“Yes,” she said, squeezing his hand before releasing him. “It’s time to get started, my sweet boy.”
Four years later
Ned Cobb was dead.
A bruised and battered Denver huddled in the corner and stared wide-eyed at the dead adult on the ground. Ned’s brown eyes, so often filled with pure mean, now stared blindly from his smashed head. He had been the owner of the boys home, and he had liked to punch kids. The man had just killed another child, one who’d shown up only yesterday. Ralph’s small body was in the corner, and Denver couldn’t look at him.
Death made the room feel heavy. It even smelled funny. Like old cut grass that had been under wet wood for an entire spring.
Ryker and Heath, Denver’s brothers, stood with bloody baseball bats in their hands, staring at Ned’s body. Like Denver, they both had special senses, including abnormal strength. Right now they were pale, and Heath looked like he was gonna throw up.
“We had to do it,” Ryker said, his voice shaking. He was the oldest of them at around sixteen, and his voicenevershook. “Ned killed that kid and was going to kill us.”
Heath nodded, his long brown hair pulled back and his greenish brown eyes filled with terror.
They’d both swung only once.
Denver grabbed the wall and climbed up it to stand. His hands hurt from trying to defend himself from Ned’s belt, but he didn’t think any fingers were broken this time. Though his pinkie was numb.
Ryker dropped the bat and ran over to the kid on the ground. “Ralph?” His voice really trembled now.
“He’s dead,” Denver whispered. His stomach hurt so bad he needed to go to the bathroom.
Ryker checked the kid’s neck anyway. His hands looked like they were shaking, but he touched Ralph carefully, pressing on the jugular. Then Ry leaned over to listen for breathing. He slowly straightened up. “Yeah.” He turned around.
Heath threw his bat over into a corner. “The sheriff is coming back soon. We have to run and get out of here.”
The sheriff was Ned’s brother, and he liked to hit them with his baton. A lot. Denver straightened his shoulders. He might be younger than Ryker and Heath, but this was his fault. They wouldn’t have come down into the basement of the crappy boys home unless it was to save him. Now he had to save them. Even if it made him bad and he’d have to go to hell. Right now he had to protect them. “Burn it. The whole place.”
Ryker looked up at him, surprise in his greenish blue eyes.
Denver flushed. He didn’t talk much, mainly because talking just got kids hit. Also, speaking was hard to do, so he didn’t do it. But this was too important. “We’ll burn the evidence.” Plus, the boys home sucked and it should burn to the ground.
Heath paused and looked wildly around. His shoulders settled, and he breathed out. “Run. We have to run.” He started moving for the door. “I know where the fuel is. We’ll just burn this main building and leave the barracks alone.”
Denver nodded. They didn’t want to kill anybody else. It was after midnight, so they were alone in the main building.
The fire was surprisingly easy to start, and since they spilled lighter fluid and gasoline in almost every room, the building went up in flames fast. Crackling wood had a nice smell, and Denver tried not to think about the burning bodies.
“Let’s go,” Ryker said, turning, his voice sounding older than it had earlier. “Now.”
Denver followed him, with Heath taking up the rear. They hustled across the scrub field into the forest and kept running. Ryker had hidden packs for them nearly a month ago that contained food, knives, and additional clothes. They’d known either they would have to escape, or Ned would kill one of them.
They ran all night, finally stopping to rest at the far edge of the forest, miles away from hell.
Denver leaned against a tree, his chest heaving, tears in his heart. His hands shook. And his legs ached. What had they just done? “We’re just kids.”
“That’s okay. It was him or us.” Ryker slid an arm around his shoulders, his voice cracking and then strengthening. “We’re smart, and we’ll figure out a way to survive until we’re not kids anymore.”
“She’ll find us,” Denver whispered, his stomach rolling over. The woman who studied the three of them, the one dating the sheriff—she’dfind them. The doctor lady. There was somethingwrongabout her. She showed up every once in a while to make them take written and physical tests like they were lab rats. She took notes and then went away. And she looked at him funny. Different from the way she looked at Ryker and Heath. Denver bit his lip to keep from crying. Even if the lady didn’t find them, the lawman would never stop looking for them. “The sheriff is gonna want to murder us for killing his brother.”
Heath coughed. “Yeah, but they’re alone, and we’re family. You can’t take down an entire family.”
Denver scratched his chin, his chest aching. “We’re family.” He looked at the scar on his hand. It was four years old, and it meant everything.
“Family,” Ryker affirmed, stepping away to grab cereal bars out of his pack. He stared at the crushed food but didn’t open the wrapper. His body swayed, and he sat down. “Let’s take a minute.”
“Yeah.” Denver’s knees wobbled as he looked at his scar line. Four years ago. He’d felt like a dork, but he’d asked Heath and Ryker for blood. They’d been behind the main building after a day of being tested, and he’d wondered if he was making a mistake. What if they had laughed at him?
