by Megan Green
“He is,” Chris chimes in. “A love spell. Haylee’s worked her womanly magic on him and now he’s hers.” He starts singing Annie Lennox and we all groan. He really is a cheese ball.
Joey is in the driver’s seat next to Sarge. He pumps the brakes suddenly, causing us all to lurch forward. Chris, who’s unrestrained, stumbles off balance and crashes to the floor of the truck. He rights himself, looking indignantly at Joey. Joey’s eyes meet his in the rear-view. “Shut the fuck up,” he says soberly. Chris mumbles something under his breath but sits down quietly. Joey has been in a bad mood all day. None of us know what the hell his problem is. But we know better than to fuck with him when he’s pissed.
Nobody speaks the rest of the way. When we arrive at the village, we file out of the truck and quickly unload the supplies. I see Aasif coming out to greet us. I look around, searching for the two boys who always come out to see us. The ones who were playing soccer the day Chris made a fool of himself. I crane my neck, looking from person to person, but there’s no sign of them. It’s then I notice there aren’t any kids around. It’s unusually quiet here today. On our previous visits, the sound of kids playing in the streets filled the air. Today, nothing but quiet whispers and hushed voices.
Sarge finishes up with Aasif and we quickly say goodbye to the townspeople. I jump back into the back of the truck, turning around to help in the next guy, when I see him—one of the boys. The one who reminds me of Chris, always trying to get his friend to laugh with his silly antics. Only this time, he’s alone. This time, there’s no smile on his face. He runs down the street, a panicked look on his face. I hear him calling out to someone, pointing behind him. I can’t understand the words he’s saying, but I can tell from the expressions of those around us that whatever he’s saying isn’t good. Aasif runs to him, gesturing madly at him to get inside one of the buildings. Just before he reaches the boy, I hear the shot.
The boy falls to his knees, dust flying up around him as he skids across the ground. Another shot, and his little body jerks violently before he falls face-first into the dirt. Aasif cries out, pulling the boy against him and rocking back and forth, wailing. I realize the boy must’ve been his son. No sooner do I think the words than I hear a third shot ring out.
Aasif’s lifeless body collapses on top of the boy, a perfect shot straight through his temple. Everybody falls silent, shock filling the air. Sarge breaks the quietude, barking out orders for us to grab our guns and get our asses in gear. The guys and I quickly fall in line, arming ourselves and trying to get all the civilians safely to their homes. Sarge’s words cause an uproar. Now that everyone is over their initial shock, the street is in pandemonium. Men are yelling, women shrieking for their children and husbands. Bodies rushing everywhere. And on top of it all, gunfire. Every few seconds, another body falls. It’s chaos.
We’re able to clear everyone off the street fairly quickly. People are terrified, so nobody wants to linger. Within minutes of the first shot, the last group of people is ushered into a doorway. Sarge barks at us to get to the truck. We all take off running, climbing in as fast as we can. Chris is the last to jump in. Just before he swings his legs in, he lets out a painful groan.
“God dammit!” he shouts. Scott and I scramble over to him, pulling him the rest of the way in. The blood is already seeping through his pant leg. My heart rate skyrocketed at the sound of his groan. The shot is messy, but it’s just in his calf. Not life threatening. I fall back against the side of the truck in relief.
“Holy fuck, you scared me,” I pant. Chris grimaces as Scott wraps his leg, trying to staunch the bleeding until we can get him back to base. He looks over at me, a smart-ass look on his face even though I know he has to be in pain. He bares his teeth in an awkward, teeth-gritting grin.
“You ain’t getting rid of me that easy, dickwad. Just gotta rub some dirt on it. I’ll be good as new.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “I’m not even gonna give you shit. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Joey turns the truck sharply around a corner. I faintly hear the sound of tires squealing from somewhere down the road. Joey slams on the brakes, jerking the wheel wildly to the side. “Oh fuck!” he yells just before the entire world goes black.
Haylee runs her fingers through my hair, leaning in to kiss me softly on the lips. I wrap my arms around her, lifting her off the ground as I return her kiss. She squeals, laughing playfully against my mouth.
“Let me go,” she says.
“Never,” I reply with a wink, hoping my charm is working.
She wraps her legs around my waist. Yep, I’d say it’s working all right.
I kiss her deeper, desperate to be closer to her. But no matter how close I get, it feels like she’s getting farther and farther away.
I open my eyes, finding my arms empty. Glancing around, I see Haylee’s retreating form. I call out, begging her to wait. I take off running in her direction. But it doesn’t matter how fast I run. I never get any closer.
I fall to my knees, my hands tugging at my hair as I moan in frustration. I feel a soft tickle against the back of my neck. Whirling around, I see Haylee standing behind me. I reach for her, but my fingers go right through her. She dissipates, her voice lingering behind her.
“You were supposed to keep yourself safe…”
I gasp as the air crashes back to my lungs. I ache. Everywhere. My body feels like I’ve been run over by a steamroller. My eyelids refuse to open. I try to move my arms. My legs. Nothing will cooperate.
I hear a groan beside me and suddenly my eyes remember how to work. I turn my head gingerly and lift my heavy eyelids. Even that tiny movement has caused a tremendous amount of pain. When my sight focuses, I see Joey lying next to me. His leg is sticking out at an unnatural angle. And there’s blood and dirt everywhere. Other than the leg, I can’t even begin to discern his injuries. But he’s breathing. That’s a good place to start.
I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. I try to clear my throat, but my body isn’t having any of that either. Joey’s head turns to mine. We look at each other, and he gives a tiny flick of his eyes behind me. I turn my head, trying to see if I can see anyone to my right. It feels like an hour passes before I’m able to turn my head back to Joey, even though I know it was only a few seconds. It just hurts so damn bad.
I close my eyes, trying to convey that there was nobody there. He, however, does not. His eyes look panicked and he’s trying to push up onto his arms. Somebody is over there. And they aren’t in good shape.
All my thoughts fly to Chris. Adrenaline kicks in and I’m able to—very slowly—push myself up onto my elbows. I’m still unable to see who’s on the other side of Joey. Biting down as hard as I can on nothing, I push myself into an upright position.
There are heaps of smoking debris everywhere. All that’s left of our truck is a twisted pile of metal. We must’ve been thrown from it. An inferno rages from the truck and what must’ve been a tiny car. It’s pushed up under the truck. The bastard must have hit us before detonating the bomb.
I look over Joey and see a body on his other side, barely within his line of sight. From this distance, I can’t tell who it is. But I can tell he’s dead. Praying that it isn’t Chris, I shove myself to my feet and stumble my way over to him.
Scott lies there, eyes open, horror etched in his face. His mouth is screwed up in a painful grimace and I know he didn’t die instantly. Guilt rushes over me at my selfish prayers for this to not be Chris. Seeing Scott lying here, burned beyond almost all recognition, isn’t any easier. Despite the physical pain I’m feeling, the ache I feel in my chest at the sight of him belies all else. The tears form instantly and there’s nothing I can do to stop them, even if I wanted to.
I stumble back to Joey, shaking my head grimly. His eyes fill with tears, painting streaks of white as they fall down his filthy face. He manages to croak out the word who.
“Scott.” My voice is barely audible. The word comes out sounding
as if I’ve eaten a desert full of sand. Joey squeezes his eyes shut tight, more tears spilling down his cheeks.
I look around, searching for Chris and Sarge. There’s no sign of either of them. Joey croaks again, and I turn to him. He gestures for me to help him to his feet. As terrible an idea as I think that is, given his condition, I oblige. I can’t handle seeing another of my fallen brothers alone. I pray they’re both okay, but just in case, I need Joey with me.
After several awkward and painful minutes of trying to set him upright, Joey is finally standing. His arm is thrown across my shoulder, putting most of his weight on me. It hurts like a son of a bitch. But there’s no way he can walk on that leg. And we need to find them.
I shuffle across the debris-filled road, dragging Joey along as best I can. Our progress is hampered not only by our injuries, but also by fire and potholes. I hear the slight muffled sound of voices and I turn toward them. I spot Sarge. He’s propped up against a building, a smear of blood across the sidewalk in front of him. I take this as a good sign. It looks like he’s dragged himself there.
When we reach him, he’s out cold, but he’s breathing faintly. And what might be even better news, his radio wasn’t destroyed in the blast. The voices I heard are chattering from it, desperately relaying messages about our attack. Sarge must’ve gotten word out before passing out.
I try to position him as best as I can until help arrives. I hope they get here soon, because his breathing is very weak. Knowing there’s nothing else I can do for him now, I gather up Joey again and we set out to find Chris.
After searching all the open spaces and finding no sign of him, I discern he must be under some of the rubble. I make my way over to the first pile, depositing Joey on the curb while I try to lift it. It’s too heavy for me. There’s no way I’m going to be able to lift this on my own. And there’s no way Joey can even try to help. I stumble around to the smaller piles, knowing Chris can’t be under them but having to do something to try to find him until help gets here.
After what feels like an eternity, another truck pulls up. Men jump out and immediately swarm Joey and me. Joey is strapped down to a stretcher, a temporary brace placed on his leg. He’s gone and in the truck before I really even know what’s happening. I’m shoved down on a stretcher as well, hands moving everywhere all at once. I snap out of it, pushing them away as best I can.
“No,” my weak voice manages to say. “I’m fine. Sarge. He’s over there.” I lift my arm in the direction of where we found Sarge. “He’s in bad shape. Scott is dead,” I add, pointing in the opposite direction to where Scott’s lifeless body is lying.
One of the men speaks up. “What about Daniels?” he asks glumly.
I close my eyes and shake my head. “C-can’t find him.” My voice breaks on the first word, tears returning to my eyes.
The men disperse immediately. After several minutes of frantic activity, they return. “There’s no sign of him.”
We’re all dumbstruck. Where in the hell could he have gone? Did he somehow get out of the truck before the explosion? Maybe he’s holed up in one of the buildings around here, waiting until he feels it’s safe to come out. My hopes immediately rise, and I open my mouth to tell everyone to spread out and search every dwelling in the area when another voice interrupts me.
“Guys?” The voice is meek, sad. The men turn at the sound of it. I stand, craning over them to see who it was that spoke.
Another man is standing by the shell of the truck. It’s burned itself out now. The man looks ill. His face goes white and he clutches his stomach like he’s going to be sick. I push my way past the men gathered in front of me.
Each step toward the truck is heavier than the last. I know what I’m going to find there. But I have to see it for myself. With each step, my mind races.
No. Step.
No. Step.
Fuck. Step.
No. Step.
Not him. Step.
When I finally step in front of the truck, my stomach immediately drops. A charred body lies on the ground, beneath the twisted metal frame. There’s only one person it could be. Chris.
I turn and vomit in the dirt. The earth spins. And I gratefully let myself fall into oblivion.
“Velcome!” Emma says from behind her cape. She flourishes her arm wide, revealing the fangs and dab of fake blood smeared on one corner of her mouth. “Velcome to ze party. You look good enough to eat.” She continues the awful Romanian accent. I roll my eyes and step past her.
“Cool it with that, would ya?” Amanda says as she enters behind me. “You sound like a Dracula reject.” She and Justin are dressed as Mario and Luigi. When I asked her earlier why they didn’t do Mario and the princess, she looked at me like I was the biggest idiot on the planet. “Princess Peach was a helpless ninny. Always getting kidnapped and shit. Besides, that would make Justin Mario. I’m always Mario. Everybody knows that. Justin is lucky I let him be Luigi. I should have made him be Toadstool.”
Emma pouts at Amanda. “You’re no fun.” She swings her arm back in front of her face and disappears down the hallway.
Justin and Amanda head into the living room where people are dancing, and I make my way to Emma’s kitchen, loading up a paper plate with a little of everything she has spread out across the counter. She really went all out for this. Cookies shaped like severed fingers. Candied apples. Even some sort of pasta stuff that she has spewing out of a carved pumpkin like vomit. Nice, Emma. I head over to the steaming cauldron and pour myself some punch.
Joining everyone in the living room, I see her enthusiasm wasn’t limited to the food. A strobe light flashes and the fog machine in the corner is going in full force. It’s a cool effect, but I immediately feel like I can’t breathe. She has spider webs and streamers hanging from every surface. There are only about ten of us here, but clearly Emma likes to make an impression.
I plop down on the couch. Besides Emma, Amanda, and Justin, I don’t know anyone here. The rest are all Emma’s friends from school. She mingles around the room effortlessly, laughing and dancing with everyone. I wish I had that kind of confidence. Instead, I cling to the couch, stuffing my face with gruesome but yummy food.
Mario and Luigi spend the next hour wrapped up in each other’s arms. Amanda occasionally gives me a worried look, like she feels bad for ditching me. But I just give her a thumbs up and plaster a phony smile on my face. I really wish she’d stop worrying about me so much. She deserves to have a fun time with her boyfriend.
Emma eventually makes her way back over to me, collapsing on the couch and throwing her feet up on the coffee table.
“Sheesh. I’m beat. Who knew throwing a party was so much work?” She fans her face with both her hands. I reach out and grab my untouched punch and give it to her. She downs it quickly and gives me a grateful look.
“Thanks. I’m dying of heat. This costume is like an oven.”
I look over her vampire costume. She really does look great. Her long black dress fades into a deep red color at the bottom. Long sleeves trail down past her hands, swinging around her whenever she moves her arms. Her blond hair is curled perfectly, red streaks threaded throughout. Her smoky makeup and fangs only make her look even more beautiful. I hope she’s taken tons of pictures. Chris is going to flip when he sees her like this.
“Speaking of costumes,” she says, interrupting my thoughts and giving me a sideways look. “Just what in the hell are you supposed to be?”
I look down at my attire and shrug. I’ve never seen the point in spending all that money on some uncomfortable piece of fabric I’m going to wear once. So I looked through my closet and came up with the best thing I could. “Katniss Everdeen. See? Leather jacket. Boots. And here’s my arrow,” I say, showing her the little arrow pendant hanging around my neck. I actually bought it because of those books. Katniss was badass. For a brief time after reading them, I was obsessed with archery. I even looked into taking some classes. Fortunately, I was on to my next book obse
ssion before I did anything too crazy. Me with a bow is probably not a good idea.
Emma rolls her eyes at my explanation. “That’s the weakest excuse for a costume ever. You look like you always do.”
“Nuh uh. I braided my hair. When have you ever seen me braid my hair?”
She waves her hand. “Still weak. Next year, we’re going shopping together. I can’t have my best friend showing up at my Halloween parties in lame costumes. Next year, you’re gonna rock this party. Ryan won’t know what hit him.” She winks at me and I shake my head.
“You’re a nut.”
She giggles, looking around the room. “I’m glad you came tonight. I was worried you wouldn’t want to, because, well…you know.”
I grab her hand, threading my fingers through hers. “I couldn’t miss my best friend’s party. Plus, I’ve decided to stop living in the past. I’ve gotta get over it at some point, right? It’s crazy, but these last few months with Ryan, and you and Chris…all of it, really. You guys have helped me more than the years of therapy I went to ever did. Telling some stranger your problems and hearing her say the same things over and over? It didn’t work for me. Finally letting someone in, being able to trust again—that’s what I needed. And sure, my therapist told me that. A lot, actually. But I wasn’t ready then. It wasn’t a matter of time for me. It was a matter of who. You, Ryan, Chris…you guys were what I needed. The three of you have spun my world upside down. And I hope it never rights itself.”
Emma smiles and bumps my shoulder with hers. “Good. Because we aren’t going anywhere. So you better get used to it.” I give her hand another squeeze, so grateful for her friendship.
“Now, if only those boys of ours would hurry their asses home, we’d be all set,” Emma adds, looking down at the ring on her left hand. She toys with it with her thumbs, twisting it around and around on her finger.
“You guys set a date yet?” I ask.
