Busted Flush

He cut a rectangular piece of leather from the shoulder strap and carefully bored a hole in either end with the point of his knife, then trimmed the sides so that the remaining piece of leather resembled an elongated octagon. After working the laces through the eyeholes in the leather, he tied them off and created a loop at the end of the longer lace, just big enough for his finger.

“A sling,” Niobe said when he showed her the finished product. “You ever used one before?”

Drake shrugged. “Made one as a kid, I mean a really young kid, but I didn’t use it much. I’m going to practice getting good at this thing. You’d be surprised how far and fast you can toss a stone.”

Without Zane, they’d have to be much more careful about the people from BICC who were after them, for sure. More careful about everything.

Clouds hid the moon and stars, making it hard to see anything, but Drake knew where he was going. They’d hidden their stolen car behind a small rise. By now the cops were looking for it and it was getting low on gas anyway. Drake placed his feet carefully as they scaled the hill. It would be easy for one of them to stick a foot in a hole and twist an ankle, or worse. A broken bone and it was over. They’d be captured for sure. He wasn’t sure what they’d do to Niobe, but it wouldn’t be good. Drake they would probably kill. He remembered the tone Justice had used when they put Drake in the high-security wing. Like he was going to death row.

“Almost there,” Niobe said, balancing herself with a hand on the dried and dusty ground.

Drake dug in with his feet and hands, using the last of his strength to make it to the top of the hill. Then he collapsed into a sitting position, head down, panting for breath.

“Drake, look.”

He raised his head and looked at the horizon. The sky was glowing red and orange, like the aurora borealis but in the wrong color. Drake knew what it meant. It meant it was true. He was a murderer. He’d killed his own family and everyone else in town.

Niobe put a hand on his shoulder.

“Leave me alone, okay?” He shrugged her hand off his shoulder. “Don’t . . . don’t touch me.” He collapsed to his knees, staring at the fire on the horizon where his home and family had been. Maybe it would go away if he just kept looking at it.

The glow continued to flicker across the night sky.

Maybe Justice and the rest were right. Maybe he did deserve to die. Drake closed his eyes. He beat the ground with his fists, sending dirt and sand flying. He’d never believed in hell, but now he’d made one. His family was there, and his friends, pretty much everything he’d ever known. Drake stood and started walking toward the distant glow. It was where he belonged, in hell with everyone else.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back. “Drake, I’m sorry, but we need to get going if we’re going to find shelter before dawn. We can’t go that way.”

Drake did not have the strength to fight her. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Wordless, he turned away from the blazing ruin that had been Pyote, and didn’t look back.

Drake stumbled. Niobe caught his arm, steadied him. “Easy, kiddo,” she said. “I got ya.” She gave his arm a little squeeze before letting go.

He shuffled off like a sleepwalker. His body was going through the motions, but his mind was elsewhere.

She wished she still had her children. Drake needed Cameron, her piebald little healer, whose touch erased pain in its myriad forms. Or Gabriella, with her electric blue hair and infectious laughter. Or even Wynn, who sealed away one memory with every paper crane she folded. But they were gone, reduced to stains and memories before Niobe met Drake.

Niobe and Drake followed the contour of the hill until they found themselves standing at the edge of what appeared to be an arroyo. It stretched into the darkness to both left and right. She hoped it was shallow, so that they could cross it directly. She was too tired for detours.

Niobe pulled Drake a few steps back from the edge. “Here. Let me climb down first.”

She crawled backward on her hands and knees. Gravel scraped her palms and dirt packed itself beneath her fingernails. She moved until her ankles dangled over the edge. First her ankles, then her shins, then her knees. She was perched with her waist on the edge of the arroyo when her feet sank into soft sand.

“We’re in luck. It’s shallow.”

Drake needed her help to climb down. His legs were too short and he was moving like a marionette with tangled strings. Random, purposeless.

The poor kid was slipping deeper into his own head. Probably reliving memories of Pyote. She wondered if he’d had a large family. Drake’s file at BICC had been scarce on biographical details.