I switched to a camera overlooking the scrapyard’s main gate, my pulse hammering in my ears. The van was gone, but the faint silhouette of someone darting behind the stacks of tires caught my attention. “There’s someone moving near the east side,” I said urgently.
Wade muttered a curse under his breath. “Devlyn, find my brothers. They were stashing the shipment in the scrapyard. They have to be there somewhere.”
I tapped furiously on the app, cycling through every angle I could find. The scrapyard was silent, but the tension in the air crackled loud enough to drown out my thoughts. Panic clawed at me as I checked camera after camera. Finally, I spotted movement again—two figures slipping behind a row of crushed cars.
I gasped. “Oh my God. I see Braveheart and Worm. They are moving slowly through the stacks. Fuck, Wade. They’re armed! They’re chasing someone!”
“Shit!” Wade barked, his hand gripping the wheel like a vise as I described the scene. “Are Braveheart and Worm closing in on whoever they’re chasing?”
“They’re closing in fast!” I exclaimed, my fingers trembling as I tracked the figures on the screen. “Braveheart’s got his hand on his sword, and Worm—he’s carrying something... Holy shit! He’s got a shotgun.”
Wade slammed his hand against the steering wheel, the vibration rattling through the truck. “Tell me you can see who they’re after.”
I switched to another angle, the camera panning along the dimly lit scrapyard. The shadows morphed into jagged teeth against the moonlight. Suddenly, the third figure emerged—a lean silhouette darting between the stacks of wrecked cars, joining Braveheart and Worm. They moved with purpose, determination, almost as if this wasn’t the first time they’d been in this situation.
If I didn’t know any better, they looked like they were hunting.
“There!” I pointed at the screen as if Wade could see it. “It’s someone in a hoodie. I can’t make out the face, but they’re limping.”
“Damn it. Keep watching,” Wade commanded, his voice colder now, sharp with focus. “If Worm fires a shot, I need to know.”
As the seconds crawled by, my breathing synchronized with the rhythmic pounding of the truck’s tires against the asphalt. The camera feed flickered as the hooded figure tried to squeeze through a narrow gap between the crushed cars just as someone new turned the corner, and for a split second, I caught the glint of his face and something metallic in his hand.
“It’s Donut. He’s got a weapon,” I said, my words barely above a whisper. “It’s small—maybe a knife. Wait a minute. Are those throwing stars?”
“Concentrate, Devlyn. You still need to find Thore and Juju. Do you see them?”
My eyes darted back to the screen, scanning every shadow and corner for any sign of Thore or Juju. The tension in the air thickened, each second dragging like an eternity. Braveheart and Worm were closing in on the hooded figure, their strides purposeful and unrelenting. The hooded figure stumbled again, his limp more pronounced, and for a brief moment, I could see the strain etched in his body language as he tried to escape the scrapyard unscathed.
“I’ve got nothing on Thore or Juju yet,” I muttered, my voice tight with frustration. The scrapyard seemed like a labyrinth designed to swallow its inhabitants whole, every turn a potential dead end. “But if Donut doesn’t pick up the pace, he’s going to lose the hooded figure.”
Wade growled low in his throat, his knuckles whitening on the wheel. “Keep looking for the others. Donut can handle the intruder.”
The camera flickered again, static overtaking the screen momentarily before resolving into another angle. My pulse quickened as I caught sight of a flash of movement—a figure darting behind a stack of rusted car doors. This one was smaller, quicker, and even in the dim light, I recognized the swagger.
“Juju! I see Juju!” I exclaimed, relief washing over me briefly. “He’s in the northeast corner, moving toward that old bus shell. He’s got a bat. He’s spotted the hooded figure!”
“Find me Thore, baby. I need to know he’s okay.”
I scanned the monitors again, each flicker of static igniting a new wave of anxiety. A deep, guttural roar echoed through the scrapyard, reverberating off the mangled metal like a ghostlywarning. My heart skipped a beat as I realized it wasn’t just the sound of machinery groaning under its own weight—it was Thore.
There he was, emerging from the shadows near the center of the scrapyard, his massive frame unmistakable even in the swirling haze of rust and dust. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, his knuckles bloodied, but he moved with the deliberate grace of someone who knew precisely what kind of chaos he was walking into. In his right hand, he clutched a broken length of pipe, the jagged edge glinting menacingly under the flickering floodlights.
“I’ve got eyes on Thore!” I yelled, my voice cracking with a mix of relief and urgency. “He’s near the crane. Looks like he’s circling back toward Juju—he’s armed.”
Wade slammed on the brakes, and I looked up to find the entrance of Crawley Scrap Metal before me. Turning off the engine, Wade reached across and opened the glove compartment, removing two Glocks. “Stay in the truck,” he instructed, jumping out, then slamming the door shut.
Before I could utter a single word, I watched as he ran over to the gate entrance and slipped inside, leaving me alone in the truck.
My mind raced as I stared at the monitors, their glow throwing distorted shadows across the interior of the truck. Wade’s departure felt like a sharp cut—an edge to the tension already coiled inside me. The scrapyard’s chaos unfolded like a fever dream, the flicker of static rendering every movement ambiguous.
Juju’s bat swung into view across one screen; the hooded figure dodging with an agility that sent chills down my spine. Thore, unwavering in his trajectory, moved like a storm building momentum. Yet somewhere amid the swirling dust and clanging metal, I sensed an unspoken threat—one that neither the monitors nor Wade’s Glocks could fully prepare us for.
My attention darted between the screens, an unrelenting surge of adrenaline keeping me glued to the scene unfolding as I reached into the basket, grabbed a chicken leg, and bit into it. Wade was gone, but his words echoed in my head:“Stay in the truck.”
A command.
A warning, when the faint sound of a kitten’s cry grabbed my attention. As I looked around outside, I heard the cry again. Rolling down the window, I stuck my head out to see if I could find the little thing when I heard it cry once more.
