Page 76 of Here for a Good Time
Zwe’s panting makes his laugh ragged. “I dunno, the guy—” He grunts. “—had a lot of money!”
I laugh, and am going to return a quip when my nostrils react to something. Zwe’s already looking around, but we can’t spot anything. At last, we make eye contact. We’re both thinking it, and we bothknowwe’re thinking it, and yet we’re delusional enough to hope that if we don’t say it, it won’t be true.
I bite the bullet. “That’s smoke, right?”
“Yes,” is all Zwe says.
“Faster,” I say.
“Save it for the bed,” he says, and I make a sound that wouldbe best described as a guffaw. “Maybe the rain will put out the fire before it gets to us,” he offers.
“Given how thoroughly they’ve planned this out—” I now know for a fact that I’m bleeding, because I can feel the blood dripping down my wrist. Still, I wriggle my fingers more rapidly. “—I highly doubt that. They most likely started it right outside the building to minimize the chances of it spreading to the village before the storm puts it out. The fact that we can smell smoke means that it’s really close.”
“God, I hate smart women,” he mutters, then throws me a wink. I roll my eyes.
We’re working so furiously that we can’t even talk anymore. I attempt to contort my thumb in a way that thumbs are not supposed to contort. In an agony-induced daze, I momentarily wonder if the pain of breaking my thumb would be either less than or equal to what I’m doing right now.
“I’m going to throw up!” I get out. I’m falling apart. I’m actually falling apart.
“You didn’t think blood, snot, and tears were sexy enough?” Zwe yells. “Going to throw some bile into the mix?”
I want to laugh, but I hold it in on account of my fear thatthatwill be the thing that makes me vomit. “You know what they say, the wetter the better.”
Black spots start speckling my vision, and I close my eyes, diverting all of my attention to my breathing.
One thumb,I plead with myself.Antonio said that was all it took. One thumb. You can free one thumb.
“How’s it coming—” Zwe begins.
“Shut up,” I reply. Then, eyes still scrunched shut, I huff out each word, “Sorry. Can’t. Talk. Tired. Pain.”
“Okay,” he says.
One. Thumb.I recite it one syllable at a time, a steady metronome to remind me of the only thing I need to focus on right now. The only thing that will—
The tension around my entire right wrist goes slack. I fling my eyes open, half expecting to find that the reason my hand is free is because I died and am now a ghost.
But no, I’m still here, right alongside the trees that are thrashing in the storm, the smell of smoke and gasoline still the only scents permeating my lungs, several feet away from Zwe, who looks like he’s on the verge of passing out. I’m right where I was before—but with one big difference.
“I did it.” In my head, I exclaim it with unbridled glee. But by the way Zwe simply frowns at me, I’m guessing it came out significantly weaker. “I did it!” I yell as loudly as I can.
He blinks several times, like I’ve said the words in a language that he technically knows but is not in a current state to process. At last, he says, “Really?”
Again, Imeanto pump my fist in triumph like you see in the movies. Instead, I barely manage to sling my right hand over onto my lap, the whole limb dangling like a dog chew toy that should’ve been thrown out ages ago.
“How about you?” I ask, wiggling my left hand free, too.
“I think I’m close, but I might need your help,” he says. We exchange the faintest smile to acknowledge that in any other case, that would’ve been a greatThat’s what she saidline.
I bend over to untie the rope around my ankles—although I don’t necessarily bend so much as flop, and consequently topple onto the hard floor.
“Are you okay?” Zwe calls out.
I’m lying sideways on a gasoline-soaked floor with blood-caked wrists, so “okay” seems like an exaggeration. “Never been better,” I reply.
“Poe!” Zwe yells. “Wake up!”
My eyelids fling open. I was on the brink of passing out, woozier than I thought.
