Page 77 of The Order of Disorder
Game day—for them. For me, it’s a day of reckoning and fear.
I lean my head against the chain-link, staring at the back of the hangar. I spent years in that building, but I’ve never seen it from out here. My eyes trace the dents in the corrugated steelwall just to give them something to do. The giant double doors are propped wide, and inside it’s a hive of activity, people and bikes moving in and out. I catch sight of Silas stepping out of the prefab paint booth in the far corner, the one they set up for bikes. He walks up to a prospect carrying a case of beer, and all I can think is:why doesn’t he bring me something to drink?I’d take anything. Even a bottle of beer.
If I tilt my head to the right, I can just make out the airstrip—a cracked stretch of asphalt beyond the knot of brush that separates it from the new wooden outbuildings behind the hangar. The old runway sits empty most of the year, except for this race. Now, there are flags being staked into the dirt, coolers hauled into place, and a crew threading wires for the sound system. Still, beneath everything, is the sound of engines growling, low and constant, and only a taste of the noise that’ll shake this place apart by afternoon.
A prospect jogs past me, chest bouncing with a stack of orange cones. I try to call out, but my throat’s too dry. My voice dies before it leaves my mouth and he disappears through the footpath that cuts from the yard through the brush to the strip.
The smell of food cooking draws my attention back to the hangar. My stomach knots, cramping around nothing. I try to swallow but it burns. My tongue’s dry and thick. I’m invisible out here. A caged, abandoned dog.
The next time I hear footsteps on gravel, I sit up fast, throat already working to call out. Maybe someone’s finally come to let me out. Maybe food. Water. Anything.
But it’s the last person I expect.
Heading straight for me, riot of copper hair haloed in the sun and fringe jacket swinging around her, is Rox.
Her eyebrows knot in concern. “Jesus, Max,” she says heavily, reaching the fence and curling her fingers over the wire.Her eyes rake over me. “You look like shit. How long you been out here for?”
“Too long.” It croaks out. My first words in hours.
She kneels down to get at my level. “What happened? Billy told Maze you were being punished, but this seems…extreme.”
I blink at her. Is this the person who ends up coming for me?Rox?She isn’t a perfect savior…but right now, I need anyone.
“I need to get out of here. Wy—Ryan. I don’t know where he is. Did you see him inside?”
She shakes her head. “No, honey. But I can ask Maze to ask around. You want me to do that?”
“Yes.” It comes out desperate. “I need to know where he is.”
“Oh, sweetheart. Okay, I got you.” She stands, already turning back toward the hangar.
“And water,” I manage. “Rox, I need water.”
She glances back. “’Kay, hang in there. You look like you need to take the fucking edge off.”
I watch her go, that wild copper mess of hair bouncing with every step. Then I wait.
And wait.
When she finally returns, she’s got a bottle of water in one hand.
“Catch,” she says, and tosses it over the fence.
It hits the gravel and rolls, and I lunge for it like a starving animal, twisting the cap with shaking hands, and drink until the plastic buckles in my fist. It’s sun-warmed, tastes like plastic and gas, and it’s the best drink of water I’ve ever had in my life.
“Yikes,” Rox says, pitifully. “Poor thing.”
Then she crouches again, one knee pressed to the wire, and holds out her hand. A sky-blue pill gleams on her palm, stamped with an M.
“Take this, babe. It’ll help you float for a while.”
My stomach knots, withdrawal a visceral memory. Wyatt holding a bucket while I heaved my guts out, the cold sweat that constantly clung to me, nights I thought I wouldn’t survive. I sigh and shake my head.
“I can’t.”
Rox tilts her head. “Up to you,” she says with a shrug. “If I were you I’d wanna make this as bearable as I could. It’s good. It’ll dull the edge and fast-forward you through the worst of it.”
God, fast-forwarding through the worst of it sounds appealing right now.
