Touching Smoke (21 page)

“Yes!” Isaiah replied, tone tight. “Just… be careful!”

“I see a window up here!” I panted, shifting as far as I could without losing my footing. “It’s small, but I think I can fit through it.”

The window was rectangular. The sort of window basements would have. The panes were grimy, with a slight chip on the bottom left corner. Using a can, I nudged the window open, still too far to use my hands. The hinges gave a rusty squeak, but it opened.

“I got it!” I said excitedly.

“Go!” Isaiah rasped from below. “Get to the car and drive! I’ll meet up with you when I can.”

“What?” My foot slipped when I tried to look at him. I dangled a moment from my arms and elbows, my clammy hands slipping with every desperate grab for something to hold on to.

“Fallon!”

I ignored his panicked hissed. “I’m not leaving you!” I snapped; sweat trickling down from my temples. “I’m not…”

“Hang on!” I would have loved to shout,
‘duh!’
but I had other pressing matters on my mind.

Dust puffed up around my face from the shelf now pressed into my cheek. Some of it went up my nose as I dragged uneven breaths. I prayed I wouldn’t sneeze. It would be such a bad time.

“Give me a boost!” I rasped.

His hands grabbed my feetand heaved, giving me that extra little nudge to reach the edge of the window. I hooked my fingers and pulled, willing my fingers not to slip.

The climb was tricky, getting past that top shelf. My legs flared in the air, having no place to hang on to.

“I’ll come back for you!” I told him, wiggling and kicking thin air.

“No! Get out of here!” I ignored him.

“I won’t leave you!” I poked my head through the window.

The window faced the back parking lot. It was empty except for an old, green Chevy parked in the far end. I hefted myself higher, pumping and wiggling my legs. It took some doing, but I pulled my arms through, wishing I could have gone legs first instead. The fall, although not far, was going to hurt headfirst.

“Hey,” I called back over my shoulder. “Do you think my superpowers could be like flying or something?” It was meant as a joke.

“Dammit, Fallon! Get back in here!” Such a potty mouth.

The ground was solid concrete. I couldn’t see any pieces of broken glass or anything too painful, except maybe the concrete. It was sure to leave a bruise, some scrapes, maybe a broken wrist, depending on how I landed. I took a deep breath. The window ledge gouged into my abdomen. I ignored it, calculating about ten feet, maybe a little more. Unless I landed on my head, I should be able to walk away from the fall.

“Isaiah?” I slicked my lips when his name came out a croak.

“What?”

There was something I wanted to say, it was tickling the back of my throat, but I had no idea what that was. Instead, I said, “I’ll see you soon.”

The last push was the hardest. I closed my eyes after that, not wishing to see the ground rushing up at me. I don’t think I screamed, but when I managed to pry my eyes open, I was on my back, staring up at the clear, blue sky. I was alive… and unbroken, at least from what I could feel.

I wiggled my toes first. Yup, still there. Then my knees, my fingers, my arms and legs and finally sat up. Aside from the throbbing in my shoulder blades and my tailbone, I was perfectly fine. At least now, I knew that I did not have cat-like reflexes or flying powers.

“Fallon!”

Getting to my feet, dusting off my jeans, I tilted my head up towards the tiny window, amazed that I’d actually made it; it looked so much higher from down below.

“I’m okay!” I hissed back, hoping he heard me.

He stopped calling, so maybe he had, or maybe Garrison had arrived and they’d come to get us. Whichever it was, I didn’t have much time.

I started around the white building, keeping close to the wall as I’d seen them do in the movies. The whole place was unnaturally quiet, like I was walking straight to my doom. I didn’t like it. I slowed my pace. Being caught after all that, would doubtlessly piss me off. At the very end, just before reaching the front of the restaurant, I stopped, pressing my sweat soaked back into the wall and slowing my breathing. I counted to ten before daring a peek.

The Impala was there, unguarded. Next to it was a large, black van — big surprise — no windows. If that didn’t scream hostage vehicle, nothing did. But that was also a problem. Was there someone inside, or was everyone in the building?

Pulling back, I leaned my head against the wall, closed my eyes and counted to ten again. On nine, I crouched and made a run for the Impala. My sneakers scuffled loudly, alerting the whole world that I was trying to be stealthy. I considered it a success when no one shouted,
‘get that girl!’
or
‘stop her!’

The passenger’s side door squeaked. The sound was quite possibly the loudest thing I’d ever heard. It seemed to be rivaling the thundering of my heart. Both pulsed between my ears like nuclear bombs going off simultaneously.

“Breathe!” I quietly scolded myself, squishing myself through the tiny slit. The movement, although severely careful, caused the most ruckuses in my opinion, or maybe it was just my nerves. But I was almost positive ever squeak and groan would be my last. I could be caught at any moment. Yet somehow, I made it. I was inside the airtight cabin, breathing stale, muggy air. The leather, having been roasting in the sun in our absence, burned through my jeans. I ignored it. I had to find a way to help Isaiah escape without getting caught again myself.

What would Buffy do?

I almost laughed at the question. Buffy would of course charge in and show those creeps a thing or two. She would kick serious butt, save the guy and head home looking flawless and completely fashionable. Not only was I
not
fashionable, but I doubted the little butt kicking I did know would save us.

“Think, Fallon!” I hissed, staring at the closed doors hard, waiting for the slightest flicker of movement to dive for cover.

What did I have for weapons? Nothing. Isaiah had a gun, but it was probably on him or he lost it, not that it mattered. I didn’t know how to shoot a gun.

That’s when the idea hit me. It was a bad idea. Probably the worst. But it was an idea and that was something. And all I had to do was slip into the driver’s seat, stick the keys into the ignition and pull into reverse. I tried to do all this as quietly as possible, but the Rust-Bucket grumbled and spattered its protest the whole time.

Honestly, I was a bit more than surprised that no one heard me; the engine was
loud!
But when I managed to position myself perfectly with the front doors, and, when no one ran out with guns blazing, I considered it a success.

“This better work…” I mumbled to myself, shifting to a more comfortable position and tightening my grip on the wheel. I took a deep breath and stomped on the gas.

The Impala roared. A thick, gray cloud exploded in the rearview mirror. The stench of burnt rubber filled the air. I shot forward like a bullet, eating up the pavement so fast that I had no time to brace myself when the hood crashed through the wooden doors and I found myself parked in the middle of the restaurant, surrounded by a cloud of white smoke, broken furniture and unmoving bodies, but only Maia and Yuri’s. Had I killed them? And where were the twin phantoms?

I didn’t wait to find out. I threw open my door, stuck my head out and screamed, “Isaiah! Now!”

Maybe he heard me break through the doors. Maybe he’d been waiting. Maybe he knew what I was doing before I did. But he was suddenly there, running through the swinging doors leading into the kitchen. Had I thought it was a little strange that no one had been guarding him? I didn’t care. I started pulling into reverse before he was even fully inside the car. The bodies around us began to move, shifting and climbing to their feet. Not dead…

“Hold on!” I told Isaiah, twisting around in my seat and maneuvering us out of the wreckage, using the same speeds as when I went in.

We popped out of the gaping hole and into the sunshine like a cork out of a bottle. I used all my strength to twist the wheel, spinning us around to face the exit. I never let up on the gas. We hit the speed bumps with enough force to shatter teeth. The car sailed for a moment before hitting ground again, and from the unnatural jingle and crunch, I knew the Rust-Bucket would never be the same again.

“Come on, baby!” I murmured to the car. “Come on, you’re doing great! A little further!”

The car didn’t disappoint. It raced through the streets like a bat from hell, turning and zigzagging through the traffic. I kept one eye on the road and the other on the rearview mirror, waiting for the first sign of trouble. I took every turn and twist I came across, not even attempting to slow down.

“I think we lost them,” Isaiah said fifteen minutes later when it became apparent that no one was following us.

“I can’t stop,” I told him, hands tight on the wheel. “I don’t think she’ll start again if I do.” The Impala was beginning to make a soft whining noise. It was a new sound, a sad one. “I know, baby,” I crooned, stroking the dashboard over the wheel. “I know. A little longer.”

Isaiah made no comment if he thought my affections for a car were a little strange. “Get back to the cabin. I’ll look at her.”

I didn’t know what he could do for it, but it was our best plan, so I turned the wheel and pointed us in the right direction.

“How did they find us?” I asked once we reached the cabin and I cut the engine, possibly for the last time. “How did they know we would be at
that
restaurant?”

Isaiah shook his head. “I don’t know.” He climbed out of the car. “Pop the hood,” he said, slamming his door shut.

I reached for the button under the dash and popped it open. He disappeared beneath the raised hood. I jumped out of the car and walked around to stand next to him.

“Why weren’t they guarding the doors?”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, fiddling with something on the engine.

“Why didn’t they chase us? It didn’t seem like they were trying very hard to keep us prisoner.”

He sighed, standing up straight. “I don’t know why.”

“Do you think it was a trap?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, can they find us here—?”

His hands were suddenly on my face, cupping my cheeks and stilling my questions. He peered fixedly into my eyes, somber and a bit tired. “I don’t know,” he murmured, tone as weary as he looked. “Let’s just deal with one problem at a time. We got away. That’s the important thing.”

I leaned into his touch without thinking about it. My lashes threatened to sweep closed, but I wasn’t done falling into his eyes. My skin tingled beneath the slow caress of his thumbs over the ridges of my cheekbones. He bent his head; so close, the scent of mint tickled my nostrils with his slow exhale. My lips parted, tingling with anticipation. In my chest, my heart swooped, light and giddy. This was it. He was going to kiss me! I just knew it.

“I wanted to throttle you back there.” Definitely
not
what I wanted to hear. “You could have been killed! I’ve never been so…” his brows crinkled as if he’d said too much. His hands dropped away from my face, leaving the abandoned spot feeling chilled. “Don’t do it again!”

My own annoyance prickled. “I got us out didn’t I?”

“At nearly what cost? Your life is worth more than that, more than mine.” He turned away, starting towards the cabin.

“Who made up that stupid rule? You? My dad?” I charged after him, my sneakers crunching on gravel in pursuit. “Well, I don’t believe it. I can’t watch you die any more than you can do the same for me.”

He paused briefly at the door, hands braced on either side of the doorframe, head down, shoulders and back stiff. He glanced back over his shoulder. “Just don’t do it again.”

I scoffed at his retreating back, arms folding defiantly. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

The Impala was finished. It wouldn’t even pretend to start anymore. No lights came on. No sounds emerged. It was like sticking keys inside a rock and trying to get it running. I cried when Isaiah told me. I tried not to, but the tears flowed without my permission. It was the last thing I had of my mother and it was gone too, as was my duffle which I had brought with me into the restaurant, along with my clothes and the last of my granola stash, not to mention the last few measly dollars I’d stuffed into the side pocket. I was officially stranded with nothing.

“We’ll take my bike,” Isaiah offered much later the next afternoon as we sat on the front steps of the cabin, staring at the heap of rusted metal taking up most of what was probably the lawn.

“That’s not the point,” I murmured. “It was my mom’s car! What about the stuff inside?”

“We can leave everything there,” he replied. “I’ll toss a tarp over it and when we get to your dad’s, we’ll have it towed.”

“I’m not going to my dad’s, Isaiah!” I told him, tucking a stray curl behind my ear to hide the tremor in my hands. “I can’t even afford to get there if I wanted to. I have no clothes except what I’m wearing and… I’m not…” I’m not ready! I didn’t voice the last part.