Page 48 of Love Fire

I’m out of ammunition.

40

ERIN

“Brent!” I yell into my microphone but all I hear in response is gun fire. It doesn’t sound good. He’s easily outnumbered. I don’t know if he can make it out.

“Brent!” I yell again. What else is there for me to do? The only other option is to listen to the gun shots. Each shot captured by Brent’s microphone makes me jump. Any one of them could mean he’s dead.

I just keep picturing Brent in there and how he might be dying right now. Gunshot to the head, dead instantly. Gunshot to the chest, slowly bleeds out. What if he gets captured? What if my father tortures him? What if my father uses his scales to make iridescent?

My mind keeps running with all the worst-case scenarios. This plan was an absolute failure and it’s all my fault. I thought this would be a good idea but I was so wrong. Now he’s as good as dead.

Maybe it’s time to run. Maybe I should hop into the driver’s seat and just leave. Drive as far away as I can before I run out of gas. That’s my only option, with Brent dead, I can’t risk staying in town any longer.

“No,” I say out loud to myself. I can’t afford to think like that. Brent is alive, I must believe that, and I won’t abandon him here.

As if on cue, Brent’s microphone cuts out. The signal is lost. Somehow, the silence of the van makes me more anxious than the gun fire.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

I slam my fists against the listening device. That's all I can do. Punching, kicking, and yelling to myself is all I can do in the back of this fucking van.

It actually makes me feel better. It distracts me, even for a moment, from the danger I led Brent right into. So, I start doing it.

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” I slam my hands into the side of the van. I kick the walls as hard as I can, over and over. The van rattled and shakes in a satisfying manner.

The door of the van swings open and I freeze. In a flash Brent hops into the passenger seat and looks back at me. His face is a mixture of confusion and anger.

“What the fuck are you doing back there?”

“Well, I was listening to you-”

“I don’t actually care, DRIVE!”

‘On it!” I leap into the driver’s seat and start the car. I don’t bother to check my surroundings as I slam on the gas and hit the road.

I drive erratically for a while. Taking sharp turns, running red lights, and anything else to put as much distance as possible away from where we just were. Once I think we are far enough away, I slow to a more casual speed, trying to blend in with traffic.

I take all the usual precautions for the rest of the drive. Checking my mirrors for anyone following us. Taking back roads and doubling back to throw anyone off. Everything happened so quickly, I doubt we were followed but you can never be too careful.

Brent is silent as I drive, he just stares stoically out the window. I wish he’d say something. What happened in there? Is he okay? Was he hurt?

I also wish he’d tell me where to go. Right now, I’m just driving with no destination. We can’t exactly go back to his house. My father and Hank already know where that is, that’s the first place they’d look.

Once I’m absolutely sure we aren’t being followed, I pull off to the side of the road and park. It takes Brent a moment to come back to earth and realize we stopped.

“What are you doing?”

“I need you to talk to me Brent.” I say. I reach out to hold his hand. “What happened?”

“What happened?” Brent looks confused and annoyed by the question.

“Yeah, I heard guns and then it all cut out.”

“What happened was,” Brent smirks at me. "I fucking did it.”

“What?” I’m shocked. What does he mean? It sounded like a complete failure.

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