Page 117 of His to Burn

I glanced at Jack, sparing just a moment of regret that we weren’t able to finish the conversation. But then we quickly adjusted our clothes and ran into the dining room.

I glanced around the dining room, searching for the danger.

My gaze settled on the mess.

Pickles all over the floor.

A pile of broken glass.

Elliot standing by sheepishly, again lookinglike he’d rather be anywhere else. “I never liked pickles anyway.”

The windows were covered with garbage bags as Miles, seemingly unconcerned, rechecked his work.

Lourdes gave a soft laugh.

Jack didn’t.

Instead, his gaze swept the room. I was sure he was looking for anything else that might be dangerous, but he finally settled on Caitlin.

“Keep it down.”

“It’s a natural reaction. Things are tense,” Caitlin said, standing up taller, her gaze on Jack’s.

“I didn’t notice,” Jack said. Then he looked at Lourdes. “Elliot murdered the pickles, so I guess we’re not eating those. Did you find anything else?”

“Beans. Tortillas. Hot sauce. Olives. Everything else is spoiled,” Lourdes answered.

“I can’t believe I missed the pickles,” I muttered.

Jack smiled. It was brief, but it landed, and the tension in the room ratcheted down enough that I could let out a breath.

He focused on me now. “Door’sbarricaded. Someone needs eyes on it at all times. Eat something. Rest if you can.”

Lourdes worked on the food without speaking. She used the candles to warm a couple of cans of beans, and a few minutes later, we had makeshift bean burritos. We retreated to different areas, and while we ate in silence, every few minutes at least one of us would glance at the door.

A low hum started in the pipes, and I looked at Jack. His hand was at his waist, his body tense, but he didn’t move. We all stayed still and silent, waiting.

My mind started to drift to places I shouldn’t have allowed. But I couldn’t stop them.

What if it wasn’t the pipes?

What if it was them, clawing at the door, pounding at it until it gave way.

What if they came flooding in, clawing hands, snapping teeth, literal death coming for us while we sat here stupid, clueless, pretending we were safe?

Jack’s deep exhale mercifully shattered my thoughts. “There’s air in the pipes. They’ll burst sooner or later.”

We settled.

Miles and Lourdes whispered quietly in one corner.

Bridget worked through a Sudoku book she’d found, while Caitlin watched, waiting her turn.

Elliot wiped down the table Lourdes used to prepare the meal, his movements measured and methodical. Like his contribution to order could hold back the chaos.

He paused to set an overturned hot sauce bottle upright. Watching him made something twist in my chest.

I sat, but was aching to move.