Then the explosion.
I screamed as water poured from the water heater, bathing the sand in a miniature ocean that grew and flattened while the noise and light of the pilot light hitting the broken gas line sent flames everywhere. Cracked masonry. Smoke. Steam. If I had been confused and afraid before, I was wrecked when I tried to stand.
Until he came to me. Through the dense air, he came and yanked me up. As if slapped back into reality, I felt safe again. My guts stopped twisting, and the world slipped back onto its axis.
“What the hell were you doing?” he growled.
“If they thought I was going to kill you, they’d shoot at me, not you!”
He squeezed my arms so hard, I thought he was going to cut off my circulation. His jaw was tight against his skull and his lips were parted. I wanted to kiss the snarl right out of him, but he pulled me into the smoke and steam. I ran with him, step for step, in complete synch like the winners of a three-legged race. If gunshots still rang out, their sound was muffled by the roar of the flames we headed right into.
Heat. My skin didn’t have time for sweat, just hair-curling heat. I didn’t ask what he was doing by pulling me into it. I just did what he asked, and I feared nothing.
“Get to the street!” he shouted, pointing left while keening his body right.
“No!”
“Theresa!” He said my name like a command.
We had no time for words. Under the thunder of the flames came another gunshot. I felt nothing, but Antonio looked at my arm. Following his gaze, I saw where a bullet had torn my sleeve. The edges smoked from the heat of the projectile, or the fire from the water heater. It didn’t matter. The calm in his face was gone.
He dropped to a crouch, pulling me with him. “The street.”
He had soot across one cheek, and his face glistened with sweat. I couldn’t change his mind about sending me away from danger, I knew that. I also knew I couldn’t stand being away from him for a second.
He curled his fist and held it up as if keeping his patience inside him. His voice held a tension between uncontrollable rage and forced peace. “I’ll be right out. I swear it.”
I nodded. Took one step backward. The hostel was five steps away. The water heater was set away from it by ten feet, so the building hadn’t caught fire, but it was only a matter of time before that escape route was closed off.
“Go!” He pointed at the hostel then took off at a run in the other direction.
The flames and the space around him squeezed him tight as he got smaller, and I couldn’t stand it. I followed him.
Antonio stood by the boulder, looking down. A man crawled from the other side in a dark zip-up jacket and jeans, leaving a trail of blood in the sand. I knew him but couldn’t place him. Young. Goatee. With the way the desert sun lit his face, I almost lost the memory, but the goatee jogged it. I remembered a night on Mulholland[→6] when I brandished an outdated car security device. I’d been ready to kill this man, and Antonio dragged me away, promising to do it himself. Antonio had obviously let him live so I wouldn’t have his death on my conscience. And there he was, armed and ready to return the favor with murder.
“Bruno Uvoli,” I whispered.
Antonio made a tsk sound and shook his head. “His brother. Domenico.”
Domenico pointed his gun at Antonio, and my spine turned to ice, but I didn’t hear any shots. Out of bullets? Maybe. Antonio took three steps toward him and pulled the gun away, standing over Domenico with his own gun pointed.
“Antonio,” I said.
He looked at me then at my ripped sleeve where the bullet had almost hit me. “Go back.”
Domenico had his hand up to fend off death. His leg was bleeding where he’d been shot. Had I done that? I hadn’t seen Antonio shoot at the man behind the boulder. It could have only been me.
“You fucking bitch,” he said.