No Damaged Goods

by Snow, Nicole

  I stop in my tracks, locking my gaze on him, wishing it could kill. My fingers clench slowly into fists as that anger inside me erupts into a sense of purpose.

  “You go on,” I whisper to Warren, never taking my eyes off Justin. “I’m gonna save my daughter.”

  21

  Drumroll (Peace)

  Of all the weird things I’ve seen today, one of the weirdest has to be Clark Patten wrapping his jacket over his upraised arms and face.

  Then charging through the wall of flames around me, parting them in a burst of sparks, giving Blake just enough room to save my almost frying bacon.

  I can’t stop crying.

  Because I’m so angry.

  So angry Justin used me as bait.

  And I had to play along, or he would’ve hurt Andrea even worse.

  I’ll never forget Blake folding me in his big, strong arms and taking a leap of faith through the fire. The way the heat washed over us reminded me of surfing back on Oahu.

  There’s this moment where you lean into the curl of a wave, and there’s this glass wall of crystal-blue water that you can see right through, skimming right along your shoulder. It’s so fragile and yet so powerful, and you’re aware, in that moment, how quickly it can crash over you and drag you under.

  That’s what diving into fire feels like.

  Only it’s hot and flickering and so terrifying I never would’ve been able to do it without Blake Silverton.

  Please, I think desperately. Please let him get to her in time.

  I try insanely hard not to think about his last look, how bright his blue eyes burned, how he squeezed my hand with a grip that could’ve made Hercules jealous.

  Back on the ground, Clark wraps his jacket around me.

  “Come on,” he says, his voice only cracking a little. “I...I promised Mr. Silverton. You’re gonna be okay. My jacket’s fireproof.”

  I stare up at him. He’s just a kid, but his smile is brave and fierce and toothy. “Clark, what about—”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he says. “Fire’s my game. You just hold the jacket tight, move fast, and if any of those flames from the fence start coming toward you, dive for the snow. Go.”

  For a moment, I’m just frozen, my eyes locked on the huge, flaming fence that makes any hope of escape impossible. Blake’s friends are in the thick of the crowd now, trying to calm them, barking orders.

  It isn’t easy for even these men with their booming voices to make themselves heard in the disorderly roar. Warren and his friends shout louder, marshaling people away from the flaming walls. But there’s more shadows now, fire from another direction, closer.

  Oh no.

  I crane my head, turning toward the space where Clark is still staring with dread.

  I can see the tent where I’d been bound up with Andrea.

  I can see Blake’s broad back.

  And I can see Justin, standing between Blake and the tent, blocking him with a fountain of fire he keeps spraying from that flamethrower along the ground.

  There’s no way Blake gets past Justin in time.

  That’s the point.

  That’s what Justin really wants to do, isn’t it?

  Force Blake to suffer, knowing he’s just feet away from his daughter, and he’ll die before he gets to her.

  Like hell.

  I won’t let that happen.

  Slowly, I catch Clark’s eye.

  He nods, decisive, and I know—we’re on the same page.

  Without another word, ducking low, we take off running.

  The booths lining the carnival space are our shield as we circle around, trying to avoid Justin’s line of sight. He seems totally focused on Blake right now.

  I can’t make out what they’re saying to each other, Blake’s voice just a growling steady rumble, Justin shrill and crazed and leering, but they’re facing each other like gunslingers at high noon. The chaos and the crowds and flames don’t even divert them one bit.

  I can barely breathe in the choking smoke, so I pull my shirt up over my mouth and run faster.

  With Clark on my heels, we dive behind a tent several feet from Justin, breathing hard, watching him warily as we crouch down.

  “Do you think he’s seen us?” I whisper, and Clark shakes his head.

  “Nah. He’s a fucking loon.”

  I hope he’s right.

  But for a moment, past Justin’s tensed back, his jerking shoulders, and the flames...

  Blake’s eyes flicker.

  He seems focused entirely on Justin, but I know he’s looking at me.

  And I nod slightly, offering him a tiny smile, mouthing, I’ve got this.

  I’ve got her.

  I’ll save her, Blake.

  Just trust me.

  Please.

  He turns into even more of a statue for a split second. Then there’s an almost imperceptible nod. His gaze flips back to Justin.

  And he takes a deliberate, aggressive step forward.

  Justin shouts, firing off another burst of flame, his voice cracking, manic.

  Blake’s buying us time. Distracting the madman.

  We can’t waste this opportunity.

  “Go!” I hiss, shoving at Clark and tumbling along after him, scrambling for the tent.

  After what feels like forever, we duck inside.

  Andrea is still bound up on the ice slab, moaning in pain, whimpering so quietly it nearly kills me to see her when it’s like she’s too weak to even work up full, deep sobs.

  That creeping redness against her bare skin scares me.

  Clark lets out a hoarse, raw sound, sheer anguish, and rushes over, capturing her face in his hands. “Andrea? Andrea, oh my God, I’m sorry I didn’t get here faster...”

  Her head lifts, her eyes opening. She stares at him muzzily through her tears.

  “C-Clark?” she whimpers, and Clark smiles, his eyes brimming with tears, his lips quivering.

  “Yeah, baby girl. Yeah, it’s me. Gonna get you out of here.”

  He grasps at the cuffs drilled into the slab, pulling, but they’re ground in deep, the ice solid.

  Ugh, can one freaking thing go right?

  I let out a despairing sound, searching for an ice pick, a drill, some kind of power tools, anything—

  A blowtorch!

  I dive for it, grabbing and thrusting it at Clark.

  “Here,” I say, holding his eyes steadily. “You know fire, right? So do what you do best. Quick.”

  He gives me a nervous look, so utterly terrified it can only be born from the fact that I think this boy really loves Andrea.

  He doesn’t hesitate, though, snatching the blowtorch out of my hand and firing it up, that fear in his eyes turning to grim determination.

  I glance nervously out the frosted plastic window of the tent, keeping watch while he goes to work—but what I see makes my heart stop.

  Plumes of blinding hot flame. Justin spraying wildly, shouting, his face red, veins bulging in his temples.

  I can’t see Blake anywhere.

  And everything in me wants to find him, but I know I’d be in the way.

  Andrea needs me more right now.

  And suddenly I get what it means to love this much.

  I don’t know when Andrea crept so close to my heart.

  Maybe the same time her father did.

  But Clark is fast—so quick and focused, handling the torch with the deftness of an artist with his brush, working his way through the ice sealing the cuffs without ever coming close to Andrea’s delicate skin.

  Then she’s sagging, and I’m there, catching her, grabbing Clark’s coat and wrapping her up in it.

  I don’t see her clothes anywhere, but I shrug out of my own coat and wrap it around her waist, trying to bundle her up. Clark and I lift her weight so I’ve got her torso and he’s got her legs, and she doesn’t have to touch bare, raw skin to the frigid ground.

  She’s still conscious, just barely, letting out a sniffle as she r
olls her head against my shoulder, one hand coming up to cling to me, gripping at my sweater with shaking, desperate fingers.

  She can still move them.

  Thank God.

  If her extremities aren’t damaged beyond repair, then there’s hope for the rest of her, too.

  My hope turns into a cracking, aching sensation as she whimpers, burying her face against me.

  “Peace,” she gasps, sobbing weakly, her tears just barely soaking through to wet my skin.

  “It’s okay, Andrea,” I soothe, peering through the tent flap, watching, making sure we won’t get caught. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

  “Wh-where’s...where’s Dad?” she sputters out. “I have to t-tell him...”

  “He knows about Justin, honey.” I squeeze her tighter. “It’s okay.”

  “No!” she gasps out, her fingers tightening against me before she goes limp again. “I...I h-have to tell him...I’m sorry.”

  Her tears are downright infectious. I tear my blurry gaze from scanning the flames outside, looking down at her, my nostrils prickling.

  “He knows, love. I promise you, he knows.”

  Clark bites his lip as another arc of flame rockets into the night, lighting up the tent fabric from outside in hellish silhouettes.

  We both flinch.

  He tightens his hold on Andrea’s legs. “What’s going on out there?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, peering outside again. “But I think we need to make a run for it.”

  It’s sheer bedlam now.

  Fire everywhere, an unruly mob of scared people in the distance, and I can hardly see through the thick black plumes of smoke, the burning stalls.

  Everything catches fire, from the banners stretched between the stalls to the string lights. The bulbs pop with shattering squeals, sending more sparks flying. Louder pops hint at bigger lights breaking, flares of electrical current jumping, catching on display signs and flyers like wild lightning.

  Oh my God.

  It smells like every nightmare ever, charred and dark and hellish.

  I can’t see Blake or Justin.

  But in the center of the fairgrounds, I can just make out the shapes of people huddled like damned souls crouching away from the flames of hell, and barely make out familiar voices—Warren, Sheriff Langley among them—begging people to calm down even while screams and sobs of despair rise.

  They’re walled in.

  Nowhere safe, the flames are closing in.

  Nowhere safe for us, either.

  Then the tent catches fire with a sudden whoosh!

  The scouring winter wind—no longer blocked by the burning wall—washes over the sea of flame and sends a wave of it lapping at us.

  Cruuud.

  Fear spikes through me, but we have to move. Clumsily, with Andrea heavy between us, Clark and I go stumbling out, skittering away, tripping over fallen debris and around flames burning in powerful clusters with hardly a free space to step.

  “Come on,” I gasp, running toward the crowd, practically swinging Andrea between us. “We have to get somewhere safe.”

  “Where?” Clark cries. “How do we get out here?”

  I don’t have an answer.

  Not until I stop, staring at the one thing that isn’t burning. The ice palace is almost gorgeous in the reflected light of the flames, the entire thing lit up in kaleidoscopes of red, blue, gold, purple, and infinite orange.

  “We don’t get out,” I breathe. “We get in.” I tighten my grip on Andrea, hefting her. “Shift her onto my back. Come on.”

  Awkwardly, Clark helps me maneuver Andrea so she’s riding piggyback, her weight bending me over, but I don’t care. Adrenaline sends me charging forward, raising my voice, using those pipes I’ve trained to project over the years to shout over the sounds of crackling flame and panicked people.

  “Sheriff Langley!” I cry. “Leo! Doc! Warren! Get them inside the ice palace! Everyone move; it’ll be safer in there.”

  A few heads turn toward me, confused mumbles. I jog closer before Warren cuts through the crowd, his hard eyes drilling into me. He just stares at me, then at Andrea, and he nods sharply, raising his arms, bellowing.

  “She’s right—the ice will shield us! Get the hell inside, people!” His voice is ten times louder than mine, a lion’s roar that carries, and people slowly start moving, following his commands. “Stay low! If you have children, make sure you cover their mouths. Cover your own mouth—breathe through your hand, your jacket, your shirt, whatever it takes. Just avoid the smoke inhalation.”

  For a moment, I just watch him, Doc, and Leo, the way they work together. I can see the gap where Blake should be. And I can see why they’re all called heroes.

  They’re the town’s knights who step up when everyone else is afraid.

  But there’s a glint of approval in Warren’s eye as he turns back to me, looking me over before giving Andrea a worried look.

  “You too,” he says. “Get inside. Blake, he’ll murder me if I let anything happen to either of you.”

  I bite my lip, adjusting Andrea’s weight. “But Blake—”

  “Needs you to look after yourself,” he growls gently like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Now go.”

  Then his hand is on my shoulder, steering me forward, his other hand grasping Clark’s arm and drawing him gently behind as he guides us through the throng, finding a clear path through the flames. He ushers us to the only safety we can find when the entire world is falling down around us and we’re trapped inside a ring of fire.

  But before I disappear under the gleaming arch of ice, I can’t help but look back, searching the flames.

  Nothing.

  And I send a prayer up, aching and terrified, to anything that might be listening.

  My dad, the universe, the stars, God...even Andrea’s mom, if she’s looking down and watching over the daughter I cradle so close right now as I find a safe spot near the stage and huddle on a bench with the teenager in my lap.

  Please.

  Please don’t let Blake be gone.

  22

  It Ain’t Over (Blake)

  Minutes Earlier

  When I get out of this, I’m gonna tell her.

  I’m gonna tell Peace I love her if it’s the last damn thing I do.

  I knew I could count on her to keep my baby girl safe.

  I’d hated having to leave her in Clark’s hands, even though I knew she’d be fine. That’s the thing with Peace. She doesn’t need me holding her hand every step of the way. She’s scrappy and smart and takes care of herself, which makes it so much more amazing that she wants me.

  Hell, maybe I’m the one who needs her.

  Yeah.

  Fuck yeah, I do.

  But I had to put her out of my mind as I stepped closer to Justin, listening to the sounds of the crackling flame, the whipping wind, the walls slowly burning closer to the ground.

  Not good.

  Low flame plus high wind with no windbreak?

  Bad, bad cocktail. It could send this fire blanketing across the landscape, consuming the carnival grounds first, and then the entire town, and anyone left in it.

  If there’s anyone out there.

  I hope there fucking is, and they’re on their way to help us out of this shit.

  Because with the fire truck outside that wall of flame, I can’t do anything but try to find an opening to get people out of here.

  And try to stop Mr. Pyro Man from making things worse.

  He lets out a harsh, ugly laugh and sprays another burst of flame, holding the flamethrower up and deliberately torching one of the small banners flapping in the breeze.

  I take a step closer, spreading my hands, trying to look nonthreatening.

  “Hey,” I say, keeping my voice low, soothing. “C’mon. You don’t want to do that, man. Just stop already with the flamethrower stuff before you hurt Andrea.”

  I can’t fucking call her Jenna, however much it might appeal to his
madness.

  Justin stiffens, whipping the nozzle around and pointing it at me.

  I halt in my tracks immediately.

  It’s got a medium range, no more than ten feet or so, looks like. Small fuel canister on the back. If he wants to keep on being a threat, he’s gotta keep to short bursts so he doesn’t use it all up too fast.

  But that means I gotta hang back.

  And hope I can talk my way through this shitshow.

  “You hurt Andrea,” he hisses, baring his teeth.

  I pinch my jaw, still trying to comprehend who I’m seeing. Gone is the enthusiastic, wide-eyed puppy of a young man who sometimes gave in to the sorrow always hanging on his shoulders.

  He’s been replaced by a maniac with a vicious smile and hard, hateful eyes that bore into me.

  “Justin—”

  “Shut up! You hurt her, just like you hurt everybody. This whole stupid town calls you heroes, when you’re the reason everyone gets hurt. If you weren’t here with your friends, none of this shit would’ve happened. Jenna would still be alive without Warren. No one would’ve tried to kill us again and again and again without Doc and Nine. My...my mother would still be alive.” His face crumples, and then he spits on the ground, disdainful. “You’re no hero, Chief. You’re just a fucking curse, and everyone will know it tonight. They’ll know it’s your fault this whole town died because you can’t save it now!”

  “It won’t be,” I say softly. “But it is my fault your mother died, Justin. I didn’t get to her soon enough that night, as hard as I tried. Doesn’t mean you need to pass that pain to anybody else. Only me. Just let me get Andrea out of here, and you can do your worst. Right the fuck here.” I reach up, giving my chest a thump.

  “Nooo! You aren’t taking Jenna from me again!” he howls.

  The flamethrower barks, burping another jet of flame that scalds the air. It catches on the support arm of a nearby stall, biting the wood with hungry hot teeth.

  Fuck.

  I feel for Justin.

  I do, even after all this.

  I had no idea he’d been so psycho obsessed with Jenna as a boy, but it makes sense now. After his ma up and left him by dying...Jenna Ford would’ve seemed like some untouchable goddess, enlisted in the Army, this strong soldier who’d go away on deployment but come back every time after walking through hell, returning unscathed.