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Tacos and Terror

RILEY

I screwed up.

Taking London to a market full of options was going to make it impossible to drag her away before her curfew. Five p.m. sharp. I found it rather unreasonable. I was her brother—there wasn’t a thing that could happen to her with me around.

“Oh. My. God. Try this,” London said, her twists smacking against my chest as she spun around.

The strong scent of pepper hit me a second before the sweet yet savory cheese melted in my mouth. I arched a brow. “Not bad. Would have been better if I fed it to myself.”

“Now with the jam,” she ordered, holding out the next piece for me to grab.

I took it begrudgingly, if for no other reason than to speed up our never ending tour of the Ferry Building Marketplace. To be fair, it was phenomenal. Hell of a lot better than the Kraft I slammed on pieces of bread or instant ramen I called dinner seven days a week. My sister’s wide brown eyes stared at me, awaiting a reaction.

“Delicious.” I smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and guiding her away.

“Look! Handmade soaps.”

London wiggled away from me and made a straight shot for a booth a few spots down. I followed behind her, crumbling the few dollars I had left inside my pocket. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “These smell amazing, Riley. Maybe if you get some, you can find yourself a girlfriend.”

Tugging her from the soaps with a nod toward the vendor, I steered her in the direction of what we’d come here for—street tacos and chicharrones. I damn near drooled at the smell. The scent of sizzling meat and corn tortillas wafted through the air. Weaving through the crowd, we dodged a couple taking selfies and swerved around a dad trying to soothe his toddler from a full meltdown.

The taco cart wasn’t the most popular in the marketplace, but that’s what we preferred. Hidden gems were often the most worthy of your time. Gia, the vendor’s daughter, waved me over as she saw our approach. Her dad, Jorge, offered a wide smile, his stained apron coated in spices and oil from working the grill. He slid our usual over to Gia with a slight nod before turning back to flip over the tortillas.

“This one’s on us, our favorite customers,” Gia said, though the pity in her eyes led me to believe it was a far more gracious extension than favoritism.

“Thanks, Gi.” London eagerly grabbed the trays of food from her, not giving me the chance to offer up any cash. “Keep it in your pockets, Ril. A gift is a gift.”

We found two seats on a bench near the entrance. Balancing the plate on my knees, I ate half the taco in one bite. It was damn good. ‘Dreaming about it for the last week’ kind of good. London froze as she took her first bite. I followed her eye-line, noticing the group of girls laughing a few feet over.

“You good?” I asked.

“Yeah. This has been fun,” she said, tearing her eyes away and taking a minute to chew her food. “Wish we could do this more often. I mean, I guess we can once the judge makes their decision.”

I stuffed the rest of the taco in my mouth, buying myself some time. You would think keeping siblings together would be a first priority to the state. The group of girls passed by, glaring down at my sister. London held her stare, her head following them as they made their exit.

“The hell was that about?”

“Nothing I can’t handle on my own,” she replied, standing up to toss her tray. Her posture had stiffened, though she shrugged off the interaction. “Just some girls from school.”

Pushing to my feet, I slapped a hand across the top of her back. “Wouldn’t doubt it. Italian ice for the road?”

London went back to the bench for our chicharrones, a large grin taking over her worried features. “Obviously. I’ll wait here.” She took a seat, popping open the bag and dropping a chip into her mouth.

Shaking my locs, I bunched them into a band to keep the heat off my neck. The nerves were getting to me. The truth of our situation should have been the first thing I’d started our day with. But I knew my sister. London would have spent every second we had together today trying to find a solution to our problem that wasn’t hers to solve. It was mine. I pivoted on my heels, turning back to tell her our permanent reality. A high-pitched scream sounded to my left. The synchrony of alarms bellowed from the phones of every person around me.

Mass panic ensued. The screams and cries of terror blended together, making it impossible to decipher the source. I fumbled around for my phone, finding it in my front pocket only to see it had died. Shit, London . Thoughts scrambled, I searched for my sister through the sea of bodies. She stood atop the bench we’d eaten at only minutes before. Her deep brown skin was ashen. My sister’s eyes stayed locked on her phone as she did her best to avoid the surrounding stampede.

Shoving through the crowd, I made my way to her and scooped her into my arms. Her phone fell from her hands, a muffled, exhausted sob croaked from her throat.

“London?” I kept pace with the herd. Concern was not an acceptable description to match how I felt. She didn’t answer me, only kept her blank stare down at her hands. I couldn’t carry her this way, not forever.

Taking a quick survey of the world around us, I found a corner absent from chaos and set her down. Her knees buckled, unable to support her weight. “London!” I shook her, desperate for her to snap back to the present.

She turned her head ever so slightly, dread filling her gaze. “It’s over. We’re fucked.”