Page 2 of Wrecked (Dirty Air 3)

Mami and Papi will come for me. They’re okay. Maybe a little hurt, but they will come.

Minutes pass yet I don’t hear any sounds in my house. More tears run down my face as I pray for Papi to come find me and carry me to bed.

I don’t move for hours, afraid to step outside. My eyes adjust to the dark as I rock myself back and forth to calm down.

Eventually, I crawl out of my hiding place, my stomach dropping as I push the closet door open. I stop, listening for anyone who might know I’m here. Minutes pass before I think it’s safe to move again.

Taking a deep breath, I open my bedroom door. It groans like one of those Scooby-Doo episodes. My heartbeat speeds up as I let out a shaky breath.

I hate the dark. My house feels creepy, with the lights all shut off and shadows lingering in the blackest of corners. The skin on the back of my neck tingles. My feet carry me down the stairs as I clutch my flashlight in my hands, desperation giving me the strength to keep moving.

“Mami? Papi?”

Silence. Pure silence and darkness make the vein in my neck pulse. I fight back the craving to run up the stairs and hide beneath my covers. Katniss would be brave in the dark—strong and unafraid.

I trip over something blocking my path into the kitchen. My head drops on its own. “No! No no no no no.”

The flashlight drops with a thump by my feet before rolling away. My legs give out as my knees hit the floor, my fingers clutching onto my mother’s hand, cold in mine and feeling all wrong.

Tears flood my eyes, running down my cheeks before landing on her. I crawl over her body and tug her into me. “¡Mami! ¡Despiértate!” My trembling fingers brush her hair out of her face, my heart squeezing at her empty eyes staring back at me.

Cold, lifeless eyes without any sign of her warmth.

“Mami, ¿qué pasa? Regresa a mi.” My hands become slick as I lose my grip on her. I check out my fingers, but the lack of light makes it difficult to see what made them wet. Tears mess up my vision as I move toward my flashlight. The light lands on my dad, lying next to my mother, a trail of blood following him.

A sob breaks free as I crawl over to Papi, hugging him as I press my ear against his chest, hoping he’s still alive. I can call a doctor or Abuela to help me.

“Por favor, Papi, no me abandones.”

Silence.

No heartbeat. No breathing. Nothing.

“No, no, no.” Pained sounds escape me. I cry into his chest, losing control of myself. He smells all wrong. My fingers grip his suit, shaking him as if he can come back to life.

To come back to me.

“Don’t leave me.” My broken voice croaks.

No one responds. No one hears my cries. No one can save my parents. They are gone.

Dead.

Murdered.

My hands shine in the poor lighting, bloodied and slick. A wave of nausea hits. I barely make it a few feet before my dinner makes its way back up my throat, my body heaving until there is nothing left.

I place my shaky hands on the hardwood floor. A shard of glass impales my finger, the sharp pain pulling a hiss from me. Blood pours out of me as I rip the thick piece from my middle finger.

Tears run down my face before landing on the floor, disappearing into the blood trail my father left behind.

I lay on the slick tile, pulling my knees into my chest, wishing the killers had taken me too. My body shakes as I rock myself back and forth. I shut the flashlight off and allow the shadows to creep in, surrounding me, the silence tearing at my last bit of calm.

1

Jax

Present Day