Bumper cars.
Located in the far back of the carnival, all the lights are off. We pass anout of ordersign set up a few yards from the tent. Looks like the sign has warded off people. Aluminum stairs lead up to the metal floor where brightly colored bumper cars sit motionless like a graveyard.
Stairs let out a squeak as Oscar and I jog up them, and it dawns on me how quieter it is over here. Metal poles jut from the backs of bumper cars to the ceiling of the tent. We weave between them like we’re winding around an obstacle course.
When I pass a neon blue car, I hear heavy breaths and shuffled feet. And I see figures. Bodies.Fuck, fuck.We launch into a sprint.
Aimed for the back near pink and yellow bumper cars. Where Charlie is curled up on the floor. Three white guys in preppy shirts are kicking his ribs.
“GET OFF HIM!” Oscar yells. My legs pump beneath me.
Charlie holds his head, elbows curved in to protect his face.
Pulse speeding, I run faster, and we reach the guys. They turn on us, and Oscar blocks and dodges blows like a pro. Mostly all self-defense.
I just want to reach Charlie. One guy impedes my path, and his fist slams against my jaw before I even blink. Pain wells in my mouth. I spit out a wad of blood, splattering my shirt.
Jesus,shit.I drop my gear off me like it’s not the most precious thing I have. I hear thesplitof my camera. Then acrack. But I can’t tell if that comes from my equipment or Charlie’s body as that same guy rotates and kicks him again.
“JACK!” Oscar shouts.
“I’m okay,” I say in a shocked breath.
I’ve never been in a fistfight before. And I’m dating a boxer—no, I’mmarriedto a boxer.
Come on.
I can’t let this one guy beat up Charlie. Oscar is busy prying the weight of two stocky, preppy guys off him. Both try to physically drag him to the ground like sandbags.
And the third guy gears up to kick Charlie again.
“HEY!” I shove him hard, but he seizes my wrist. We wrestle standing up, pulse echoing in my ears, and his fist rams into my stomach in three successive waves.
Fuck.
I cough and cough. Keeled over, hands on my thighs.
“Jack, Jack, Jack,” Oscar calls quickly, pained at my pain. Two guys still latch to his body—he’s trying not to create a bloodbath and punch the guys to hell. He wrenches them off faster.
I battle for breath as the same guy turns on Charlie.
I go for him again.
To protect Charlie. No question. I’d do it for Jesse. I’d do it for Quinn.
“STOP!” I yell.
He whirls around and lunges at me. I push, he shoves, and he has better hold. He thrusts me forward with too much force. And my forehead collides with a metal pole.
Everything goes dark.
40
OSCAR OLIVEIRA
Jack collapseson the metal floor hard. Knocked out. KO’d. My heart bangs shrilly in my chest as I slam the bastard—the one who shoved Jack at a metal pole—right into a green bumper car. His two friends took off wheezing after I elbowed them in their windpipes.
He’s the last threat.
