Peace is moving, darting toward the tent Clark pointed to, disappearing inside.
I inch closer to Justin, making sure his attention stays riveted on me.
“If you hate me that much,” I say, “come and get me.”
He lets out a wild, savage scream like a war cry.
Then charges dead at me, his hand clenching the flamethrower’s trigger.
Fire erupts like dragon’s breath in front of me, lashing out in burning tongues.
I throw myself to one side, hitting the ground hard on my shoulder and rolling, the flames licking over me so close I feel the hairs on my beard singe.
Shitfire!
Literally.
I’m gonna have to move faster if I want to stay alive.
Breathing hard, I spring up to brace my weight on my good knee, tensed and ready. He swings the flamethrower in a guttering arc, sending fresh bursts everywhere and catching on more banners, signs—dammit, everything.
I hope like fuck somebody got on their cellphone and called Missoula.
’Cause right now, we’re trapped in an oven of our own making, and Justin keeps turning up the heat.
He lunges at me, whipping the flamethrower back and forth like he’s trying to cross swords, only I got no damn sword to fight back.
So I throw myself left, right, and for a second my bum leg actually fucking saves me when he jets that thing right at my face. My thigh goes out under me, dropping me to the ground flat on my back.
Good timing.
That last burst would’ve seared my face off.
He moves to lord over me, grinning wide, pointing the flamethrower at the center of my chest. “You’re too slow. Too pathetic. I don’t know what anyone sees in you. What I tried to see, once…”
“Me neither,” I say. “Guess folks stick around ’cause I’m one stubborn son of a bitch.”
He barely gets a second for his eyes to narrow.
I shove my good foot right at his leg, hitting him hard in the knee.
He goes down with a howl, fingers clenched on the flamethrower, sending hellfire right at my chest. The burn hits me hard even as I roll away, scorching through my jacket and shirt. I hiss through my teeth, smacking my hands against the fabric to put out the embers, but I got no time for pain.
All I got are endorphins.
Desperation.
And the hopeful sight of Clark and Peace ducking and weaving through the flames, with Andrea bundled between them.
I’d scream with relief.
If only Justin wasn’t up again and charging right at me, stabbing that stupid flamethrower like a spear.
I dive to the side, making it look like a deliberate stumble, leading him around. Leading him away, keeping his back to Andrea as I constantly duck and weave just out of his reach, pulling him in my wake like I’m fishing, and I’ve got him on the hook.
Please, I think. Get my baby girl out safe.
Please get yourself out safe, darlin’.
Forget about me and just run.
Wish I could follow my own advice.
Justin backs me up like he’s feinting with a bull, swishing the flamethrower back and forth in arcs of bright orange, making trails on the air. Everything’s falling down around us, his wild spray catching booths, tent poles, tent cloth, light fixtures…
It’s all just glowing orange, black, the colors of destruction.
Even if we survive this, there’ll be nothing left of this field but embers and ash.
Maybe nothing left of me but dust. I hit a wall of flame at my back, all around me, the heat blistering, pushing me forward like a forcefield.
Pushing me back toward Justin.
He’s got me cornered now.
And he knows it, too, stopping with a grin and that fucking thing held ready.
He can’t have much fuel left after this rampage.
I hoped he’d spent it all, but I guess I’m just not that lucky.
Slowly, I hold my hands up, breathing hard, sweat licking over me and soot sticking to me.
“Okay,” I gasp. “Okay. You got me.”
“You’re damn right I do. Finally. Points for making me work for it, I guess.”
He steps closer, pressing the nozzle right against my chest, the metal ring burning-hot, searing at my already burning skin and making me wince.
Too damn bad.
I won’t flinch, won’t back down.
If I jump him right as he lights me up, I can take him down with me. I’ll hold my whole flaming body to his, burn him up with me, trigger that fuel line to blow him to kingdom come.
For Peace. For Andrea. For Heart’s Edge, I’m ready.
The Reaper doesn’t scare me. Neither does this crazy little shit.
His leer turns cold, a dark and ugly grimace—but there’s a familiar sadness there, too. Sorrow, loss, and I think it’s sinking in already that killing me won’t end his pain.
Won’t bring anybody back.
But that ain’t gonna stop him.
I brace myself for a world of hurt as he whispers, “You can tell Jenna and my mom hello when you get there—if you’re worthy of anything but hell.”