Arson Saga #3
by Estevan Vega
Adam wasn't breathing. But he had bled enough for Emery to officially reach the point of total panic. His blood was all over her hands. The stain had crept beneath her fingernails. He looked so fragile, and his skin was turning pale. Why on earth wasn't he breathing? Had he lost too much of himself? Had he sacrificed too much energy during the fight?
The shaking wouldn't stop anytime soon, Emery knew that much. She couldn't handle this. She wasn't good at coping with situations where people she cared about just stopped breathing. Her mind returned to that night when her cousin had taken too many pills. Then it fled to Mandy’s beach, that stupid party she never should’ve gone to. Arson went nuclear then collapsed. He’d stopped breathing too. Maybe that was how it worked with special abilities. Letting out too much power could cause the source to deplete then black out.
But did the source die, or did it just temporarily shut down? Oh no. Her mind had no stop button. Just rewind and blitz forward. Her skipping heartbeat was lost between the bloody scenes. The screams. The bodies scattered around the stairs and in the hallways of that tormented house. Some had been ripped apart, others scorched beyond recognition. None of them had been left with breath in their corrupted lungs. Like Adam now, they just lay there, pitiful human paintings left unfinished.
“Wake up, Adam. Please wake up!” It didn't matter that her tears dripped over his body. It didn't matter that she bawled into his blood-soaked t-shirt. He still didn't move.
The silence of the country road enveloped the Pontiac Firebird. It was closing in, quicker and quicker as the sun grew comfortable in the distant sky. Emery wondered how long she could stare at the brilliant orb before eventually going blind. The more she considered the possibility, the more okay she became with losing her sight. If she were blind, she wouldn't have seen the hell that existed inside Salvation Asylum. If she were blind, she wouldn't have constant images of Arson and the lake and her arguing parents cluttering up usable storage space in her brain. If she were blind, the sight of Adam lying lifeless, covered in blood, wouldn't be freaking her out like this.
Adam needed medical attention. She had to get him help. But where could she go? Hospitals weren't safe. She’d bet money—if she had any—on the fact that the cops or feds or whoever comprised the asylum’s personnel would have men and women in long coats, sunglasses, and ominous demeanors parked at every hospital or police station in this county and the next; that’s if she and Adam weren't still being tracked.
“How many trackers did you say they put in you?” she asked, but communicating with Adam’s corpse instantly made her feel like a moron.
No, he wasn't a corpse, not yet. She had to believe it.
Emery gnawed at her fingernails and tasted the flavor of blood. She hated that her nerves refused to settle. Hated how her throat throbbed. “Oh no! Did they put one of those freaking chips in me too?” she screamed. “Adam! Adam, time to come back. You gotta wake up! What am I supposed to do? They’re gonna come! You should’ve killed those creeps back at the house. You should’ve killed them when you had the chance!”
She couldn't believe what she was saying. She wished those horrible people dead. She imagined a suitable circle of hell awaited them. But before they arrived to their fiery prison, they’d endure Adam’s relentless torture. How she longed for power like that. The power to instill fear. For bravery that would allow her to race back and hunt down every last player in this sadistic game, paralyze and torment them. With shut eyes, she would unleash a fury like they’d never seen. And if that were so, dying wouldn't matter because she would have vengeance.
Emery dropped her sweaty forehead onto his shoulder. Unstable breaths bled out. She looked at her hands, noticing the lines and smudges of red. Adam’s hands were darker, though. Dirt and black blood had mixed on his pale wrists and lower face. Even his scalp had remnants of his aggression. For the first time she caught a glimpse of a massive gash on the back of his skull. It wasn't healing. She felt a hideous form of unclean.
“Adam,” she cried softly. “Just wake up. I need you to wake up.” Emery rubbed her ribs. Her body ached. She touched her temple then her legs. New paranoia crawled inside her veins. She wondered where the implant might have been placed in her, and how much time was left before the demons came to take her back.
Check out the first two books Arson and Ashes from the Arson Saga on Estevan's website www.estevanvega.com along with his other works.
Like Estevan's Facebook page: We are Arson
Follow him on Twitter: @estevanvega
One signed copy each of Arson and Ashes
ebook of my short story collection of When Colors Bleed -
A short story collection that features three unique colors: love, loss, and regret. Both palpable and haunting, each story is a glimpse into human frailty and desperation.a Rafflecopter giveaway
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