Page 162 of Frisco

I wasn’t shooting so I didn’t know if I should think of myself as one of them. Though, in a few minutes that wouldn’t make a difference, I suppose.

One more guy came out, but he didn’t shoot so he wasn’t shot.

He held up his hands in surrender, and a few of the Red Demons moved in, grabbed him, and dragged him away.

There was yelling.

They were yelling at the truck.

They were yelling at the guy they just pulled away.

I wasn’t listening to the words. I didn’t care.

I was watching Shane, and he wasn’t moving.

I thought back to that old hockey mask he put on.

What did it mean? Did that signify something?

I wasn’t too concerned about the chaos that was happening right now. No, no. I was watching and waiting.

There was another explosion. This one felt smaller, and closer. I felt the heat on my face. My hair was whipping around from its impact but I was still only watching Shane. When he moved, I would move.

He was my calm in this storm.

As if feeling my gaze, he turned, sparks of fire going in the air between us. His head tilted to the side, just barely. Then I heard someone call his name. It penetrated this weird vacuum of sound. He started forward, and I felt his footsteps, though he was a few feet away from me, I felt every step he took. The deep thud as he walked, his foot meeting the earth, and I felt that vibration going up through my legs. Up to my chest.

I didn’t know what was going on with me, but I was in a daze of sorts. I’m sure. I was only seeing Shane as he went forward. I was only hearing his footsteps. There were yelling and other sounds of gunfire or explosions in the background, but they were barely filtering in.

It was like we were in a bubble. Where we were, nothing could penetrate. As Shane kept going forward, so did I until he got to Marco Estrada’s truck. A man was pulled out, and he was being held up, shoved against the back.

It was not Marco Estrada.

I didn’t know what Marco Estrada looked like, but I could tell by the eyes that this young man wasn’t him. He wasn’t a boy, but he wasn’t quite a man. He was scared, and his mouth was moving fast. He was saying something, and judging from the plea in his eyes, he was pleading for his life.

I hoped, for the first time since the first explosion, that this young man wouldn’t be killed. But it wasn’t him, and I knew that they were expecting Marco Estrada to be in the middle truck. Made sense except to Marco Estrada himself. He would’ve wanted to trick anyone who might set out to attack his convoy. But if he was in the back, he might’ve been taken out.

If he was in the front, he might’ve been taken out.

So where was Marco Estrada?

I knew where he would be.

I turned, and this time the vacuum left me.

All the sounds from around me hit me hard.

I heard all the shouting, all the cursing. But no more gunfire. No more shots were being exchanged. I liked that part, and I ran back up the hill, hearing Shane yelling my name too.

I ignored him.

A part of me didn’t want him to come for this last part, because as soon as I figured it out, I knew it was true. I felt it in my bones. I was supposed to go, but I didn’t know the reason.

I didn’t care.

They had brought a truck. One, among all the Harleys. I ran to it, jumping in, and I turned back to where the house was.

I didn’t go to where we’d left, where I knew bounty hunters were arriving to pick up Estrada’s men. I drove to the first house, the one that had the shed where they kept Katie and the two men I didn’t know captive.

---