Chapter 15 : The Fall
781 Words
Cliff.
500 foot drop to rocks.
To death.
SUVs behind.
No where to go.
Left: cliff. Right: mountain wall. Back: guns. Three SUVs.
“Seatbelts!” Sabastian yells.
I click mine. Click Layla’s. Double check. Triple.
Sabastian turns.
Hard.
Wheel spins.
Tires scream.
Smoke. Rubber burning.
We spin 180.
Full circle.
Face the SUVs.
Headlights blind us.
White. Burning.
He floors it.
Engine roars.
Like a lion.
Straight at them.
Playing chicken.
With death.
“Sabastian!” I scream.
“Trust me!” he yells back.
We hit the first SUV.
Head on.
70 mph.
Impact.
Airbags blow.
White. Loud.
Deaf.
My face hits it.
Nose breaks. Blood.
Metal screams.
Glass flies.
Every window.
Our car spins again.
World spins.
Up is down.
Teeters.
Back wheels off the cliff.
Half the car hanging.
Air under us.
500 feet.
Layla screams.
I hold her.
Arms locked.
Muscles tearing.
“Out!” Sabastian yells. “My side! Now! Go!”
I unbuckle.
Hands shake.
Blood on them. Mine?
Climb over seats.
Layla crying. Screaming.
“Shh, baby, shh, Mama’s here.”
Sabastian pulls us out.
His door.
Driver’s side.
We hit ground.
Gravel.
Roll.
Rock cuts my arm.
Deep.
Blood.
The car tips.
Slow motion.
Falls.
Silent for a second.
Then crashes below.
Boom.
Fire.
Orange in the dark.
Black smoke.
Elias was in the trunk.
Elias.
Layla’s father.
My first love.
“No!” I try to run to the edge.
Sabastian holds me.
Arms iron.
Won’t let go.
“He’s gone.”
“You killed him!” I hit his chest.
“He chose Cross. Years ago.”
The other SUVs stop.
Doors open.
Four doors.
Men get out.
Six of them.
Black suits.
Black guns.
ARs. Automatic.
We have one gun.
Sabastian’s.
One clip.
He pushes me behind him.
Behind a rock.
Big. Granite.
Takes Layla.
Sets her down.
Behind me.
“Run,” he tells me. “Into the hills. East. Towards the sun. I’ll hold them. Buy time. Take her.”
“No.”
“Yvonne. Run. Take Layla. Go. Now. That’s an order.”
I grab his gun.
From his hand.
Warm.
“No.”
He stares.
Shocked.
Green eyes wide.
“Then we die together,” I say.
He smiles.
Sad. Real.
First real smile I’ve seen.
“Okay.”
First shot.
Sabastian.
Hits one.
Chest.
Center mass.
Man drops.
Dead.
They fire back.
Bullets hit rock.
Chips fly.
Sting my face.
We duck.
Cover.
Layla crying.
Hands over ears.
Small body shaking.
I shoot.
Miss.
Hand shakes.
Never shot at people.
Shoot again.
Hit one.
Leg.
He falls. Screaming.
Five left.
“Almost out,” Sabastian says. Checks clip.
Two bullets.
Two.
For five men.
He looks at me.
Then Layla.
Crying. Terrified.
Five years old.
“I’m sorry,” he says to me. “About your parents. Sofia. About my father. About everything. The blood. The circle.”
“Me too,” I say. Tears now. “I’m sorry. For all of it.”
He kisses me.
Fast. Hard.
Desperate.
Tastes like blood and dirt and goodbye.
Like the world ends.
It might.
It probably does.
He stands.
Exposed.
Full body.
Starts shooting.
One.
Head shot.
Two.
Chest.
Two men drop.
Three left.
Click.
Empty.
Chamber empty.
He drops the gun.
Metal on rock.
Walks to us.
Slow.
Calm.
They aim.
Three red dots.
On his chest.
I close my eyes.
Wait for it.
The sound.
The end.
Silence.
One second.
Two.
Three.
I look.
Three men down.
Not from us.
Heads gone.
Snipers.
Hills.
High caliber.
Sabastian standing.
Bleeding. Shoulder. Leg. Side.
But standing.
Alive.
He picks up Layla.
Gentle.
Holds me.
One arm each.
Shaking now.
“It’s over,” he says.
Sirens.
Real ones this time.
Red and blue.
Police.
Ambulances.
And a helicopter.
Black.
No markings.
Except one.
Letters on the side: _VANCE AIR._
Sabastian’s.
His family’s.
His dead family’s.
He looks at me.
Blood on his face.
Cut above eye.
“Time to disappear, Yvonne. New names. New life. New country. Far.”
I look at Layla.
Safe. Asleep now. Shock. Trauma.
I look at Sabastian.
Bleeding for us.
Killing for us.
Dying for us.
Almost did.
“Okay,” I say.
“Together?” he asks.
Voice small.
For the first time.
Vulnerable.
Scared.
I take his hand.
Bloody.
Cut.
“Together.”
We walk to the helicopter.
Rotor wind.
Layla wakes. Sees it.
Smiles.
Small.
First smile.
But behind us.
In the wreckage.
Smoking metal.
Fire.
Cross.
Not dead.
Burned. One hand.
Black. Charred.
Crawling.
Like a bug.
Phone in bloody hand.
Melted.
He dials.
Thumb shakes.
Screen cracked.
And smiles.
At us.
With no lips left.
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