The Truths we Burn (The Hollow Boys Book 2)

Sage

“Alistair is going to slaughter me.”

I don’t bother disagreeing with her. When he finds out she was lying about where she was, he might just kill us all.

“He’ll be alright. It’s not your problem that he’s copping out this year. Doesn’t mean we have to miss out on the fun.” I say.

According to Briar, the Hollow Boys are opting out of this year’s game. Briar had balls lying to him, telling him she’d be in her dorm with Lyra all night. I hope for her sake and mine he never knows any different.

“Are you guys sure about this?” Lyra asks. “Last year, people ended up in the hospital.”

“Don’t freak out. It’s just a game. How bad can it be?”

I let Briar’s question hang in the air.

I’m not sure how to answer, because I know once the Wastelands find out about the guys not participating, they’ll be even more vicious in their pursuit of victory.

The wind hits me harshly in the face, making me shiver. It may be the first day of spring on the calendar, but there won’t be any blooming of flowers in this chilly weather. The snow stopped weeks ago, but the cold lingered and will for another several weeks.

Spring means bright colors and fresh sunshine. Here it just means a different shade of gray.

I walk in the middle between Briar and Lyra, all of us bundled in warm clothing: boots, beanies—Lyra’s even sporting a dark red scarf. We have no idea how long these games last, but we know the temperature will only drop the longer we’re outside.

We watch as several people in front of us pile through the inactive security gates that normally scan you for illegal objects. Tonight, they’re just another obstacle. I press my hands into the cool metal, vaulting myself over the spindles and onto the other side, ready to follow the small crowd inside the park.

I’m knocked hard in the side by a rambunctious set of guys who are jumping over and pushing each other through.

“Watch it, dickhead,” I hiss.

One of them turns to me, grinning as he takes a slow glance down my body. “That stick up your ass won’t help you tonight, princess. If that nudge is too much for you, I think you better leave before you and your rich friends wind up hurt.”

I slit my eyes. “It’s a shame you boys showed up just to lose. Again.”

He cackles, full of wickedness, full of promise. “That’s a pretty big check you’re cashing there. You better have something to back it up. Wouldn’t want that shit to bounce.”

They retreat farther into the dark, their bodies disappearing but their words lingering. This is a game, but at the end of the day, it’s a battle. One that will be fought for with blood and aggression, built-up resentment that had been fueling a century-old rivalry.

The rich versus the poor.

The Wastelands versus daddy’s money.

“I hate cocky assholes,” Briar huffs as she leaps over.

“You’re literally dating one,” I joke, smiling a bit.

Lyra laughs out loud, lightening the mood, taking the heaviness from the situation down. I hated that Briar had to lie to Alistair. I know it killed her to do it, but he wouldn’t have let her go. And I think she feels what I do—what we all feel.

This is special.

It’s different.

Our way of solidifying our bond. Something for us and only us.

“They’re right, you know.” The sound of nails on a chalkboard fills my ears. “You shouldn’t be here.”

I don’t need to turn around to know who it is or even ask who that statement was directed towards. I’d been hearing that same pompous baritone since I was in kindergarten. One of the only good things about being locked away in a mental institution was getting away from Easton.

There’s one singular emotion I feel towards him: pure, unfiltered rage. There’s nothing I want more than to watch him crumble beneath me. I have a hit list of people I’m going to destroy before I leave Ponderosa Springs this go-around, and right below my father sits my ex-boyfriend and his corrupt crown.

“How inconvenient for you, then, because I’m here,” I say, spinning around so I’m facing East for the first time in almost a year. “And I plan on staying.”

He has nothing over me anymore. Not Rook, not Rose. I’d given in to his wants, his father’s wants, to save my sister. To protect Rook. Now that I no longer have to do that, I refuse to bow to a prick who’s beneath me.

Who had always been beneath me.

“Nice to see you again, Sage.” He eyes me carefully, making me physically ill that I’d ever let him touch me. Let him inside my body.

“Too soon, if you ask me.” I reply.

I almost laugh at him, how even in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt he still reeks of that prestigious attitude he was so proud of. His small group of friends follows close behind, and for a second, I hate myself for ever allowing myself to do that very same thing once.

Follow.

Never again, I think. Never.

“I see you’ve made yourself some new friends. Does your daddy know about who you’re hanging out with?” He raises an eyebrow, too perfect to be natural. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore now, does it? You’re already tainted goods—might as well hang out with those who share that trait.”

“Tainted goods you were trying to screw last semester,” Briar butts in, standing tall next to me. Lyra steps close, her jaw taut and eyes harsh.

It would seem I’m not the only person with a bad taste in their mouth after dealing with Easton Sinclair. Warmth spreads across my body knowing I have people who have my back, even in this small situation of confrontation. I know I could handle it on my own, but it still feels good to have them there.

To have someone there.

“Does your father know that you’re trespassing, about to break God knows how many laws tonight? I know he likes to keep a tight leash on you.”

He grinds his teeth. “Watch yourself.”

“What? I hit a sore spot with daddy dearest, East?” I pout maliciously.

He takes purposeful, harsh steps before he closes in, staring down his nose at me. I stand my ground, lifting my chin. I’d never been afraid of him before, and I don’t plan on doing it now.

Powerful men don’t need to prove anything, but weak men will lash out when their reputation is threatened. And Easton has always been weak, doing his father’s bidding, taking care of his dirty laundry, dictating him.

“You should have stayed gone,” he hisses. “Am I going to have to make sure you end up dead like your sister so I can get rid of you.”

My knee-jerk reaction is to slap him for even bringing her up. I’m sick and fucking tired of people taking her name in vain like that. Talking about her so carelessly, using her death as a weapon against me. I would give anything to rip it out of their mouths, to retaliate against them all, until they’re nothing but dust.

I just wish the guys would see that. That we have the same motive.

Alistair, Thatcher, Silas, and Rook.

Years ago, I’d have argued we were an entirely different species, and now, we couldn’t be more alike. But they’re never going to believe that—believe me.

I gather up all my fury, all my unearthed anger, all the things I never said to him before, and spit on his shoes. My white saliva sticks to his expensive designer sneakers.

“You want rid of me? Then do it, pussy,” I bite out. “But you better make sure you kill me first, Sinclair. ’Cause I’m coming for your fucking head.”

I’d waited years to voice my distaste for Ponderosa Springs’ golden boy, out in the open, where anyone could hear me. I want them all to know just how much I hate the one they worship. I want them all to know that he’s nothing but gum beneath my feet. That he’s nothing but a pawn in his father’s chess game.

More people flood the gates, causing a commotion around us, but we stand rooted, staring one another down. My threat sits in the air like a pendulum swaying back and forth.

Briar grabs my forearm gently. “He isn’t worth it. Don’t let him ruin tonight. Come on.”

I stare him down a little longer before I let her pull me away, not because I wouldn’t stand there toe-to-toe with him all day, but because she’s right. He’s not going to ruin this.

“God, I hate him. I’d love to feed him to fire ants,” Lyra says, shaking her head.

“Lyra, I mean this as a compliment,” I say gently, “but you scare me sometimes.”

She lifts her mouth a little, giving me a side smile. “Thank you.”

We link arms, leaving Easton and his puppies behind. I try not to think about how we’re all on the same team, and at some point, we might have to actually work together with them tonight.

This is the mark of something new, something good. The kindling of a fire I hadn’t felt in a long time. Briar and Lyra feel like a real connection, real friends, and I’m ashamed to admit I’d never had that before. And the more I’m around them, the more I want that.

It’s odd how normal things had been, how simple it felt the past few weeks—walking to class together, study sessions, movie nights. I even signed up for a theatre class, a passion I’d buried, thinking it died when I was sent away, only to discover it was waiting for me to come back all along.

I’d become a member of their Loner Society, and it felt good.

I’m going on living, existing, and I try not to feel guilty when I enjoy it, unafraid of if they learn my secrets or not, because everything about me had basically been aired out.

I can’t go two days without thinking about how much Rose would love this. How she would have flourished in college and with these girls. They would have loved her. She would have loved them. There are so many things Rosie didn’t get a chance to love.

Easton, Cain, my family, they had ruined enough good in my life, and I refuse to let them take anything else from me.

Music ricochets within the park, a few of the rides lighting up, awakening from their hibernation. This only builds everyone’s excitement, reminding us all of why we’d come in the first place.

To win.

The thought alone makes my adrenaline pump. Nerves buzz in my stomach as I try to guess what game we’ll be doing. I’m ready to play; even though I know West Trinity plays dirty, I’m prepared.

Even with the lights illuminating parts of the park, it’s still dark. With no running water during the winter, this place feels barren and eerie, setting the stage for a notoriously treacherous game we can’t help ourselves from playing. The wind howls like a siren’s warning, the trees looming above and the fog starting to settle.

During the summer, it overflows with locals and their children, but now, it just feels like another forgotten piece that Ponderosa Springs had brushed aside. Another ghost.

Together, we make it to where the rest of the group has congregated, pooling around a small wooden stage where they sometimes perform aquatic-themed shows for little kids. Tonight, it is the starting point, where we’ll find out what we’re up against.

We stand near the back, and when the music dims and the sound of boots replaces it, we watch as four cloaked figures walk up onto the platform. They stand still, all of them facing the front, while one of them holds a torch in his right hand.

They peer down at us, waiting. Everyone settles their voices, the mass silencing. They’re all wearing gas masks, their identity shielded from us. My heart thumps inside my ears, the blood rushing quickly around my body.

“Welcome to the Gauntlet,” one of them speaks, his voice carrying. It’s not something loud or obnoxious; it’s opaque and threatening. It heeds an unspoken warning that while this may be fun, it won’t be easy.

Apprehension trickles into my bloodstream, my eyes looking around at both our opponents and teammates. Some of them are equipped with book bags that have who knows what inside, making me feel unprepared.

It’s that feeling of right before you head inside a haunted house—it sounds like a fun idea when you’re in the back of the line, but now that you’re next up, it seems a lot scarier.

One of the figures strikes a match, the hiss of the flame echoing, just before they light the end of the torch and hold it up in the air with purpose.

“As tradition goes, Ponderosa Springs selected the location, and now West Trinity must share the game they have selected,” he says.

Another one speaks this time. “This year’s game will be Capture the flag.”

“Let’s fucking go!”

“Hell yeah!”

Chants and shouts reverberate. The energy in the area is charged, electrifying like you’re holding on to a live wire. It passes through us all.

I look over at Briar and Lyra. “Simple enough, right?”

“Easy,” Briar reassures.

“The flags have already been hidden in your directed areas. You can play as a unit or separately, but the object is the same. Get the other team’s flag before they get yours. West Trinity will start in the north and Ponderosa Springs in the south. When you reach the starting place, a siren will let you know when the game has begun.”

Thirty-five acres of water rides surrounded by pines—all of it fair play. They could be anywhere.

It was a lot of space to cover. Almost too much.

“Anything goes. No rules. No regulations,” they state. “Winner takes all, and as always, try not to die.”

“Guys,” Lyra puffs, “I can’t breathe.” She holds her side, bending over a bit as she sucks in air deeply.

“Shh,” I whisper, a thin line of sweat stuck to my forehead, my chest aching from pulling in cold air.

We’re hidden behind a dunk tank, the booth shielding us from the front. We’re in their territory and have been for the last twenty minutes, with no luck in finding the flag. A sharp whistle pierces my ears as I watch another flare land a few feet in front of us.

My eyes are itchy from the smoke they let off—apparently, they’d brought an entire arsenal of things to prevent us from winning: smoke grenades, flares, booby traps of all kinds. I saw a guy get pepper sprayed.

I’m afraid because it’s apparent they will do anything to win. Even if it means causing harm.

My entire body hurts from running.

We’d stuck to the plan: lie low, stay out of sight. We aren’t strong enough or equipped with anything that could fend off our opponents. So we decided going for their flag was a better plan than finding ours and protecting it.

We’d maneuvered our way through the park, dodging West Trinity players.

“All the indoor rides are locked. There is no way it’s inside. It has to be up high somewhere,” Briar mutters, keeping her voice low.

“The only place that’s elevated in this area is the Drop Zone. It’s a little bit ahead of us, but everything else over here is low to the ground.”

“Let’s head that way, then. We need to hurry, I doubt Easton and his posse are going to be able to fend off West Trinity for much longer.”

I scan the area one more time before we break from cover, pacing slowly and trying not to make any noise. Screams and ominous sounds resonate in the distance. Every single creak or howl from the wind has me on edge.

Adrenaline masks my fear, keeping me moving even when my brain starts to panic. We are three girls split off from the group in enemy territory. Enemies that are ready to go as far as they need to in order to defeat us.

I try not to think about it, letting the drive to win fuel me.

My breath comes out in visible puffs, and these layers of clothing only make me sweat more. The Drop Zone is within sight, the winding wooden stairs that lead to the enormous slide standing out from the rest of the rides.

It has to be there.

“Hey,” Briar whispers. “What’s that?”

She points to our left, where the wave pool sits stagnant. It’s probably the only thing with water inside this place during this season. The structure starts wide, tapering in the closer you get to the concrete wall that keeps all the water inside, and stores the machinery that makes the waves. Barely any water is left in the shallow entry of the pool; all of it has gathered to the deeper portion, where it sits dark and murky.

It’s then I notice the large sign that sits atop the concrete wall ledge, reading Wave Lagoon. Streaming across the top of the sign is a banner with ribbons flapping in the air, and in the center is a tied orange flag.

“Holy shit, we found it,” I breathe, a smile on my face, too overcome with pride to notice incoming danger.

“Thank the gods,” Lyra wheezes.

“Gods?” I laugh.

“I’m agnostic.” She shrugs. “It feels wrong to say just one.”

Before we can start towards the flag, I hear a sharp whistle pierce the air, followed by a bright red light flying through the sky before it rolls in front of us. The flare spews sparks and smoke that burns my eyes.NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

The group of guys from earlier walks from the shadows, each from a different direction, surrounding us in a circle. Two more flares are lit and sent our way. The irritating smoke makes me cough as I cover my nose with my arm.

“I was hoping I’d find you again tonight,” One of them says, swinging a hockey stick threateningly in a circle. “We did warn you girls.”

We were so close, and now it feels so far away.

“What do we do?” Lyra says, her voice nervous as they loom closer.

I hate not having an answer. What could we do? There are three of them and three of us, but they’re also holding weapons. There isn’t much we can do except run.

“We have to split up. We gotta run,” Briar says, coughing as she does. “Sage, go for the flag. Lyra, run the opposite direction.”

“And you?” I ask, nervous for her answer.

“Don’t worry about it. Just go.”

It’s a risky move, a gamble, and I don’t like it. They could catch us before we even get away—they could catch us in general. But we have to take that chance. We have to do something.

We each take a breath, this moment standing still in time, the predators closing in.

I sprint first, hitting the gap between two of them while Lyra does the same in the opposite direction. My feet push me forward, my boots slamming into the ground as I ignore any logic and just let my body propel me. It’s pure adrenaline, and all I can think about is grasping that flag.

Ending this.

Winning this.

It’s only when I’m several feet away that I turn around, catching a glimpse of Briar, who hadn’t run at all. She’d stayed there like bait. The guy with the hockey stick pulls back, clipping her in the back of the legs with the blunt end. Her cry of pain makes me stop, and I immediately want to run back to her.

As she falls to her knees, her blonde hair swaying in front of her face, she screams, “Sage, go!”

It’s a shot of motivation, knowing if I can reach the flag, all of this will be over. One of the other guys heads towards me, and it’s then I begin running again.

“Don’t let her get the flag!”

I pump my arms, forcing my legs to work faster, to move past the burn in my lungs.

I run up the side of the pool, climbing over the gate that places me on the side only employees are allowed. I hear his footsteps approaching, his hands moving against the gate as he closes in on me. I look around, trying to figure out my next move, what I’m going to do next.

“Where to now, girl?” he mutters darkly.

“Up,” I breathe.

I grab the wall, lifting myself up onto it, seeing there is enough space for me to stand with both feet, but only in this area. I’m going to have to walk sideways, my back to the wave pool beneath with nothing to hold on to.

I turn back to the man closing in on me and back towards the sludge-filled pool. The water is dark, black as coal with pieces of ice floating at the top from the cold weather. Either lose and get beat to death or risk falling in.

The fall won’t kill me—it’s not high enough to do that—but my fear of water makes everything worse.

Chills run along my arms as I place my right foot on the ledge, pressing my hands and face into the cold sign. It burns my warm skin, but I don’t dare move too hastily. The wind hits me hard, making me lean into the sign more, trying not to let it push me away.

My throat is so dry, making it impossible to swallow, to breathe really.

My other foot wobbles, but it follows, and I’m soon shimmying across, my heels dangling over the edge as my toes try to keep me balanced.

Don’t fall. Don’t fall. Don’t fall.

I work my way closer to the center where the flag dangles, flapping around wildly.

My heart slams against my chest the closer I get, pressure weighing heavily on my shoulder, trying to work on nothing but instinct and not about Briar, about Lyra.

Reaching the center of the sign, I glance up, the orange material directly above me. The finish line is right there, victory so close I can taste it. My fingers tingle as I lean up on my tippy-toes.

Inside my head, I’m lagging. Everything is delayed—I feel sluggish like I’m moving in slow motion.

My hand curls around the material, feeling it in my palm. I pull it from its fixed spot, bringing it to my chest, holding it there like it’s a newborn baby.

I did it. We did it.

“Goddammit!” someone shouts, just before a hand is slammed into the sign, making it shake. It dislodges my balance, and there is nothing I can do to stop myself from falling backwards. My arms flail, desperately searching for something to grab onto.

But there is nothing.

The fall isn’t gradual like in the movies.

No, I fall fast, hard, crashing into the freezing water like a star from the sky at a million miles an hour and burning alive when I land.

Pieces of solid ice slam into my back before the water takes me. It submerges me almost instantly, swallowing me up like a hungry beast.

I’m wrapped in the frigid hands of death, curling around me like an unwanted hug, and am overwhelmed by the intensity of the cold. It’s all around me, sinking into my skin, penetrating my bones, and it just keeps sinking deeper every second.

And there is nothing but darkness. Even as I open my eyes beneath the surface, it’s just filled with nothing but inky black.

I want to swim to the surface. I want the stinging in my lungs to go away, but my extremities…I want to fight, to do something, but nothing is working. My brain has stopped, and my body has no clue what to do. There is no feeling anywhere.

I’m paralyzed. Too frozen to move, to save myself.

Fear has taken over.

The fear of dying and not being able to prevent it. It’s out of my control completely.

Fear of not knowing what is coming for me next. The fear of the unknown.

Suddenly, I can hear music. Rosie’s music.

The songs she used to play in her room when she was working on a sculpture, and I wonder if this was what she felt right before she died.

I want to cry for her because I hope she didn’t feel afraid, but I know she was. She was alone, wondering when we’d show up to save her, but we never came, not in time. She died thinking she was going to be rescued, and we weren’t even aware she was missing.

Not until it was too late.

She died alone and frightened.

Left the earth in the exact opposite way of how she lived.

She was always the brave one, the one surrounded by happiness and people who loved her.

And now we would die the same.

Alone with no one to save us.

I’m taking in too much water through my nose and mouth. There’s comfort in knowing I’ll see her again. Spots fill my vision, everything suddenly becoming hazy, and I feel high. I’m losing consciousness, falling further and further away from myself.

Finally giving in to the pain, into the water that I knew would come for me eventually.

Warmth coils around me, and I think this is it. I’m dying.

But I brutally meet with the vicious air. It snaps against my skin, this abrupt sense of energy coursing through me, and a violent urge to cough takes over.

My body trembles from my wheezing and the cold.

I’m not sure if I’m happy to be alive or just shocked.

I cling to whatever it is that’s holding me, my hands grasping at it, clinging to it with everything I have because it feels like the opposite of death. It feels like life, like air.

“You don’t get to die,” I hear. “Not that easily.”

Even through my muddled senses, even bogged down with water, I can smell him. Like cannabis and smoke. Gasoline and old leather. He feels firm beneath my fingers, warm below the layer of moisture that’s covering both of us.

My eyes crack open, and through my murky vision, I see him.

Rook.

His wet hair is stuck to his face, cheeks flushed and square jaw tight as he tries to stop shivering.

He looks so ruined yet so beautiful.

Such a pretty boy, but even Lucifer was pretty once upon a time.

The most beautiful.

An angel.