“Look, I just poured in the stuff labeled ‘fog juice’ and got smog.”
The heat traveling up my neck reaches my chin as I suck in a breath, ready to blow, but the Double D’s save Joe’s life.
“We’re on it ... More water, boss, less glycerin.”
I nod, turning around and staring at the gathering fog as my phone buzzes, so I pull it out of my pocket while raising my brows because I can’t even see my feet.
Golds:Missing you. Just checking in to say hello and inform you that hangovers aren’t a thing with Italian wine. Isn’t that crazy ... we went through three bottles and I feel great today.
I’m scowling, like fully giving my phone the biggest fuck-you my face can muster, my thumbs ready to delete the message, when Devin yells, “No fucking way.”
I startle, my head whipping in his direction, as my phone drops into the abyss of the goddamn fog.
“Motherfu—” I grumble, not finishing the crudeness before I look over to Joe. “Turn it off, please. I just dropped my phone.”
But nobody’s paying attention to me; they’re walking over to the craft services table.What is happening?I look around because I didn’t hear anyone call dinner ... or whatever the equivalent of that is when 10:00 p.m. is the start of your day.
“Hello?” I yell, but Derek points to the table.
“We got catering.”
“And?” I whisper before letting out an annoyed breath.
My gaze drops back to the pillows of white smoke that hover around my calves.I don’t have feet. Jesus Christ.I squat down, trying to feel around for my phone because I can’t fucking see through the climate crisis they created.
But the moment my hand disappears, my fingers touch wet moss, making me jerk back with a gasp. Fuck. This is like those games at Halloween parties where you had to reach into a bowl and guess what you felt. And it was always peeled grapes labeled as eyeballs.
I lovedthat, but this ... knowing there’s real forest under my hand ... with bugs and shit that live in dirt ...
“Gross,” I groan but commit to feeling around for the sake of my phone.
My hands find something wet again, but I keep patting around. I blow at the clouds in front of my face, trying to create some kind of path to see, but it’s too thick.
“There are wagyu burgers,” Devin shouts.
I flip him off under the fog, not even looking his way.
“Jesus, how far did this thing bounce,” I whisper, getting down on my knees as I expand my search, crawling around.
“You look like you’re floating,” Derek shouts, and I notice the fog’s covering most of my arms to my shoulders, but I keep sweeping the ground, my hands feeling dirty as the machines still work on overdrive.
“Hey, guys,” I yell. “Can someone turn it off already?”
I don’t wait to see if they heard me, stubbornly determined to find my goddamn phone. “I know you’re here,” I whisper, sliding my hand out and finally feeling something cold and steel. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes.” I quickly crawl closer, over the cold ground, putting my hand over it.
A smile blooms on my face as I turn it toward everyone surrounding the catering to tell them I found my phone, when suddenly all mybreath is sucked out of me and I’m pulled under, enshrouded in darkness under a cloud.
All by a hand gripping my wrist.
But before I can scream, I’m jerked forward, dragged quickly into ...Oh my god ...My body lands hard with a thud.
My head shifts side to side quickly, my nails instantly digging into the dirt walls I’m surrounded by. I’m blinking a hundred miles an hour, fight or flight manifesting as freeze because I can’t move or even think.
Because I’m in a shallow grave.
I’ll be buried.
My chest is heaving even though my breath is stuttered and shaky. I’m trembling as fear wracks my body. Every memory, every worry is hitting me like bricks until there’s only one streamlined thought.
