Page 61 of Three Beasts

Chapter 37

Wade

I jump off my bike and run up to Zeva, holding her tight. Jason and Alex are right behind me, and join us. There’s nothing we can do to stop the inferno that her house has become. We all sit and stare, no words that could comfort this moment. The heat is coming off and enveloping us in waves, but nothing can stop us from embracing Zeva in this moment.

A pair of fire trucks drive up and firemen pour out, scooting the four of us across the street. They hand us a blanket to wrap Zeva with as they attempt to salvage whatever they can of her house. Water pours in as Zeva stares, crying more at the sight of her only home crumbling in front of her. We turn her away from the nightmare and kneel to the ground with her, sitting her down in the dirt.

Seras nudges me from behind and whimpers. I reach out and scratch her ear.

“It’s okay, girl,” I say. “It’ll be okay.”

Walter comes over and curls himself up in Zeva’s lap to help comfort her, but Seras keeps nudging me. I look over and see black tatters clutched in the dog’s mouth. She drops it at my feet and I stare at it. It’s a black biker’s jacket.

“Iron Legion…some stragglers must've gotten to her,” I say, the fire in my voice hotter than the house behind us.

Alex picks it up and grips it tight. “Those motherfuckers…”

He holds it up to see a huge chunk torn out of it.

“That must've been what they used for the cocktail,” Jason said, staring at it and looking it over. “But…we have a problem.”

He turns it over for us all to see. The insignia on it isn’t Iron Legion. It’s our patch. The Order.

“What the fuck? Did they get one of our jackets?” I say.

“N-no…the guy…took it off himself,” Zeva stammers out from below us. “I couldn’t see him but it was the jacket he was wearing.”

I look at Alex and Jason, perplexed. They stare back at me with the same look. The stress of the past week, and of just today, has us at our limit. We can’t process what’s happening at the moment. A biker doesn’t wear another gang’s colors. Drug deals, framing, hits. It doesn’t matter; there’s still honor and pride in your own flag. This must have been one of our own.

“Do you think someone was talking?” Alex asks.

“Yeah but who has the balls for something like this?” I say. “I can’t think of someone under our own roof that’s a dirty snake like this…”

We all stand shaking our head, staring at the tattered jacket. I snatch it and toss it in the dirt and stomp it into the ground.

The firemen behind us are barking out directions to each other, directing the aim of the water spray. We turn around and watch, trying to drive the thoughts of betrayal from our mind. The flames are nearly extinguished. A pair ventures inside to check over the building, and another waits behind them to watch the structural integrity.

We collectively sigh at the horror, and I know that Jason and Alex are thinking what I’m thinking: this is all our fault.

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