I don’t look back to see if he hit the person or if they’re still following us. I go until my legs can’t carry me anymore. I run until I know we’re safe. Somehow, we end up in an alleyway, where laundry hangs from clotheslines. Patched clothes, old sheets, and faded underclothing are slung carelessly over the thin lines. I sprint underneath, my breathing becoming heavier. My blood pumps through my ears. I turn to check on Cole and Zeus.
Next thing, I’m lying on my back, staring at a light-blue checkered shirt slung over my face. At first, I can’t move. Then, I begin to thrash with my hands and feet. The tangled line catches, wrapping around the shirt and my head at the same time. I gasp for air.
Someone rips the shirt off my face. The thin line of laundry trails behind it. I squint into the sun as a dark head comes into focus. Standing over me is Zeus, staring down with a shirt in his mouth.
“Your timing is impeccable,” Cole says. He rips me off the ground and shoves me forward. I feel slightly humiliated.
“Where are they?” I ask, trying to catch my breath. My head spins just slightly.
“Not sure. We’ll hide in there.”
He helps me through a doorway and into a vacant room. It smells musty. The cement-block walls are covered with a thin film of mold. I see a staircase in the far left corner, snaking upward to the next floor.
Zeus runs up with the old shirt still in his mouth, shaking it left and right. Seriously, Zeus, you think it’s alive?
Cole looks around. Glass crunches under our boots with each step we take.
“We need to get to higher ground to see where we’re at.” We reach the stairs, and he waves me up behind him, scanning our surroundings as he leads.
The staircase opens up, and sunshine pours through the hallway. The room upstairs resembles an over-crowded dorm room. Dirt and dust streaks the windows, but the glass remains intact. Zeus makes his home on the dilapidated couch, tearing at the cushions. Fluff springs from the overstuffed pillows.
My feet stick to the floor, and I look down at the filth grabbing at my soles. Yuck. Bunk beds line the walls, and someone’s written all over the cement in bold, black marker.
As I read the writing, Cole says, “Only you’d clothesline yourself during a gunfight.”
I turn to him and smile. He’s right. If Keegan were alive, I’m sure the two of them would be having a good laugh at my expense.
He smiles for the first time in days then says, “Are you all right?” He turns me to face him.
“My pride’s a little bruised, that’s for sure,” I say. He looks at me for a minute before letting go.
“I don’t doubt that.” He leans against the wall, peeking out the window.
I collapse on the couch, next to Zeus, and listen as he growls. A spring pokes my butt, and I jump. Part of me wants him to be able to act like a pup for once. It has to get old, being serious and on guard all the time, even though that’s what he’s trained to do. I reach across, whipping the pillow out from under his paws, and he grabs it with his mouth.
“You did a good job back there, buddy,” I say to him. He snarls at the pillow and proceeds ripping its guts out. “That boy could’ve gotten himself killed.”
“Those guards would’ve killed them both,” Cole says. As he speaks, I notice the red rims around his eyes and the dirt caked on his face.
“Did you know them?” I ask.
He shakes his head and averts his eyes. If he’s trying to pretend his secret isn’t eating at him, then he’s doing a poor job of hiding it.
The silence emanating from him bothers me so much, I can barely sit still. I am on edge. Nervous. Sick to my stomach. Angry.
I need to do something to take my mind off of our relationship and Wilson’s threats. I get up and walk to the wall on the opposite side of the bunk beds. As I read the black ink, I’m shocked.
“Cole?”
“Yeah.”
“Come here. You need to see this … ”
Cole peers through the cloudy glass one last time, his hands loosening on his gun. He sets his gun down on the corner of the couch, carefully moving around the furniture as he makes his way toward where I stand at the wall.
“Who are they?” he asks, placing his palm against the cement blocks.
“Sinners … like me.”
“You mean, like us,” he says in a firm tone. I tilt my head toward him but his eyes are glued to the names on the wall.
Mollie Bayberry, Gluttony.
Sam Buckwalter, Wrath.
Kelsey Miller, labeled Lust. I’ll never be who they say I am.
I can totally relate to that.
Naif Gwinn III, Greed. Midwest. I lived in a bomb shelter underground for five years with my family. When we came out, we were all accused by people we didn’t even know. When they came for us, my parents fought the guards and were shot in front of me. I lost everything. I ended up in hell. But I met others inside and have survived living here for two years. I don’t know how some days. I wasn’t greedy before, but I would kill others for food now if it meant I’d make it one more day.
Kimberley Drajogvic, Lust.
Ben V. Shunnemaker, Pride. It’s who I am.