Page 108 of Mine

Because I will burn down the entire fucking world if she’s not.

Sixty-Six

Sabine

“We’re here.”

With a jolt, the car stops and the engine shuts off. The deafening pounding of rain fills the cab.

I raise my head from the backseat. I must have slipped out of consciousness from the drugs Prishna gave me. Though the headache and nausea are still there, I feel less like I’m on a roller coaster.

The front door slams shut, and the back door opens. A rush of cool, wet air rushes inside. I breathe in deeply. Clear my head of this haze.

Prishna grabs my shoulders and yanks me upright, pulling me toward her. I groan with the movement, feeling like I might vomit and secretly hoping that I do—right on her shoes.

“Come on, come on,” she says as I find my footing on the muddy ground. “Jesus, come on,” she growls now, unhappy that she’s getting wet.

Finally, I straighten, my back feeling like a knotted rope. I wobble, unable to get my balance with my hands tied at my waist.

God, I feel awful.

Blinking through the rain, I take in my surroundings. We are on the top of a mountain, looking down on miles and miles of thick forest. In the middle of nowhere.

Prishna’s long silver-streaked braids fall over her face as she grabs hold of my arm. Her eyes are slits, her pupils large and black. The scars on her face glisten under the rain running down her cheek. She looks like an animal.

I’m spun around and forced to walk. Dipping my chin against the rain, I focus on the ground to steady myself.

One step, two step, three steps. Don’t fall.

We cross what appears to be an old parking lot. The concrete is stained and fractured. Long blades of grass spear up from the cracks.

The rain is relentless, pelting my shoulders, my head, dripping off my nose as I shuffle like the prisoner I am across the concrete.

Ahead is a large metal garage with two large bays. An airplane hangar—abandoned, based on its condition. Lines of rust mar the sides, resembling long streaks of blood. One garage door is covered in spray paint, mostly gang signs. A row of long, narrow windows line the top. It’s dark inside.

Faded below the graffiti is a symbol of a helicopter’s wings and the words: S&S Search and Rescue.

What the hell are we doing here?

I am sopping wet as Prishna pulls open a heavy metal door with a cracked window.

She drags me inside.

Dimly lit by a dozen smudged skylights, the space is even larger than it appears from the outside. Trash is everywhere. Torn shopping bags, wrappers, tattered shop rags mingle with drifts of leaves scattered across the concrete floor. Stains mar the floors, the walls, the large beams that serve as support. The air is stale, tinged with old motor oil and must.

It’s completely empty—except for a gleaming black helicopter sitting outside the back bay, and two people standing in front of it.

My heart drops to my feet.

Sixty-Seven

Astor

I abandon the motorcycle halfway up the mountain, so they won’t hear me coming. Breathless, I sprint through the forest, branches and thorns ripping my clothes and clawing at my arms. It’s still storming, but the canopy of leaves overhead provides a decent shield so I can at least see where I am going.

The outline of the hangar slowly comes into view.

I press harder, faster, my breath coming out in short, ragged gasps. I can no longer feel my burning quads, constricted lungs, pounding heart. I’ve slipped into a robotic state of mind, programmed with only one goal: Get Sabine before it’s too late.

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