For a moment, I’m just frozen, my eyes locked on the huge, flaming fence that makes any hope of escape impossible. Blake’s friends are in the thick of the crowd now, trying to calm them, barking orders.
It isn’t easy for even these men with their booming voices to make themselves heard in the disorderly roar. Warren and his friends shout louder, marshaling people away from the flaming walls. But there’s more shadows now, fire from another direction, closer.
Oh no.
I crane my head, turning toward the space where Clark is still staring with dread.
I can see the tent where I’d been bound up with Andrea.
I can see Blake’s broad back.
And I can see Justin, standing between Blake and the tent, blocking him with a fountain of fire he keeps spraying from that flamethrower along the ground.
There’s no way Blake gets past Justin in time.
That’s the point.
That’s what Justin really wants to do, isn’t it?
Force Blake to suffer, knowing he’s just feet away from his daughter, and he’ll die before he gets to her.
Like hell.
I won’t let that happen.
Slowly, I catch Clark’s eye.
He nods, decisive, and I know—we’re on the same page.
Without another word, ducking low, we take off running.
The booths lining the carnival space are our shield as we circle around, trying to avoid Justin’s line of sight. He seems totally focused on Blake right now.
I can’t make out what they’re saying to each other, Blake’s voice just a growling steady rumble, Justin shrill and crazed and leering, but they’re facing each other like gunslingers at high noon. The chaos and the crowds and flames don’t even divert them one bit.
I can barely breathe in the choking smoke, so I pull my shirt up over my mouth and run faster.
With Clark on my heels, we dive behind a tent several feet from Justin, breathing hard, watching him warily as we crouch down.
“Do you think he’s seen us?” I whisper, and Clark shakes his head.
“Nah. He’s a fucking loon.”
I hope he’s right.
But for a moment, past Justin’s tensed back, his jerking shoulders, and the flames…
Blake’s eyes flicker.
He seems focused entirely on Justin, but I know he’s looking at me.
And I nod slightly, offering him a tiny smile, mouthing, I’ve got this.
I’ve got her.
I’ll save her, Blake.
Just trust me.
Please.
He turns into even more of a statue for a split second. Then there’s an almost imperceptible nod. His gaze flips back to Justin.
And he takes a deliberate, aggressive step forward.
Justin shouts, firing off another burst of flame, his voice cracking, manic.
Blake’s buying us time. Distracting the madman.
We can’t waste this opportunity.
“Go!” I hiss, shoving at Clark and tumbling along after him, scrambling for the tent.
After what feels like forever, we duck inside.
Andrea is still bound up on the ice slab, moaning in pain, whimpering so quietly it nearly kills me to see her when it’s like she’s too weak to even work up full, deep sobs.
That creeping redness against her bare skin scares me.
Clark lets out a hoarse, raw sound, sheer anguish, and rushes over, capturing her face in his hands. “Andrea? Andrea, oh my God, I’m sorry I didn’t get here faster…”
Her head lifts, her eyes opening. She stares at him muzzily through her tears.
“C-Clark?” she whimpers, and Clark smiles, his eyes brimming with tears, his lips quivering.
“Yeah, baby girl. Yeah, it’s me. Gonna get you out of here.”
He grasps at the cuffs drilled into the slab, pulling, but they’re ground in deep, the ice solid.
Ugh, can one freaking thing go right?
I let out a despairing sound, searching for an ice pick, a drill, some kind of power tools, anything—
A blowtorch!
I dive for it, grabbing and thrusting it at Clark.
“Here,” I say, holding his eyes steadily. “You know fire, right? So do what you do best. Quick.”
He gives me a nervous look, so utterly terrified it can only be born from the fact that I think this boy really loves Andrea.
He doesn’t hesitate, though, snatching the blowtorch out of my hand and firing it up, that fear in his eyes turning to grim determination.
I glance nervously out the frosted plastic window of the tent, keeping watch while he goes to work—but what I see makes my heart stop.
Plumes of blinding hot flame. Justin spraying wildly, shouting, his face red, veins bulging in his temples.
I can’t see Blake anywhere.
And everything in me wants to find him, but I know I’d be in the way.
Andrea needs me more right now.
And suddenly I get what it means to love this much.
I don’t know when Andrea crept so close to my heart.
Maybe the same time her father did.
But Clark is fast—so quick and focused, handling the torch with the deftness of an artist with his brush, working his way through the ice sealing the cuffs without ever coming close to Andrea’s delicate skin.
Then she’s sagging, and I’m there, catching her, grabbing Clark’s coat and wrapping her up in it.