Prologue #2
“Yeah, okay. That’s probably our best bet.
We might have a few minutes to find some sort of shelter.
We will have to move fast, Oakley. My truck is going to fly.
We can’t be in here a second longer than necessary.
Do you understand?” He wipes his damp forehead with the back of his arm, his eyes wild with fear.
“I got it. Do we look for a storm cellar or risk going for the front doors?”
“Storm cellar. It has to have one. It’s our only chance.”
That isn’t reassuring.
The truck jerks right when he heads for the gas station. The once-empty road is now covered in broken fence posts, hay, and whatever else this storm has picked up and dropped off.
“Go, Banks. Why are you slowing down?” I shout, slamming my palm against the door.
He gasps, “I’m not.” He struggles to maintain control of the steering wheel, the greedy hands of the tornado pulling us backwards to swallow us whole.
“Let’s go! Let’s make a run for it now. There’s no time.” I grab the handle with one hand, lifting my other to release the harness when my eyes catch something coming at us quickly.
“Banks!” I scream so loud, the howl of the storm muting my distress.
His own eyes round, his hands gripping the steering wheel to brace for impact. A metal sheet pierces through the windshield, stabbing through with so much momentum that it cuts my brother at the throat.
“Banks! Banks! I’m here. Oh, god. Fuck!” I reach over to press my hand against the wound, but I can’t reach it.
The harness won’t let me.
Reaching for the button to release me, a gurgle and cough have me flick my eyes up. Banks grips my hand, stopping me, doing his best to shake his head.
Blood pours down his neck and chest, soaking through to his skin.
“Ban—” His name cuts off when the truck loses its battle against the raging wind.
I grip the door, my heart racing as the funnel spins us around. Banks’s grip falls from my wrist as we toss and turn in the air.
It isn’t going up that’s the problem. It’s the waiting to die. I know I’m going to. The moment we don’t have enough force to keep us up in the air, we will fall to the ground.
And there’s no way I’m going to survive that.
I smack my head against the window from the force, jostling in my seat. Blood drips onto me, and I cast my gaze to Banks.
“Banks?” I roar, hoping he can hear me over the gusting wind and turmoil this tornado seems to have.
His lifeless eyes stare back at me, his body limp. With every jostle, there’s no stiffness to his arms or legs like when someone is alive. There’s no motion.
He’s dead.
My brother is dead.
My best friend.
I blow out a breath and settle. A peace comes over me, one of realization. I’m not afraid to die. All I can hope is it’s quick and painless. I close my eyes, not wanting to see the ground come at me. Reaching for my brother’s hand, I grip it within mine.
“I’ll see you soon, Banks,” I whisper to him, knowing damn well he can’t hear me.
Talking to him brings me comfort in my last few seconds.
“I love you. And I’m sorry our road ends here. You were the best, Banks. I couldn’t have gone through this life without you. I never cared that we weren’t blood brothers. I’ve never been closer to anyone. You’re my brother. Through and through. Til the very end.”
I feel the drop.
There’s a second of weightlessness before tumbling forward. A loud whistle sounds from how fast we are falling through the sky.
“I’ve always been so proud of y—” I try to admit.
But the ground comes quickly. The windows shatter, slicing into my skin. The wet grass and dirt fill the cab before we’re back in the air, only to be slammed onto the ground again in the next second.
A bone snaps in my leg, and my head is smacking every hard surface it finds. I can’t tell if I’m screaming. Everything is happening so fast. The metal crunching against metal, the uprooting of the ground, is all much louder than I thought it would be.
We finally smash into something strong enough to stop us from rolling.
“Ba-nks?” I slur, fighting to stay conscious. “Are you okay?” But just like the storm, darkness consumes me.
“Come on. You’ll be alright. Only if you wake up, though. Wake up.”
I struggle to open my eyes when I hear the voice. It doesn’t sound like Banks, but he could be far away.
“Wake up. Come on. Not while I’m on vacation. Wake the fuck up.”
A sharp slap to my face has my eyes snapping open. The pain is immediate. I scream in agony and make the mistake of glancing down. There’s a bone sticking out of my leg.
There’s a fucking bone sticking out of my leg.
“Hey, hey, I’m Alaska. I’m here to help you. Can you understand me?”
I give a weak nod to the stranger.
“Okay, good. Good. This is bad. I’m not going to lie to you.
” His hand is under my head, cradling it as if he is afraid it might roll away.
“You’re in bad shape. You won’t survive the next two minutes if you don’t agree to what I’m offering you.
Your leg is broken. It has cut your femoral artery.
Your left arm is broken in so many places that you look like a zig-zag pattern.
You had some type of bar puncture your abdomen, trapping you to the seat you were in.
I can’t save you by human standards. I need to know.
Do you want to live?” His kind eyes hover over me, searching for any kind of answer for life.
His brows pull together in concern while his irises seem to flame a bright red. White, sharp points flash under his lips.
Maybe he’s Death.
“Banks,” I croak, trying to lift my arm to point to the battered car.
“Don’t.” His hand gently taps my arm. “Don’t move it.” Alaska’s lips roll together in a tight line, vanishing under his thick mustache. “I’m sorry. Your friend is gone. He is dead.”
I try to shake my head. “Die. Let me die.” My voice is so hoarse, I’m not sure if the stranger can hear me.
“I can give you two hundred years. You’ll heal. You’ll have superhuman strength. You’ll never get sick. You’ll be fast. You’ll just have to drink blood. This doesn’t have to be the end, friend.”
There is a part of me that doesn’t want to die, and then I think about my dead brother, and the urge to live drifts away quicker than it appeared.
I shake my head. I’m not interested in two hundred years without Banks. What kind of life would that be?
“You’re lying.” Alaska’s voice is soft, an understanding dawning in his crimson eyes. “That’s okay.” He bites into a delicate part of his arm, blood swimming down his skin. He presses his wrist against my mouth, forcing me to drink it down.
I don’t know what’s happening. I try to resist him, but I can barely move or feel any part of my body.
“I hope you’ll forgive me quicker than I’ll forgive myself for this,” he warns before draping his hands on either side of my neck, snapping it in one quick motion.
Death isn’t as friendly or as peaceful as I expected it to be.