Page 67 of Hell and High Water

Ding.

Another notification. Then another.

Two bars, then three.

“Wow. Who’d have thought I’d get a signal up here?”

Could be clearing the tree line that did it, but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I scroll through several friends’ pages, idly fidgeting with it for a few minutes.

Most of the posts are benign, everyday nonsense.

Until I come across one from my old friend, Jake. The video plays, showing him standing outside a huge house, a moving truck in the background. I knew his parents were well off, but damn…

“Yep. That’s a wrap, SH! DJ Jakey’s hitting the road with the fam. Dad says it’s all going up in flames. Countdown to the apocalypse and shiz! Hope you all stay safe. These streets are getting dangerous. Catch you later Sang Har!”

He grimaces and throws up a fist before the video cuts off.

Several more pop up in the feed, more people leaving. Some are crying about lost jobs.

The more I dig, the worse it gets.

People are leaving Sanctum in droves. Crime is at an all-time high.

Tell told me some, but it was distant. It wasn’t real.

“Eh. Enough of that.” I set the phone down, feeling a pit in my stomach.

I debate texting Jake, texting anyone.

No. Too risky.

And I have no clue what I would say to any of them.

Besides, I am supposed to be in hiding. The less anyone knows or thinks about me, the better. The less chance Marco will have of finding me.

Still, I can’t help wondering, to what end?

Hopefully, when the guys get back, we can actually decide on a plan of action.

Because I can't keep staying out here. I can't keep doing nothing. Not when there's crazy shit going down in town.

A feeling blossoms in my chest, something I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s wriggling, like anxiousness, but more insistent.

Standing, I shake off the excess nerves, taking one last look out over the valley before turning back toward the house. Tell might be back soon.

The trek down is always easier than the hike up.

In no time, I spot familiar signs, turning onto the final slope down to the house. My phone dings again, and I pull it out to turn it back off when I almost trip.

The location tag is flashing.

The location tab that I made sure was off.

A little thrill of panic shoots up my spine as I trot the rest of the way down the trail. I hop the back fencepost and slip and slide down the gravel slope behind the wide, cement patio. My legs shake a bit as I head around the side of the house.

It’s fine. Phone is off. It was only on for half an hour. An hour, tops.

But the sinking feeling chases me along, making me regret leaving the safehouse at all.

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