34. Cora
Cora
I see the smoke billowing from a mile away. Recklessly, I drive through the abandoned district of West Park, empty fields of summer-wilted grass.
I didn’t say it back to him. I didn’t believe him, because I didn’t think we had it in us.
The fact that I’ve only realized the truth now is cruel.
My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat as I imagine Brady setting the explosives. The family demolitions expert, standing in the middle of the building as he presses the trigger. His final act of destruction.
I scream at no one as I stomp on the clutch and downshift, tires screeching around the turn. Columns of flame bloom in front of me. Brady isn’t just demolishing the building, he’s incinerating whatever’s inside, leaving nothing to retrieve beneath the rubble.
He’s sending Seven a message.
I punch the car into its highest gear and speed straight toward the devastation.
The burning building won’t last much longer.
I zoom as close as I dare, knowing the ground beneath is unstable.
Even through the car’s window, the fire’s heat blazes the side of my face.
I speed around the warehouse, beads of sweat dripping into my eyes.
Then I catch sight of a white panel van, a figure standing in front of it watching the flames.
Brady.
My heart jumps into my mouth. From here I can only see his silhouette, backgrounded by the billowing wall of angry orange. But he and the van are way too close to the building. Panic fuels me as I slam into park several yards behind him.
He turns at the noise as I leap out of the car. Surprise turns to fury on his face, and he yells for me to get back. I don’t listen to him. I run straight into the wall of heat, the smoke stinging my eyes and throat.
A large whoosh from the building follows an immense burst of flame. Brady’s thrown to the ground, and the van next to him rocks upward. I feel the physical impact of air slamming into me, stopping me on my way to him.
Then the van crashes back to the ground, and the earth beneath us gives a menacing crack. Brady pushes himself to his feet, shouting at me as he coughs.
“Get out of here!”
“Not without you!” I scream back.
The ground beneath us cracks again, and this time a seam appears, a fissure in the earth less than a foot behind me. Brady’s eyes go wide when he sees it.
Behind him, an entire corner of the warehouse collapses, tons of steel crashing to the ground. I feel my body jerked forward, and suddenly I’m tilting down.
Brady sprints for me. He runs up the steepening slope, then grabs me around the middle and launches us both away from the building.
Somehow he manages to twist us in midair, making it so I land on top of him. I feel the impact knock the air from his lungs beneath me. I scramble off of him, but he’s still struggling to breathe. His inhaler. The smoke.
His eyes shutter between open and closed as he struggles for consciousness. I grab him by his arms and try to drag him toward the car. But it’s no use, he’s too heavy for me.
Behind us, the earth gives a final crack. The van rolls forward into the newly formed pit. If Brady hadn’t grabbed me, I’d be falling into it too.
The crumbling ground seems to be the motivation he needs, because he regains enough strength for me to half-drag, half-carry him toward the car. I dump him into the passenger seat, then speed us away from the scene.
Beside me, Brady drifts in and out of consciousness.
“Don’t you fucking die on me, asshole,” I scream.
Sirens and horns of firetrucks blare at me, an incoming stream of flashing lights. I keep to my side of the road but I don’t pull over. I don’t even slow down.
Brady slumps against the passenger door. As I swerve through a red light, I lean over to smack him awake.
“I fucking swear, if you die on me—” I smack him again.
Brady stirs, then goes limp. I’m sobbing now, my voice choked with tears and smoke.
“I’ll never be able to tell you the truth.”