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“What? What is it?” Suddenly, my chest is on fire. My first instinct is to desperately search for Ozzy. The anxiety lessons when I spot him right where I left him, sleeping beside me on the little mattress we share with Angel.
“We have to go.” Angel’s words are like bullets through my gut. The last time he was this insistent on leaving it was because someone had kidnapped Lady and possibly tortured her for information on our whereabouts. What’s happened now? I don’t stop to ask. Angel has my trust, even if I don’t agree with him on everything.
I’m immediately on my feet. Angel has already tossed an outfit for me onto the mattress. He’s completely dressed. My chest constricts again as I see him stuff a gun beneath his belt, but I try to ignore the promise of potential violence and just concentrate on getting ready.
“What do I need to bring?”
Angel points over to an open rucksack on the bedside table. Inside are about half a dozen bottles of formula and some small blankets. “Here, wrap this around Ozzy.”
A soft towel falls across my shoulders and I immediately do as I’m told. Where are we going? Why are we going? Are we ever coming back? I should say goodbye and thank you to Anna, just in case...
These are questions I’ll just have to wait to ask, because, suddenly, the ground rumbles and Angel’s impatient but calm demeanour gets a little more frantic. “We’re leaving, now,” he growls. Ozzy’s in his arms by the time I’ve zipped up the rucksack and put on my outfit. It’s heavy, but if we have to move fast, then it’s better that Angel has Ozzy. I can always drop the rucksack if I need to.
“What’s happening, Angel?” I finally ask as he opens the bedroom door. I creep down the tight winding staircase behind him, but he doesn’t answer. My mind is racing, and so are my feet, but I’m still barely able to keep up. “Angel!?”
“Shh!” he insists, as we hit the bottom floor. “This way.”
The ground rumbles again and fear grips my chest hard enough to shut me up.
“Here,” Angel grumbles, handing me Oscar when we’ve reached the front door. Somehow, the little boy is still asleep. I guess that’s what growing up through a revolution will get you: the ability to sleep through just about anything.
The second that Angel cracks open the front door, a hurricane-like
gust blows inside. Even for Angel, it’s a struggle to get it shut again.
“Is there a typhoon coming or something?” I ask, looking around at the shanty home we’ve burrowed ourselves into. Wilmar’s place may be charming, but there’s no way it would be able to hold up against a fucking typhoon.
“Maybe,” Angel mutters, seemingly unconcerned about the weather. Instead, he creeps over to the nearest window and peaks behind the blinds. “Fuck,” he growls.
“What?”
He still doesn’t feel like sharing.
“This way.” I follow him, but look back towards the front door as I do. The fear of the unknown is almost as bad as the rumbling ground. I know why the ground is rumbling—there’s another battle being fought somewhere not too far off—but if we’re in such a hurry to leave, why can’t we go out the front?
“What’s outside, Angel?”
He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he checks through the blinds of the back-kitchen window. “Nothing,” he finally says.
“I mean out by the front!”
“Shh!” he growls again, but I don’t understand why. Can we not trust Wilmar anymore?
“What’s happening, Angel!?” I demand, putting my foot down.
For a split-second, his features glaze over with a familiar frustrated fury. His thick eyebrows furl and a fire in his speckled green eyes tells me to shut up and listen, but his lips won’t utter those words. Slowly, he calms down again. His gaze seems to fall on Oscar and his anger melts away.
I decide that he’s calmed enough to test my luck again. “Why can’t we go out the front?” I repeat.
“There were just too many people out there,” he responds, matter-of-factly.
Really? At this hour? Wait... what time is it? I didn’t get a chance to check before we left.
“Too many people for what?” I ask.
Angel doesn’t answer that question right away either. Instead, he nods me forward and wraps his big burly hand around the kitchen doorknob.
The wind that greets us when Angel pushes open the back door isn’t nearly as bad as it was in the front, but it’s still enough to nearly blind me as I wrap Oscar up tight and follow Angel outside.
