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They’re searching for something. Or someone.
“Debiste habérmelo dicho.” A man with a raspy voice says, like he holds a cigar in his mouth all day long.
“Se suponía que nos encontraría en el lugar.” Another one says. He sounds much younger.
“¡Pero nunca apareció!” The first man shouts.
“Se suponía que iba a agarrar a Ivy y salir de ahí.”
“Obviamente pasó algo.”
“Será mejor que lo encontremos. Tiene que estar aquí en alguna parte.”
I don’t understand a word of what they’re saying, but their voices soon taper off as they move away from where I’m hiding.
I lay on top of him for long after the two men leave. My empty stomach rolls laying on top of this disgusting fuck, but I don’t see any other choice.
Once I’m in the clear, I roll off of him and pull my pant leg up, unsheathing the knife from my ankle strap.
The dust has settled, and the air has the thickness of death to it now. They’ll be back, I’m sure, sooner or later. And next time I might not be as lucky.
It’s time to get out of here and make my way home.
“But first… my promise to Ivy.” I whisper.
* * *
I shuffle upstairs,hand pressed on the dilapidated wall, my other hand gripping Santiago’s hair, his severed head banging against each stair on my way up. It’s hard, and I can barely find the will to lift my feet to make it to the next step. But I don’t really have a choice.
I’ve got to get home.
To her.
Once I make it to the top, I fall against the wall, breathing heavily as it feels like my lungs are polluted and my body screams at me to rest.
Shit.
What used to be an extravagant home is now in shambles. Black shadows darken the walls where flames used to be. The flames and fire are gone, but it’s left a charred skeleton. It’s night now, the sun having departed for the day. The moon shines bright over the house with no roof, giving me at least a smidgen of light so I can walk through the wreck. It’s smells of a disaster in here. Burnt curtains and furniture. Each step I make creates a crunch as I make my way to where the front door used to be.
Dragging my feet down the hall, my eyes fall on a body, face down on the ground. What makes me pause, though, is the leather cut.
On the back of the cut is a circular emblem filled with black flames and the wordsThe Seven MC.
Santiago’s head falls to the ground with athump,and myknees fall to the ground beside the body.
“Fuck no.” I whisper, pulling at the shoulders and flipping the body over, revealing an obliterated Charlie. Half of his face is blown off, along with the front of his chest. Muscle and tendons blackened by ash are exposed.
I wince and roll him back over, covering the gruesome wounds. “I told you to run, kid. You just couldn’t run fast enough, could you?” I shake my head, anger and sadness making my already heavy chest become painful. This young prospect would have been a good member one day. He was loyal and always looking out for the club.
“See you later, brother.” I pat his shoulder, then grab onto Santiago’s hair again and stand up with a grunt, making my way towards the exit.
I pull at the tie, feeling like it’s choking me when it could very well be a broken rib or punctured lung. I drop it upon one of the serving trays the waitresses were holding. Underneath it sits a woman’s purse. Burnt, but still in one piece.
I pick it up, shoving Santiago’s head inside. It barely fits, making the purse bulky and awkward. I grab the straps anyway. A purse will be better than walking with a literal head outside.
I wheeze as I make it out of the house. The air is somewhat clearer out here, and I gasp, taking in as much of the dry, warm air as I possibly can. What I wouldn’t give right now for some cool, mountain air.
I stop as I look behind me, seeing where the extravagant building once stood. Black streaks spread from the front door to the roof. The windows are blown out and part of the foundation is in complete shambles.
