Undone: The Complete Duology, page 30
Even if it meant losing Mac in the process.
11
GRACE
My house burned, and it seemed like a long overdue ending. Gracie Miller had died there. I had been living in her absence.
I didn’t belong among her memories.
The heat of the flames flickered on my face.
“I’m going for the paint,” I said to Mac without looking at him.
“They will kill you, Gracie.”
“They might.”
He kept one arm draped over my shoulder as he watched the mayhem just beyond us. “Can’t we get paint in town? There must be more somewhere.”
“Do you want to go back into town?” I gave his wounded hand a pointed look.
He retracted his hand a little where it rested on his thigh as he crouched beside me. “No, not really.”
I turned my attention back to my burning house.
“Okay, I’ve got an idea,” he said. He hunched out of their sight as he made his way to the jeep and rummaged around in the front seats.
He held up my jar of Ashes of God from the tote bag.
I jerked up.
“What are you doing?” I hissed at him as I hurried to join him.
I tried to snatch the jar from him, but he pulled it away. “Put the ashes in something else.”
“No way.” I reached for it again.
“I need the jar, Gracie.” He fumbled around in the backseat and pulled a plastic snack baggie from the floorboard. “We can use this.”
I grit my teeth, but I didn’t protest as he poured the ashes into the bag then tucked them back into the tote. After digging among the clutter lingering in the jeep, he produced a plastic tube I had brought for Bobby and never used. Good thing Mac didn’t seem to find the tube an odd addition among all the random gear that had passed through the jeep lately.
After popping the gas tank, he fed the tube into the opening and gave it a quick little draw. Gas drained into the glass jar, and I watched until he cut off the flow.
“I’ll distract them,” he said, stuffing a stray sock into the top of the jar. “You make a run for it and get the paint.”
“Did you just make a Molotov cocktail?”
“Oh, is that what this is?” he asked with a grin. “You ready?”
I spun to face him as he headed towards the driver side of the jeep. “You’re not gonna take off a hand, are you?”
“Not mine,” he said as he slid behind the steering wheel. “Run wide.”
I nodded once, uncertain how well his plan was going to work.
He floored it. The jeep kicked up snow and rocketed forward. I jumped back. The jeep deftly wove through the trees, accelerating despite the snow, and broke through into the clearing, headed straight for my house.
The crowd turned, weapons high, lit by my burning house. As the jeep closed in on the townspeople, Mac shoved open the driver door, swung the Molotov cocktail into their midst, and then hit a patch of ice. The jeep spun sideways and slid clear as the bomb exploded in a burst of flames.
I gaped, leaning forward. Then I shook myself and took off, veering wide of the scene. When I broke from the trees on the other side of my house, the vigilante group was turned away from me, screaming, batting at their clothes as the Molotov cocktail spread the fire faster and wider than their own little bonfire.
The jeep swung around into the trees, disappearing from sight.
I gasped cold air as I charged towards my shed. Arm outstretched, I focused my sight on the latch. My cold fingers fumbled with the metal door. I yanked it open, vision tunneled as I scanned the chaotic interior for the cans of paint.
There in the corner on the floor. I yanked up a can as footsteps crunched behind me.
I spun around. Billy was right up on me, metal rod in hand. He swung it at me. I dropped to the ground. The rod hit the shed with a clang that rattled through the air. He raised the rod high and brought it down. I dropped and rolled across the snow, leaving the can of paint. He swung again, hitting the snow right as I skittered away.
“You fuckin’ slut.” He swung again as I circled back around towards the can of paint.
I ducked, but the rod grazed my arm. I snatched the handle of the paint can. He chucked the rod aside and lunged at me. I hefted up the can and clobbered him on the side of the face. His head jerked back as the lid loosened. Red paint splattered like blood along his face and shoulder.
He sneered at me.
The townspeople swarmed around the side of the house, weapons raised, rage burning in their eyes.
I turned and fled, paint can in hand. I intended to head towards the woods, but I couldn’t lead them back to camp, or to Mac, or to Bobby. Instead, I headed into town, paint can thudding against my thigh as I ran. Paint sloshed but not enough to matter. The lid had only jarred but not popped free entirely. I just had to get to safety so I could finish preparing for my spell.
My soles crunched over snow as I swerved around patches of ice that glinted in the passing light. Something about the light caught my attention but didn’t register as I kept running.
The town was right on my heels.
As I reached the main road, their numbers had increased. Somehow, a lifetime of familiar faces had become strangers.
My body ached. Icy air stabbed my lungs and formed cramps in my side. I couldn’t stop running. If they caught me, they wouldn’t kill me—my fate would be far, far worse.
I kept running, cold air in my eyes, in my nose, in my mouth. I couldn’t escape the dead winter anymore than I could escape the town that was determined to crush me even if it destroyed them too.
They were already destroyed. That was the entire problem.
My soles slipped on ice. I hit the ground face first, snapping my jaw shut. The paint can bounced and rolled. I scrambled to turn it upright before I had even fully collected myself.
The town was on me.
Mrs. Stone’s house stood to my left. She was in the group gaining on me.
My feet slid as I scrambled for purchase. Clenching the paint can, I bolted across the snow towards her house. My legs wobbled and tried to go out from under me. I clamored up the front steps, slipping and stumbling, and shoved through the front door.
Warm air pushed back against me, and my lungs seized with the sudden change. I scurried through the house, weaving through the living room and dining room, and burst into the kitchen.
Noises erupted from the front door as the crowd barged through, hot on my trail.
My wet shoes slipped on the kitchen tile. I caught myself against the kitchen counter with my free hand.
New noises stirred in the direction I was headed. A large sliding glass door stood to my left. Behind me, townspeople charged through the dining room, aiming for me. In front, more people poured in through the hallway from the washroom in the back of the house.
The headmaster stepped to the front of the group directly ahead.
He raised his shotgun at me. “That’s quite enough, Gracie.”
I tightened my hold on the paint can, the handle digging into the inside of my knuckles. Everything felt small and insignificant.
The paint can.
The battle.
Me.
I had magic and paint. They had weapons and conviction.
I was outnumbered, had been from the beginning. Perhaps I had always been leading to this ending, the one where I gave a valiant fight, but they won after all. I would be forced to submit. They would not allow any alternative again.
Yellow light filled the kitchen through the bare glass door. In the gloom of the storm, my jeep appeared. It sped towards the glass.
I had barely a thought to move before the jeep hit the glass door head on. Shards exploded in every direction as I crouched on the floor. Screams ricocheted around me.
“Gracie!”
Mac’s voice cut through the fog, through the turmoil. Dazed, I clutched the handle of the paint can and charged towards him, on the driver side. He gave me an exasperated look, then reached back and shoved open the back door. I darted inside as he reversed out of the kitchen, tires crunching over glass and snow. The jeep spun around as I pulled the door shut. Panting hard, I clutched the can on my lap, not caring as each bump trickled more paint onto my hands and legs.
“Fuck, Gracie! I was following you all the way through town!”
“I didn’t see you,” I said between gasps. “I was sort of preoccupied.”
“This place is insane!”
“You’re telling me.” I stared down at the top of the paint can.
The town didn’t follow us as we entered the woods. Mac drove like a stunt driver all the way back to the campsite. He skidded to a halt sideways into the trees.
Before I could react, he hopped out, leaving the engine idling, and tugged me from the backseat.
“Paint, baby,” he said.
He kissed the top of my head then nudged me towards the altar.
My legs wobbled as I made my way, can hugged to my chest, to the first tree. I sat the can at the base of the trunk, pried off the lid the rest of the way, and then used my hands to paint the first rune on the tree. I moved to the next tree and marked it with the design I’d seen in my vision. As I made my way around the site, I kept in the forefront the memory of what she had shown me, careful to replicate each one in the exact spot, in the exact design.
When I finished, my hands were red with paint up to my wrists, but my altar was ready.
I glanced skywards. Soon, the moon would be full.
Then this nightmare would be over.
The ground rumbled, and it took me a moment to realize it shouldn’t be doing that.
“Uh, Gracie.”
The panic in Mac’s voice was not well contained.
I spun around, coming back to my senses.
Across the campsite, a crack formed in the ground, splitting apart the snow and ice with a glowing orange line. Heat erupted from the crack, combating the chilled air. The line raced through the site and out through the trees, headed towards town.
“What the actual fuck was that?” Mac asked, riveted to his spot as he stared at the split in the earth.
“I have no idea,” I said, sounding as stunned as I felt.
I tried to see where the crack might end, but it disappeared into the distance.
Mac grabbed my arm. “Let’s follow it.”
12
GRACE
I trudged beside Mac, trying to keep up with his brisk pace. How odd he had taken ownership of this situation, of this town. Of our rescue.
At least it would keep him busy and off my trail. If I were lucky, I would be able to get away with the inevitable and make a clean escape.
I just hadn’t been lucky in a long time.
Maybe that wasn’t true. Despite the complications, I could not imagine my life without Mac, not anymore. It seemed as if he’d always been here at my side, though if he had been, perhaps we wouldn’t have ended up where we were.
If I had ever needed a savior, the moment had long passed.
In town, the streets were empty. Most of the town was huddled inside their homes away from the storm and the chaos. I kept watch for the vigilante group. A smarter person wouldn’t have walked right back into town, but it wasn’t like I could go anywhere they couldn’t follow.
I had been mistaken about them. Somehow, I had believed that they missed me, that they were exasperated and frustrated in my refusal to return to their fold.
That attack on my house and the subsequent chase had painted an entirely different scenario, one in which they had restlessly resisted tearing me apart. Someone had been blocking them, and only one person in this town could possibly inspire that much restraint.
All these years, the Reverend had been protecting me from the ire of the people who I was trapped amongst in this little town in hell.
Until now, I’d never put that together.
Mac stopped on the main street, drawing my attention back to the present. The glowing orange crack ran down the road, nearly splitting it into two, and splintered around the town, sectioning off clusters of homes.
Except the crack went around every house and business, every park bench and tree.
What kind of natural force broke the earth with such precision?
A chill crept up my limbs and converged down my spine.
“It’s a warning,” I said, the words coming out in little cold puffs.
I had no idea who would be sending a warning, or how, but the lines spelled a pointed statement. With a whim, they could topple our world, and there wasn’t a damn thing we could do about it.
“Is it the Reverend?” Mac asked, squeezing my hand.
My fingers remained limp in his hold.
“I don’t know.”
Maybe the Reverend didn’t rule this town, after all. He certainly held court, but he didn’t seem to be the man behind the curtain.
Nearby, footsteps crunched. I spun around as a woman approached. She pushed back her hood, revealing loose red curls.
Anger flashed across her face.
“So, you ran off to be with her, Malachi?” She all but spat the words, eying me as if I were meant to be crushed.
I knew that look all too well.
I bristled, less at her disdain for me, and more for her familiarity with Mac. This woman had been slinking around Thorn Tree for days, and he hadn’t thought to mention he knew her?
And why did she seem to feel betrayed?
“Mac…” I tore my gaze from her to look at him. “Who is this?”
Mac had paled to the point of matching the snow.
“Oh, he hasn’t told you?” She seemed pleased to be the one to clue me in before he could. Or had. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had an opportunity. “I’m his girlfriend.”
The ground gave out from under me. I braced my knees, forcing down the angry stabs of pain that attacked from every angle. Her glowering expression disappeared in a haze of rapid slides: Mac and I fucking in the woods; Mac confessing his love for me; Mac helping me dig up a grave. Mac in my life.
Mac fixing and destroying everything at once.
“That’s bullshit.” The words foamed on my lips.
“Ex! She’s my ex-girlfriend.” Panic laced his expression as he reached for me.
I sidestepped him with one curt move.
He spun on her, stabbing a finger in her direction. “Don’t fuckin’ lie, Lexi.”
The world closed in on me. It didn’t matter if she was his ex or not. For whatever reason, she was here in Thorn Tree, and she had an agenda. Whether Mac was on board yet or not was also irrelevant.
I didn’t deserve him, never had. I was holding his brother hostage, for fuck’s sake, and that wasn’t even the worst part of what stood between us.
I was going to fuckin’ behead his goddamn brother on the altar he had helped build.
To say Mac should stay far away from me was the understatement of all human history. I wasn’t enough. I wouldn’t be enough. I didn’t understand how this woman had arrived here, but I could read the room well enough.
If I had any trace of goodness left in me, I should cut him free. I should send him away with this woman with my blessing.
All that decency had died the day I’d decided to destroy this town at any cost. I was vindictive and selfish and hateful, and I liked that about me.
I got to have what I wanted now. And I wanted Mac. Even if it was the right thing to do, there was no chance in hell I was going to let him go.
I’d killed Amelia. More blood on my hands was not off the table.
“I came to save you from this place,” Lexi said to Mac. “To save you from her.”
She shot me a look filled with such hatred, I took a step back, mind reeling. I didn’t know her, and I doubted Mac had turned her against me.
That only meant…
Well, fuck. The games continued at every turn, even when I thought the town had run out of moves. I didn’t understand the technicalities of this gambit, but the goal was always to subdue the opponent.
Me. She was here to subdue me.
“He doesn’t need to be saved from me,” I said, even though I didn’t entirely believe that declaration myself.
I would never hurt Mac, at least not intentionally, but a few eggs were going to be obliterated.
She scoffed. “Everyone knows you killed Bobby.”
Inside, I retreated like I’d brushed fire.
I rounded on Mac, shoving the lid on the panic bubbling up in my chest. “Why is she here, Mac?”
What did he know? Why hadn’t he told me?
What the fuck was happening?
Mac looked over my head at Lexi, ignoring my question. “Knock it off, Lexi. You’ve got bad information from bad people. Gracie would never hurt my brother.”
I wilted even more.
“She has nothing to do with his disappearance,” Mac said. “She would have told me if she’d seen him, if she had any idea where he went. As it stands, he probably never even made it into Thorn Tree, though they seem certain he did. It’s all a big scam. This whole town is just a goddamn cult, and you’re being brainwashed, Lexi. They want you to think badly about Grace. It unites them. It brings them under the rule of—”
“Stop!” The word was out of my mouth of its own volition.
Why did Mac have to get on his pedestal now? And in my defense? Couldn’t he doubt me, just for one damn second? His absolute certainty in my innocence hurt more than if he had suspected me all along.
“Please, Mac, let’s just go.” I reached for his hand, even though touching him would undo me completely.
I had to get us out of here. This was worse than an interrogation.
Mac didn’t take his eyes off Lexi, as if she were a predator on the hunt.
“Mac!” I tugged on his arm, tears burning at my eyes. “We need to go!”
This town had always been a conspiracy, but now, it seemed that conspiracy was solely about me. Every move, every decision was orchestrated to destroy me.
It was working.
I dug my nails into the sleeve of his jacket. “We’ve got—”
