“Come on,” he instructs, reaching for my hand once more, instantly bringing me out of my temporary fog.
I nod, following him as he leads with his Glock that he keeps tucked beneath his belt.
“Stay behind me. You aren’t armed,” he says.
“Wrong,” I say playfully, bending forward and retrieving the small pistol I keep in my boot.
“Just get behind me, Lo,” he commands, unimpressed with my preparedness.
“Fuck this.” I inch forward, scanning an opening in the fence, when something catches my eye.
Walking ahead of Cillian with my weapon drawn, I hurry my steps. Sprawling weeds and thick tendrils of vines cover the rusted framework, giving off an apocalyptic scene.
“Pax!” I call out, keeping my eyes on the image I just saw. Sure enough, there is the silhouette again, this time looking like it is jumping from one of the raised seats, which begins to sway.
“Pax, what the fuck, man?” Cillian shouts, following my lead.
We both race to the deteriorating landing near where the seat is now swaying.
“Did you see him?” Cillian asks, scanning the area just as I am.
“I thought so,” I say through a heaved breath.
It’s so difficult to concentrate with the music searing through whatever speaker it is playing from, and then it all comes crashing back to my memory, smacking me in the face.
I begin to frantically search for where the music is coming from.
“What’s wrong, Lo?”
Ignoring him, I continue scanning every nook and cranny of the ride.
“Lo!” he shouts, this time running up to me, curling his hand around my forearm and bringing me close to him. “What is it?” he seethes. I know he is coming off more intense than usual because he is frightened, just like I am. It’s what he does when he is scared; his anger revs up.
“The song, Cillian. Think,” I say, staring into his eyes.
We remain in tense silence, and then, I see the lightbulb click in his head.
“Fuck,” he huffs.
The wind begins to pick up again, bringing a steady trickle of rain with it.
Lightning flashes, temporarily obstructing my view, as thunder roars even louder from the sky. With the rumble comes a noise I’d recognize anywhere. The distinct revving of an engine accompanies the orchestra of sounds falling from the sky.
“Did you hear that?” I ask.
“Yea, baby, it’s thundering,” Cil responds, with a dash of confusion on his brow.
“You seriously don’t hear that?” I ask again.
The skies open, rain thrashing against our faces. Cillian looks back past the fence we crawled through. “We need to go to the tent for cover,” he says, grabbing my hand.
I clasp my hand in his, and just as the wind picks up, the chill remerges. Ignoring it, I continue my quickened stride with Cillian as the rain begins to pour down on us.
Each drop feels like pellets to my cold skin, and once more, the voice that has taunted me presents itself. Lodged in my ear, I feel a trickle of what I can only describe as wind in my eardrum. The sensation intensifies, and a sharp pain thrashes at the center of my head.
I wince, reducing my vision to slits, which, along with the storm now in full force, soaking us as we make our way to the tent, makes it difficult to see. The pain continues, and a voice whispers, “Sangre comes and sangre goes, but the love of the ones you choose is where you will grow.”
My stomach flips at the cryptic poetry that repeats itself in my ear.
