Page 168 of Hell Breaks Loose

In the woods.

At night.

Hunting us.

I may never sleep again.

Assuming I don’t get murdered tonight.

Alaya’s razor sharp and direct, taking clear turns at what seem at first to be random spots, until I see her lips move in the dim illumination of her flashlight. She’s counting.

We pause for just a couple of seconds at one fork.

“Um. That way.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. Run. I’ll hold them off,” Alaya barks, loading a new clip into her pistol.

“Fuck that! Come with us and we’ll all hold them off!” I argue, and Ora’s eyes light up like I just gave her an early Christmas present. Alaya looks a bit taken aback for a moment.

Then she nods, gives me a suspicious glance, and we’re running again.

“So, where’d you get this idea?”

“From the inside of Damon’s red-gold bracelet. It was the only one with letters engraved in it,” I huff, gasping between words and keeping my eyes on the random trees that block the path here and there. “It read, ‘R.I.P-D.A.M.’”

“Rest in peace, Dats All Me? What does Fetty have to do with this?” Ora grunts, keeping pace with the two of us. Gotta give her credit, she’s tiny, but she’s fast as hell.

“Rest in peace, Damon Alden Michaels.” Alaya snickers at Ora’s joke. How is she not even winded?

I hate her again.

“He gave me very detailed instructions for his burial.”

“And you only thought of telling me that now?”

“I didn’t execute the task,” she growls. Like she’s admitting to something.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that he was my friend. It was hard enough carrying out the job, even if I was mad at the fuck-stick. So I had someone else take care of the cleanup. I’ve never actually been out here.”

“So you don’t know what we’re looking for?”

“Of course I do.” Alaya slows down to a trot, reaching the edge of the trees.

“So, what should we be on the lookout for?”

“That.”

Like a movie cue, the moon peeks out from behind the clouds at that moment, shedding just enough light into the clearing to make out the shape of a stone rectangle, capped in a short roof, like a mausoleum of sorts.

We cut across the rough ground, putting our backs to the low structure just as the first sounds reach us from the trees. They're coming fast.

“Any time you wanna get that door open...” Alaya mutters, snapping back the action on her gun.

Snatching the flashlight from her, I scan the smooth, moss-covered surface, finding words etched into the stone. Clearing the dust and tangled vines, I feel along as much as I look.

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