was one tiny hand sticking out of the hallway, illuminated by the light through the window, white skin glowing. I could see that the fingernails were painted.

I made an involuntary peep, and Griffin tugged me against him, his hand letting go of mine to cover my mouth.

That hand belonged to Stacey.

Her nails had been painted.

Why was she lying in the hallway like that? She wouldn’t have fallen asleep there, not with her hand sticking out. She wouldn’t have voluntarily lain down in the hallway.

My eyes were pricking.

No.

I had to see.

I wrestled with Griffin, but he held me tight.

No. Not Stacey.

He walked with me, moving us both closer.

With each step, the hallway was easier to see.

I saw more of her arm. I saw her shoulder. I saw her red hair, scattered backwards. I saw her forehead. Her eyes—wide open, glassy, staring at the ceiling. And then I saw her throat.

Bloody, messy, gory, exploded, destroyed—

I buried my face in Griffin’s chest.

One of his hands went around me. The other held out his gun.

My gun. I was pressing it into Griffin. And the safety was off.

I straightened. I didn’t have time to think about Stacey, did I? I squeezed my eyes shut, got a better grip on my gun, and I turned around to look again.

Stacey was lying on the floor, shot through the throat.

Jack was behind her, slumped over lifelessly. I couldn’t see where he’d been shot, but I could tell he was dead just looking at him.

The scene was too real. The colors were too saturated. And the fact that I could look at it without losing it—

Maybe it was better not to think about that.

There was a noise. A muffled noise, like pulling the cork out of a wine bottle.

Griffin gasped.

I turned to look at him.

His hand was at his shoulder. Blood was pouring out of it.

I screamed.

And then I raised my gun, searching for movement.

And when I saw it, in the kitchen, just a blur of black coming for us, I pulled the trigger.

Chapter Ten

My bullet splintered into the wall of the living room. It hadn’t hit anything.

But Griffin was turning, stretching his shoulder, lifting his gun.

The black streak was closer.

Griffin’s shot took him down.

He ran to the dark figure and turned him over on his stomach with one foot.

Another corking noise.

I felt something streak by me, moving quickly. I touched my cheek. Blood?

“Down!” Griffin screamed. “There’s more than one. They’re shooting with silencers.”

I hit the floor. I’d been grazed by a bullet. It had been right next to my cheek.

He turned, taking shots in the direction that the bullet that had nearly hit me had come from.

Bullets kept coming.

I crawled across the floor, raising my gun to send shots after Griffin’s. Maybe I wasn’t hitting anything, but maybe I was. I didn’t know what else to do.

Griffin grabbed me, and we stumbled for the door to the garage, his body between mine and the bullets.

He yelped.

“Griffin?”

He hurled us inside the door. We tumbled down the steps.

“Under the steps, doll,” he gasped. “Lie down and don’t move. I’m going dark.”

He’d been shot. There was blood trickling down his forehead. “Going dark?”

He pulled me under the steps. There was a tarp lying there, and we crawled under it. He lay on his back.

“Give me a couple of minutes,” he said.

And then he went motionless. It was like when I’d been shot before. When I’d been pulled down into
Alice and Wonderland
world for a few minutes. It was like death, only he wasn’t dead.

He
wasn’t
dead.

I clung to his inert body.

Someone on the steps. I heard the noise.

I froze, afraid to even breathe.

Under the tarp, I couldn’t see anything. I had to wait in the stifling darkness, holding tight to Griffin. I heard footsteps on the concrete. Then a door opening and closing.

Did that mean whoever was out there had gone? I didn’t know.

I let out a cautious breath, trying to be as quiet as possible.

More footfalls on the steps.

I tensed up again.

The door opened back up.

“You’re awake,” said a voice.

“Yeah, he got me good,” said another voice. “He was always a good shot, wasn’t he?”

“Lucky I was there. He was about to cut your neck open.”

“Thanks.” A beat. “So where is he now? Where’s the girl?”

“I don’t know. I saw them go down the steps, but when I got down here they were gone.”

“Don’t tell me that. If we go back in, and we botched the job, they’re gonna murder us. It would be better to die out here.”

If only I could see them. If only I was a better shot. From the sound of their voices, they were close. If I could be sure, I could shoot them both right now. But I couldn’t be sure. I might not hit them. And all that would do is give away my hiding place. I didn’t move.

“I looked outside. They might have gone back into the woods,” one of the Op Wraith agents was saying.

“The woods? Seriously? You think we should go after them?”

“I don’t know. Like you said, we show up at headquarters empty handed, it doesn’t look good for us.”

“You’re right. I know it. But damn it all. The motherfucking woods.”

“Come on. The longer we sit here talking, the farther away they’re getting.”

I heard the door open and close again.

I let out a noisy sigh of relief. They were looking in the woods. That was a good thing, right?

Griffin gasped beside me. “Doll?”

I kissed him. “You’re okay.”

I took the stairs to my apartment two at a time, Griffin urging me on from behind.

I felt numb and cold, like I was deep inside a refrigerator and the world was running past me too fast. Everything had been turned upside down. My best friend was dead. It was my fault. Op Wraith knew where I was. I wasn’t safe here in Thomas anymore.

And Stacey.

If it weren’t for me, Stacey would still be—

“Move it, doll.” Griffin’s voice was strained. “We’ve got to be in and out of here in no time.”

I threw the door open and hurtled inside.

“Pack food, pack clothes,” said Griffin from behind me. “And do it in ten minutes.”

“Leigh?” said another voice.

I turned on the light. “Who’s there?” I yanked my gun out, flipping off the safety.

Clint was in front of me. At the sight of the gun, he raised his hands. “Jesus, Leigh.”

I lowered the gun. “For fuck’s sake, Clint, what is your problem? Get the hell out of here.”

“You got a gun, Leigh,” he said. “You got a gun.”

“No shit,” I said.

Griffin glared at Clint. “I didn’t think you were still friends with this guy.”

“I’m not.” I strode into the apartment, flinging open one of cabinets and knocking out a jar of peanut butter and some applesauce. That was good road food, right?

“Leigh,” said Clint, “we’re still friends. Of course we’re still friends.”

I turned to face him. “Get out.”

“You’re different now, aren’t you?” he said.

“Get out.”

“I thought maybe you might have some blow. I’m out. I know I bother you for this all the time, but—”

“I haven’t seen you in over a month, Clint.”

“Really?”

“And you show up now trying to be friendly, when I haven’t seen you in weeks?”

“Well, it’s not exactly—”

“We were
never
friends. You used me for drugs,” I said. “Now get the hell out of my apartment before you get yourself killed.”

“I’d listen to her,” said Griffin, opening the door wide.

Clint put his head down, and he slunk out the door. Once he was outside, he yelled, “Well fuck you very much.”

“Ignore him,” said Griffin. “Now we’ve only got eight minutes to pack.”

“Shit,” I muttered.

I dashed back to my bedroom, got a bag from the closet and began tossing clothes in it. I didn’t look at what they were or if they matched. I just shoved stuff in, zipped up the bag, and came out into the living room, where Griffin was zipping up the same pack he’d had when I first brought him to Thomas.

“You were always prepared to leave, weren’t you?” I said to him.

“That’s life these days, doll,” he said. “We’ve got to go.”

I looked around at my apartment. All my stuff was here. Not just my clothes, but my movies and my music and my computer. And other things, like the cool plates I’d found at a thrift store, or the nifty pillows I’d bought for my couch. But I’d rather not have that stuff and be alive than keep it and be dead. I nodded. “I’m ready to go too.”

He crossed the room to me, folding me in his arms. “It won’t be like this always. I promise you. I’m going to figure something out, so you can stay in one place and still be safe. I promise.”

I pulled away. “You can’t promise that.”

He wouldn’t let me get away. He held me tight. “I will do whatever I can to keep you safe. Whatever I can.”

We had to steal a car. I didn’t want to, but Griffin said it was necessary. He said that we couldn’t take a chance that the Op Wraith guys had seen my car. He stole one that was parked on the street and off we went. I didn’t feel great about stealing the car, but then I didn’t feel great about anything.

Griffin drove east on Route 50. It was early morning, and the sun was climbing high into the sky. It was going to be a warm spring day. But I still felt cold. Like my insides had turned to ice. I felt like everything was ruined.

He told me to try to sleep.

I scrunched down in the passenger seat and closed my eyes, but whenever I did, all I could see was Stacey’s eyes staring wide at the ceiling, and the red mess that was her throat.

So, I didn’t sleep. I watched the foliage outside the window instead.

Route 50 was a scenic drive but also very turny and twisty. We couldn’t go fast, because the road never flattened out. I was glad no one was following us.

Wait. Could I be sure that no one was following us?

I turned in my seat.

“What are you doing?”

The road was empty behind us. At least as far as the last turn, it was. I couldn’t see farther than that. “Making sure no one’s following us.”

“If someone was following us, we’d know it,” said Griffin. “They’d have shot us by now.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant that to be comforting. It wasn’t.

“We don’t have any money,” I said.

“I’ve got money,” said Griffin.

“How?” I said. “Were you working a job before you came to rescue me or something, saving up?”

“No. Not that I wouldn’t work. I was too busy running from Op Wraith. I have money because your dad gave me a good chunk of change when we agreed to watch each other’s backs.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “So he paid you off. That’s why you’re doing this.”

He shot me a quick, confused look. “Really, doll? You think I’m doing all of this for money?”

“Maybe.”

“Because the money is there to help you survive. To help us both. Your dad managed to get some of his cash when he left Dewhurst-McFarland. Not everything, you understand, but some. He gave me money, but not in payment, just because he had more than he needed, and because he wanted me to have it.”