A Ruthless Christmas by K.L. Savage

 

Iknow when I hear it.

The sickening sound of metal grinding against metal. The bang and crash of a vehicle rolling. The smell of burning rubber. Time slows when someone hears something like that. It’s like the brain can’t compute what it heard. It takes a minute to fully understand, to grasp. You have to ask yourself, ‘What did I just hear? Is it what I think it is?’

And then comes the sudden silence.

There’s no more squealing of tires or shattering glass. There isn’t the screech of metal crunching.

Then that’s how you know.

And what’s worse is when you’re running toward the chaos, you don’t think there’s a chance that someone you love is in the accident.

That’s not the case for me.

I know. I know it’s Sarah and Patrick. They’d just left, and that loud sound came all too soon. Time is sluggish as I run. I jump down the stairs, Boomer and Tongue at my side, Tool, Knives, Tank, and everyone else following. I pump my arms, trying to move as fast as I can. Fear and panic grip me. My heart can’t pump. My lungs are freezing with every ragged breath. My skin is clammy and pale. I trip while I’m running, but Tongue catches me by the back of my cut, saving me from eating dirt. I don’t have time to thank him.

My mind is on one thing and one thing only.

Sarah.

We all stop at the gate and grip the iron rods. “Open the fucking gate, Braveheart!” I roar. He presses all sorts of buttons, but it won’t open. “Open it!”

“I’m trying, Prez. I swear, I’m trying. It isn’t opening,” Braveheart explains. He pulls the emergency lever, but even that isn’t working. “I don’t know why it isn’t working! It was fine just a few minutes ago. It opened for them when they left.” He runs his hands over his pale face, completely lost on what to do.

I bang my fist against the iron and growl. “Fucking open the goddamn gate, Braveheart!”

“I can’t. It won’t open, Prez,”

My eyes burn with wild hot flames as I grip the rods in my hands and push with all my might. Everyone catches on, and they stand beside me, grabbing the iron rods and grunting as we dig our feet into the ground.

The gate groans in protest, but inch by inch our feet move as the barrier between me and Sarah finally gives. Sweat drips from my temple, tickling the side of my cheek. I narrow my eyes down the driveway. The dusty road seeming longer than usual, the potholes deeper, the sand thicker.

When one of the hinges snaps, the gate swings away. All of us break free, racing down the road. “No, please, no,” I whisper a silent prayer to myself and whatever power there is bigger than me. I’m not the religious type, but right now, I’d get on my knees and pray to God.

It’s Christmas. This isn’t supposed to happen.

When we finally get to the road, all of us come to an abrupt halt. I nearly double over when I look to see the SUV about a half-mile down the road and on its side, smoking. “Sarah!” I yell her name, sprinting down the road. My boots clobber the pavement, and the closer I get to the wreckage, the further away she seems.

“Patrick!” Tongue yells for our brother. I feel like an ass for forgetting that he was with Sarah.

My main concern is her.

The engine is making an awful ticking noise as if it’s about to blow.

Fuck.

“Get back!” Boomer screams at us. He turns on his heel and launches in the opposite direction of the car.

I’m the only one who doesn’t listen to a man who blows things up for fun. Everyone bolts in the opposite direction. Everyone besides me runs away.

No. I run straight for it.

If Sarah is in that car, I want to die too.

“Come on!” Boomer and someone else grabs me by the shoulders and yanks me back.

“No!” I cry out as they drag me back. I fight against them to throw myself onto the wreckage to be with her.

Through life and death our love will survive.

The boom of fire and force fling us backward. The heat is almost too much to bear as it cloaks my body. The power of the explosion slams us against the ground. I land on my back and hit my head against the pavement. My ears ring, my eyes sting from the fire igniting the SUV, and it’s hard to breathe from the smoke lingering in the air. I crawl to my hands and knees and scream.

“No! Sarah! Doll! Sarah!”

I scream for her, my voice hoarse and ragged, hoping she can hear me through the blaring blaze.

“Reaper.” Boomer holds me back again from getting closer to the SUV.

I turn, sneering at him to let me go, but he has tears in his eyes too.

“She’s gone.”

“No! No, she isn’t. She isn’t gone,” I yell, stumbling away from him. How can he give up so easy? Boomer’s tears are silent as they fall down his cheek. The orange of the fire flickers in his eyes, a wicked reflection that shows my hell.

“I’ve never hated fire so much in my entire life,” he mutters just before a sob reaches his throat.

This time, it’s my heart that’s been yanked from my chest. It’s my soul that’s been reaped.

We were a family. What am I going to tell Maizey? What am I going to do? I can’t raise another kid on my own. My chest tightens, and I can’t breathe. My left arm tingles, and my heart feels like it’s about to explode. I fall to my knees, clutching my chest, where I no doubt believe the organ I harvest from others is being harvested from me.

“Reaper! Hey, Reaper? Call Doc! Call 911, fucking something!” Boomer yells at the guys surrounding us. “Reaper, what’s going on? What the fuck is happening!” he screams the last sentence so loud his voice cracks.

Sirens churn the air somewhere in the distance. The scalding torch from the fire feels like it’s melting my skin, but I can’t seem to care.

Sarah’s dead.

And if she’s dead, then I don’t give a fuck about living. Let me burn, let me turn to ash—let me be nothing but a memory.

But damn it, just let me be with her.