“Ten
.”
The crowd begins the countdown.
“Nine.”
Haze rolls over to his side, holding on to his stomach in agony.
“Eight.”
I’m praying that he’ll stay on the ground.
“Seven.”
Praying for all of this to be over soon.
“Six.”
Please, Haze…
“Five.”
Don’t get up.
“Four.”
The sobs are suffocating me.
“Three.”
Ian and his fighters scream for him to get back up. I frown, narrowing my eyes. There’s something about them. Something I didn’t notice that night in front of the school.
“Two.”
Ian turns his head, and our eyes meet. He smiles.
“One.”
The oxygen abandons me. I blink in disbelief.
“Zero.”
It’s over. Kendrick won.
But the sound that cuts through the thick air right after tells me that I couldn’t have been more wrong.
It’s not over at all.
The gunshot echoes through the screams of despair. The lights go out in a piercing and vibrant noise. People start running in panic, shoving each other, all with one goal and one goal only: to survive.
I hear Haze calling my name. I hear his voice in the chaos.
But he doesn’t hear me.
He doesn’t hear me when somebody violently yanks me from behind and twists my hair around their fingers.
He doesn’t hear me when the soaked cloth is pressed against my mouth and my senses spill out of me.