Shoot to Thrill by D V Wolfe

Author:D V Wolfe [Wolfe, D V]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-07-12T22:00:00+00:00

14

“I’m going to look around,” I heard Gabe say behind me. That got me to my feet. I pushed ahead of him, pausing to look for the clearest path. What if Tags’ body was still under the debris? I picked my way over single layers of brick and wood in the dirt. My foot hit something solid and I realized it was his front porch steps. He’d built them out of cinder blocks and then covered them with wooden planks from pallets he’d stripped down. I kicked aside some of the charred wood and saw the cracked concrete beneath. I looked at the debris in front of me and recognized a melted patch of green shag carpet from Tags’ living room.

I rolled the brim of his hat and slipped it into my back pocket so I could bend down to move a chunk of roof. It was too heavy but it didn’t stop me from trying. I strained and my muscles screamed. I had to move it. I had to see what was beneath it. My sanity, my life depended on it. I had to know. There were shoulders next to mine. Another three sets of hands gripped the tin-covered wood. We lifted one side and managed to flip it over. The remains of the stupid mushroom lamp that had belonged to Tags and Gary’s mother. Tags had always hated it. Gary had told me once that he kept it mostly to annoy Tags. I choked and before I could stop it, a snort of laughter escaped my throat.

“What is it?” Gabe asked next to me.

“Tags hated that lamp,” I said. A large warm hand was on my back. I closed my eyes and clung to the feeling. I reached back and took the hat out of my back pocket and held it again. I moved away from Gabe, regretting the lost comfort. I didn’t deserve it. I had caused this mess. If this had been the demons, they were pissed at me. I had their soul stone, I was the one bucking their natural Hell-order. If it was the cannibals, same song, second verse. If this was some other hellion force-for-hire working for Berith, trying to draw me out, the song remained the same. I had to make it right. Somehow.

I passed the remains of Tags’ yellow Formica kitchen table. It only one leg still attached and it was half-crushed by another chunk of roof. I dropped to my knees to look under it, hoping against hope that Tags had had enough notice to dive for cover before the explosion. Charred wood and scraps of the walls with their yellowed floral wallpaper still attached, now blackened by the fire, lay under the table. No Tags. Every time I searched around a new area or under something I held my breath. Half hoping to find him, half hoping I didn’t.

I made it across the house’s foundation. Gabe and Stacks had been yelling something at me as I moved from what

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