Wrath - 4 (26 page)
Authors: Robin Wasserman
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Fiction, #Interpersonal Relations, #General, #Social Issues, #Friendship, #Man-Woman Relationships, #Schools, #School & Education, #Love & Romance, #Revenge, #Family & Relationships, #Dating & Sex, #High Schools, #Interpersonal Relations in Adolescence, #Conduct of Life
The van was dented, but stil running. And he had a long drive ahead of him. Better to start now.
Someone else would come along, eventual y.
They always did.
It hurt to open her eyes. It hurt to move.
She did neither.
There may have been sirens, in the distance. Or maybe it was just the loud whine in her head. Or maybe she was screaming. Stil screaming. She remembered—
What?
Horns.
Squeals.
And then she had been weightless, flying.
Darkness.
She could hear her breathing, ragged and slow. And she could feel pain. Everywhere.
Alive,
she decided.
I hurt, therefore I am
.
There was something missing, though.
She could hear her breathing—but nothing else.
She remembered her screams—but nothing else.
She opened her eyes. Al she saw, at first, was the bright white blazing sky. Then, slowly: tangled metal. Smoke. Licks of flame. Dirt. Rivers of red. And …
A body. Stil .
She tried to open her mouth and cal out. But no sound came. And in the wreckage, nothing—no one—moved.
She tried to reach out, to crawl over, but she was swept up in a wave of pain. It sucked her down, deep, back into the darkness, and she closed her eyes again, and let it drag her under.
Help was on the way.
And, eventual y, it showed up.
Two ambulances tore off toward town, one speeding down the highway, lights blazing, sirens blaring. The other took its time, stopped at traffic lights, observed the speed limit.
Its lights were dark, its sirens silent.
There was no hurry.
There was no one left to save.
about the author
Robin Wasserman enjoys writing about high school—but wakes up every day grateful that she doesn’t have to relive it. She recently abandoned the beaches and boulevards of Los Angeles for the chil y embrace of the East Coast, as al that sun and fun gave her too little to complain about. She now lives and writes in New York City, which she claims to love for its vibrant culture and intel ectual life. In reality, she doesn’t make it to museums nearly enough, and actual y just loves the city for its pizza, its shopping, and the fact that at 3 a.m. you can always get anything you need—and you can get it delivered.
