Page 94 of Pit Stop

“You made it. Thought you might have left.” He sniffs and grins. “The potion worked. Can barely smell you two,” he explains as he stands up, a puff of smoke leaving his mouth. “All right you assholes. Right this way.”

Maverick eyes me, but I keep my gaze forward, unable to look at him.

If I do, I might not make it.

Sage seems to sense that I need someone, his hand slipping into mine.

“You’ve got this,” he whispers, and I turn to look at my brother, my eyes slightly wet.

“Yeah. I do.”

He squeezes my hand as we walk behind the trailer. On the wet dirt is a large circle made of stones, and in the middle are two chairs. Rickety ones—ones that I’m sure Attie found on the side of the road, but if it works, it works. Nothing about this surprises me. And if today wasn’t dreadful, I may have even laughed.

“Both of you sit there. No touching. This will hurt enough as it is,” Attie instructs.

I wet my lips and let go of my brother’s hand, stepping into the circle and lowering myself onto the chair. Maverick follows quietly. I can barely hear him breathe.

Attie instructs my dad and brothers to stay out of the way, out of the circle, and then moves toward us, putting blindfolds over our eyes. Only a little light filters through, and the darkness seems to heighten it all.

Oh gods, I don’t want this. Do I?

But it’s too late. I can hear Attie burp loudly, laugh, and then a minute later, start to chant in another language. It’s low and sinister. Exactly like I thought it would be. My chest tightens, and that numbness that seemed to mute all my senses the past twenty-four hours dissipates. I can feel everything now. It’s being pulled from me.

Maverick is being expelled from me.

I hear him grunt next to me, obviously feeling the same thing.

Attie continues to chant, and the louder he gets, the worse it feels.

My hands tighten on the plastic arms of the chair, my skin breaking as I cling to them. I breathe deeply through my nose, my chest constricting as I do. A dull pain throbs at the base of my spine, moving up through my chest. It’s not as bad as I was expecting, but maybe Attie warns people just in case it’s terrible. Wind whips through the trees, and the birds stop chirping.

And suddenly, the chanting stops, and I exhale deeply.

That wasn’t that bad, I think, my heart beating frantically in my chest.

My hands loosen, and then the ground thuds, vibrations moving up my legs, and suddenly my body is thrown back, pain slicing through my chest, pulling at my heart. A scream erupts from me, breaking my vocal cords. I choke and cry, tears leaking out of my eyes, Maverick grunting and groaning next to me.

My dad is shouting in the distance, my brothers cursing as I thrash on the ground. The blindfold falls from my eyes, but even still, I can’t see through the dust, through my tears. It hurts. Ithurts. I feel like someone is ripping my ribs from my chest. One by one.

Oh gods. Kill me. Kill me!

I realize that I’m shouting this, begging the gods to take me.

Something splits audibly, and I swear my body is being torn apart. They’re taking me apart. They’re stripping me of my lungs, my veins, my soul.

I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe.

Maverick.

And then suddenly, it stops. A ringing is in my ears, my heart throbbing roughly. I inhale shakily, my fingers curling in the dirt. It grounds me somewhat.

I blink and see my dad looming over me, his eyes wet with worry.

“Mav,” I manage to choke out, but it’s a whisper. The screams have pulled my voice from me.

“He’s…” my dad chokes. “He’s passed out, but alive.”

I shake my head as I try to sit up, but I fall back down, unable to keep myself upright. I feel wrong, ill. My stomach churns, and I roll over, throwing up bile onto the ground.

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