Chapter Twenty-Eight - Maddie
“We have to hurry!” I hate that I say it the second it leaves my lips. Because it’s the kind of thing dumb bitches say in movies and TV shows when some guy who’s writing it thinks that it’s what women say when they’re panicked or whatever.
But we do have to hurry. So fuck it.
Finally, from inside the cab of the third truck Ricky checks, he turns back, holding a set of keys, and shouts, “Got it! Let’s go!”
I breathe out the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding, and turn to Tyler to shout, “Come on!” But I don’t actually get the words out, because before I can, I see Logan, an insane look on his beaten face and what appear to be handcuffs with the chains hanging off them attached to his wrists, swing a baseball bat hard at Tyler’s ribs. It makes contact and Tyler fights to stay standing, trying to keep Carlos on his shoulders, but he can’t. He drops to his knees, letting him slide off and land on the ground beside him. It’s almost like he’s working to deliver Carlos daintily to the earth like a child being put into bed rather than just dropping him and letting his carcass crash down to the concrete.
And I probably can’t, but I think I can hear the sound of the bat making contact with Tyler’s side all the way over by where I’m standing. I know I can’t actually feel it, since it isn’t happening to me.
Except I can.
And it is.
“Ty!” I scream and start for him, but Ricky pulls me back. Just in time too, because I neglected to take into account the half-dozen armed men with Logan. All of whom are now pointing assault rifles in our direction. Ricky drags me around behind the passenger side of the truck we have the keys for and presses my back against the tire.
“Do not. Fucking. Move,” he says. And before I can say anything, he’s pinned himself to the front fender, rifle at the ready, and is shouting at Logan. “Hermano! No lo hagas!”
“Fuck you!” Logan shouts back, in English. “You fucking DEA dog, cockroach, rat motherfucker!”
So much for negotiating, I guess.
And that’s when the shooting starts.
The sound of bullets hitting metal and echoing around makes it hard to even know where the shots are being fired from. I have no idea if Ricky has another gun, or more ammo, or what, but it doesn’t matter. It feels like the whole goddamned world is shooting at us right now.
I cover my head—which is dumb, but I do it anyway—and peer around the truck tire to see if I can make out what’s happening with Tyler. It’s not good.
He’s curled up in a ball, but Logan is fucking whaling on him. And each strike he lands feels like a shot to my gut. My spirit. My heart. I want to help him. I want to race to him. I have to fight every instinct in my body that tells me to run and help.
Fuck, bitch. I dunno what to tell you. The devil. On Christmas. Awesome.
Scarletton… Angel? Scarletton? What the hell? It’s a hybrid of Scarlett and Madison. Not the point right now. Listen. You can’t. You can’t go. You’ll do nothing but sacrifice yourself and he’ll still die.
Shit, Devil says. Feather-pussy and I might actually agree on something. But, y’know, self-preservation is my shit, so…
I look at Tyler being beaten like Logan is a cruel child and Tyler is a turtle he found, and I start crying. Not sobbing. Just crying. Because the worst. Fucking. Thing. In the world. Is watching somebody you love suffer, and knowing that there isn’t a single, goddamned thing you can do about it.
I know exactly what that feels like.
Maddie? the angel says.
What? I think.
You could pray.
What? That’s me and the devil at the same time.
Pray.
To what? I silently scream. To who?
It doesn’t matter. Whoever. There are thirty-five hundred different gods that people believe in around the world. Pick one. Or just pray to the universe. All prayer is in the transference of your life energy out into the world. The world is nothing but energy. And you’re part of it. And Tyler’s part of it. And you two are powerful together. I know you can feel that. So just send your power and your energy in his direction and see what happens.
This is the dumbest fucking shit I’ve ever heard. (I’m not sure if that’s me or the devil.)
Maybe, says the angel. But from where I’m sitting, chick? It looks like you’re about out of moves.
For fuck’s…
I can’t be sure, but it’s possible a bullet may have just grazed the ground where I’m sitting. So. Fuck it.
I close my eyes. I try to tune out everything. Which is impossible, but I give it my best shot. I don’t even know how to start. Or what to say. Or who to say it to.
So I just think of Tyler. I think of us as kids. I think of the scar that he gave me. And the selling-smiles-goldfish thing. And of summer vacations, and birthday parties, and Christmases all together. And I think of us now. And I imagine us in the future. Old and wrinkled and holding each other’s hands as we walk through the park. And old, wrinkly Tyler trying to slip his old, wrinkly hand down to touch my old, wrinkly ass. I really see it. I imagine it with all my might. I try to wish it into being with every bit of force and strength and mountain climber’s will I have inside me.
And that’s when the explosion happens.
“Jesus Christ!” Ricky shouts, falling backwards, pulling me with him, and landing on top of me.
“What’s happening?” I scream. “What the fuck happened?”
“I don’t know!”
Shit is raining down from the sky all around us. There’s a massive eruption where one of the fuel pump islands was a second ago. And I can’t see anyone shooting at us anymore, because I can’t see anything. Nothing but a raging wall of flames.
“Tyler!” I scream. I think. I can’t hear anything anymore. Not because of the explosion, but because the whole world just ended and, as I know from science class, there’s no sound when you’re lost, floating endlessly in space.
The angel was full of shit. She’s been full of shit this whole time. Maybe everyone is and always has been, so why should she be any different? There is no god. No universal power that holds things together and makes shit make sense. There’s no nothing. There is pain, and suffering, and the tearing away of everything you come to love, and then it all just starts all over again.
Not for me. Not anymore. I’m fucking done.
I push Ricky off me, grab the rifle from his unsuspecting grip, and stand and round the front of the truck, ready to walk through fire and kill everyone still standing on the other side.
But I don’t get the chance... Because of what happens next.
And suddenly I can hear again. But the only sound that makes its way into my eardrums is that of my own terrified voice still screaming...
“TYLER!!”