Page 36 of Stormy Knight

She took a slow, careful breath, her heart hammering in her chest, but her mind was already calculating her next move. Paul was still yelling, his voice echoing off the trailers. She could hear him pacing, getting closer. He was frantic now, angry and wild, but that meant he wasn’t thinking clearly.

The sound of Paul’s footsteps came closer, his boots crunching against the gravel, just on the other side of the row of trailers where she hid. She held her breath, her body pressed to the cold metal, waiting for the thud of his steps to move past her.

Crouching down she quietly crawled under the trailer she was closest too and began moving on her hands and knees over the grass and weeds. Her hands pressed down on patches of grass burrs. The tiny thorn covered balls stuck into her palms and her knees. Her eyes watered from the sharp, tiny pricks causing her discomfort. She kept moving refusing to let tiny stickers halt her escape.

Lowering herself closer to the ground she saw Paul’s boots and stilled as she watched him moving further away from her position. From where she hid to the fence was covered in grass and tall weeds. She knew that would camouflage the sound of her boot heels as she ran.

Now.

Rolling from under the trailer she got to her feet, staying crouched low, her body tense as she dashed from her hiding spot, moving quickly but silently, her eyes locked on the gap in the fence.

Each step brought her closer to freedom, but she couldn’t slow down—not now. She had no time for hesitation.

As she neared the fence, her hand shot out to grab the rolled back edge of the chain link. She tugged it open wider, just enough for her to slip through. The rough metal scraped against her skin as she crawled through, but she didn’t care. She was already halfway through when a voice—Paul’s voice—suddenly rang out behind her.

“Stormy!”

Her heart lurched. Had he heard her.

Without looking back, she pushed herself the rest of the way through the gap, feeling the cool air of freedom on the other side. She didn’t stop running. She couldn’t afford to.

She was in the alley between two massive warehouses now, the tall, imposing structures looming over her like silent giants. The ground beneath her feet was concrete, cracked and uneven, but it was solid—stable. She was closer, so much closer.

Find an open business. Find help.

She scanned the area, looking for any sign of life. The warehouses stretched in both directions, their loading docks mostly closed, darkened windows lining their sides. There was a distant sound of machinery inside one of the buildings, but she couldn’t tell if anyone was actually around. In the distance she could still hear Paul shouting her name. She was safe for now; he hadn’t seen her run through the fence.

Climbing up the loading dock where she heard the machinery inside, she pounded on the closed door. Noone came. Closing her eyes, she headed back down the ramp. She couldn’t stop, Paul might catch up with her. Plucking out the grass burrs she noticed her long-sleeved shirt was covered in the tiny nuisances. Picking them from the fabric she also knocked them off her knees.

She saw her sleeve had been ripped when she slid through the gap in the fence. Her arm was cut, two gashes weeping blood.The sound of screeching tires sounded from near the lot she’d just escaped from. Paul.

23

No one ever said he had a good disposition when it came to being sick. He was tired of everyone telling him to rest like he had a choice in the matter. The doctor said twenty-four hours he’d have to stay in the hospital, it’d been an hour, and he was over nurses coming in every few minutes to check his vitals. How did anyone get rest in a hospital?

Laying there he stared up at the sterile white ceiling, worrying about Stormy. The constant beep of machines almost rhythmic in its annoyance. Every time the door opened, he was half-tempted to just scream at the nurses to get out.

“How are you feeling?” Nurse Number Four, who had an inexplicable urge to check his blood pressure every ten minutes, despite it being perfectly normal, asked.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, barely glancing at her. He didn’t feelfine, but he didn’t think they needed to know that.

“Alright, I’ll be back to check on you shortly,” she said in an upbeat tone.

As the nurse walked out Jackson walked in. Shoving into a seated position as he heard his brother laughing. “I can hear your thoughts little brother.”

Reeves looked towards the door and flipped off Jackson. “I didn’t say anything.”

He knew where Reeves was coming from. Ever since Whiskey had been in a drug-induced coma, he hated being in a hospital. Just being in the room made him antsy. “No, but your thoughts are loud enough to hear.”

Jackson’s watched Reeves carefully as he stared out the window like all the answers lie out in the darkness. The sterile hospital room felt too quiet, too confining, and the hum of the fluorescent lights did nothing to help ease the tension in the room. Knowing Reeves, he was thinking he should have been more aware of his surroundings.

His younger brother had always been the one to shoulder too much. Maybe that’s why he was always the one to end up taking it on himself to handle the hard stuff. To be the one to get with dirt and blood on his hands.

“How you holding up?” Jackson asked, keeping his voice casual.

Reeves didn’t answer right away. His gaze remained fixed on the darkness outside.

When he finally spoke, it was quiet. “I don’t know,” he muttered, fingers tapping against the armrest. “Just... worried, worried about Stormy.”

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