Page 61 of Forever We Fall

My suitemate is right beside me. His gaze roves the area around us.

The shed comes into sight, and I can’t help but sprint to it. Of course, Arlo stays with me. Once safely in the shadows, I skirt to the back of the small structure and slip inside the door.

When Arlo is inside, he closes it, and we’re in absolute darkness. I pull the small penlight from my pocket and aim it at the ground before flipping it on.

Wide eyes meet mine. His jaw is taut, and his shoulders are high.

“I’m going to ask you this once. Your answer dictates our night from here.”

He nods.

“Do you want to kill your uncle?”

His shoulders settle, and he sucks a deep breath. His chin lifts, and I know his answer before he gives it. “Yes.”

I pull the keys from the hook by the door and toss them to Arlo. “I open the garage door, you put it in neutral, I’ll give you a shove, and you coast as far as you can. Should be about ten yards beyond the gate. I’ll cut across the yard to catch up with you, and then we turn on the engine and go.” I grab the front of his jumper before he turns away. “If you leave me behind, if you even think about it, I’ll have your uncle in custody before you get there. We do this together or not at all, understand?”

He nods.

“Your words,” I demand.

“Yes, I understand.”

I release him and head for the large wooden door. The rusty old hinges received their first oiling in probably ten years last week. Still, I grit my teeth and brace for any wretched noise.

It whispers and opens like a sweet lover. “Yes, baby.”

Rushing to the back of the narrow black car, I wait for a signal from Arlo. At his nod, I heave with all my might. The car takes off, going faster than it did the one time I got brave enough to try. I smooth out our shoe prints in the hard-packed dirt floor,close the garage, and sprint through the small tree line toward the car.

The passenger door opens before I get there, and I dive inside.

Arlo starts the engine, and we’re off.

Our huffed breaths are the only sound besides the rumbling of the engine for several minutes. We settle into a stilted silence. That is until Arlo takes a turn too sharply.

I grab the door and the seat, bracing myself for the slight skid of the tires. “Fuck!”

“Sorry.” He hisses between his teeth, settling the car back between the lanes.

The road straightens, and I glance back to assess the seat belt situation in this relic.

“Um, this probably isn’t the best time to tell you, but I don’t know how to drive.”

Whether it’s fear, nerves, or the stress of planning a murder, I huff a laugh so loud and absurd it hurts my ears. I double over and clench my side, searching for air. “Nope.” I cackle. “The best time”—breath—“would have been”—laugh—“before we left the garage.”

“Yeah.” He laughs but concentrates too hard on the road to give it his all. That’s when I realize the fucking headlights are still off.

My laughter dies a quicker death than his uncle will. I barely manage to keep from screaming a string of expletives. It will only scare him more.

I’m choking on my heart. Each beat constricts my airway more.

With trembling hands, I lean close to Arlo. “I’m going to turn on the headlights.”

“Headlights.” He nods. “Yeah, that’d be helpful.”

“You think?”

It takes me a few switches to finally find the right one, and the world in all its green glory opens up around us. It's not far around us, but it's more than we had.

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