46
A Weird Popping Sound
Fear.
It’s pulsing through me.
I creep into the gassy kitchen. I may have turned the grill off, but the space is still swirling with that stench. Holding my breath, I sneak around the large serving island in the middle.
Michael’s cries for me not to go echo in my head, but I can’t stop moving forward.
Jackson is up there. He’s my family, and I’m not going to just wait outside for Hank to do his job.
Heading for the stairs, I’m about to tiptoe up and see what’s going on when the sound of thumping feet makes me jump back.
Puffing breaths.
A gunshot.
A scream.
“Jackson!” I jump into view, catching my brother against me. He’s shaking, sobbing into my chest.
“Go!” Hank hollers.
Another gunshot.
Yanking the back of Jackson’s shirt, I haul him to the exit.
Michael’s limping up the back steps, and I push Jackson toward him. He grabs my brother and stumbles back just as another gunshot blasts the air.
“Ahhh!”
I spin around, horror coursing through me at the way Hank’s body lurches forward. He stumbles a few steps, then crashes into the wall, blood painting a red arc across the white plaster.
“Hank?”
I glance over my shoulder. Michael’s got Jackson against his chest. He catches my eye and flicks his hand, beckoning me to come.
I want to.
I want to sprint out that door and right into his arms, but I can’t leave Hank.
It’ll haunt me forever if I just turn and run.
“Annie, don’t!” Michael starts yelling the second I turn away from him.
Jackson soon joins him. I tune out their cries and rush to Hank’s side, trying to help him stand.
“Get up!” I grunt, then scream when I spot the barrel of a gun in the stairwell. “Move, move, move!” I push Hank toward the archway leading into the diner.
It’s closer than the kitchen door. If we stay low, the tables and counter can shield us as we make an escape out the back door.
Hank gets to his knees and starts crawling just as another gunshot rings out, but it’s followed by a weird popping sound. The air ripples with warning as the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.
Then a blast of hot air throws me forward, pushing me off my feet and right into Hank.
My scream sounds like it’s miles away.
We slide across the diner floor and straight into a table. Chairs wobble and topple over while the earth beneath me shakes. I cover Hank’s head, shielding him as best I can while a high-pitched whine whistles between my ears.
Lifting my spinning head, I look back toward the kitchen and blink, trying to figure out what the hell I’m seeing.
Blackened destruction.
Hot licks of flame.
A gaping hole where the kitchen used to be.
47
Annie!
“Annie!”
My head jerks off the ground, her name coming out like a feral cry. I don’t even recognize my own voice.
Jackson lies on top of me, clutching my shirt and sobbing against my chest.
I had to get him away from those gunshots, so I pulled him back. I was going to convince him to hide in the garage, promise him that I’d go back for Annie, but then the kitchen just blew apart and we were thrown through the air, thudding onto the ground like two rag dolls.
I gape at the flames, my head ringing like someone’s playing a gong inside of it.
“She’s dead,” Jackson whimpers into my shirt. “They’re all dead.”
I close my eyes, nausea rolling through me.
“No,” I croak. I can’t let myself believe that. “We can’t lose her.”
Gently pushing him off me, I struggle to my feet, limping toward the heat. My gut twists into a painful knot when I see the gaping hole in the kitchen wall. It’s basically gone.
A siren wails in the distance, growing ever closer while people start to run around the diner and into the parking lot. I don’t know what they’re saying. Fuzzy chatter turns to white noise as I approach the scorching flames.
“Annie!”
Raising my arm, I shield my face from the heat, covering my mouth with my shirt and inching into the building.
Buster’s twisted body is crumpled on the floor, his dead gaze sending a shiver right through me.
It brings back another set of eyes, and I want to throw up.
His face is burned, the skin blistered and raw. My insides shudder as I step over his body.
“Annie,” I rasp.
Desolation is filling me, taking me back to my past, warning me that life will never be good again.
But it was.
With her, it was.
“I can’t lose her,” I whisper under my breath, closing my eyes as I inch through the kitchen, then get my head as close to the floor as I can.
Ignoring the pain rocketing through my system, I crawl between the flames and search for the girl I love.
48
A Ferocious Beast
My body wants to stay frozen, but I can’t just lie here and wait for this mess to consume me. Smoke is coating the air around us, making it hurt to breathe, but I roll over with a groan.
Hank’s on the floor behind me, his eyes closed, his head tipped to the side.
“No,” I whisper. “Hank.” Shaking his shoulders, I try to rouse him. “Please be alive. Hank!” I shout in his ear.
He stirs with a soft moan, and it’s enough motivation to get my body moving.
Jumping to my feet, I cover my mouth with my arm and hack into it. My lungs are burning. We have to get out of this building.
I think I hear a siren outside, but my ears are still fuzzy. I can’t be sure of anything other than I need to drag Hank the hell out of here.
The closest door is to my left. Kicking the chairs away, I untangle myself and shunt a table aside.
Hank is still moaning but unconscious.
Lightly slapping his cheek, I try to get him to open his eyes. “Come on, wake up now. We need to move.”
I look at the door, imagining myself running through it. The fire hasn’t cut off my exit yet. Now’s my chance. But then I look back down at Hank, and once again, I know I could never live with myself if I just left him.
“Come on!” I shout, tucking my arms behind his shoulders and starting to drag him.
He weighs a ton, and I’m hardly making any progress. Panic sizzles through me. Gritting my teeth, I heave again and end up flopping onto my butt.
Tears are threatening to get the better of me. Sucking in a sob, I refuse to crumble. I can’t. Jackson’s out there waiting for me.
“Let’s go, Annie,” I whisper under my breath.
“Yeah, Annie.” A deep voice makes me jerk around, and I’m gazing down the barrel of a gun.
It’s being held by Mr. Suit.
Blood coats his lips and teeth. He’s swaying on his feet, more blood dripping down the side of his head. He’s a maniac, his smile demonic as he cocks the gun and looks like nothing would give him greater pleasure than killing me.