We run and urgency bulldozes stewing resentment and awkward attraction. The wailing phones, the smeared haze across the lake, and the emptying lot on the far shore all add up to one terrifying possibility.
Everyone’s gone.
And we’re still here.
CHAPTER 8
ASH
Every breath stingsmy lungs as we race around the lake’s uneven perimeter. Pines rush by, their silhouettes flickering warnings we should’ve noticed hours ago.
Kael glances back, face steady in his white hoodie. He hadn’t cared about my protests, the hike, or the lost signal. Naturally, even his body’s indifferent to sprinting, like he’s being styled by a breeze instead of outrunning a wildfire.
I, on the other hand, am wiping sweat out of my eyes and trying not to wheeze. I knot my jacket around my waist to get it off my overheating shoulders, and in the process make myself look exactly like what I am: a panicking idiot who should’ve paid attention sooner and is, apparently, less cardio-fit than he thought.
They wouldn’t leave without me. Without us.
Forty minutes of frantic jogging finally dumps us back into the dirt parking lot.
What had been a breathtaking place to arrive for a relaxing retreat is now just… empty. Rows and rows of vacant spaces. Even the dust we’d seen kicked up by urgent departures has settled. The only thing left is a lone, wood-paneled Buick.
“It’s dead,” Kael says, slamming his door.
“Shit!”
My curse ricochets off the glass-still lake. I jog uselessly between the rows, scanning empty spaces in case I might’ve missed a whole car while blinking.
“You tried it?” I ask. “I’ll call the organizer.”
“Yes, I tried it,” he says, like I’m the problem for asking, not the guy who forgot to mention his car was dead in the first place.
I yank out my phone and find two emails from the organizers. I reply to the one confirming my speaking slot with a single, desperate line:You left Ash and Kael behind. Please help.
The other email is titled, with horrible irony, “The FIRE Escape” and sent from [email protected].
Living in California has instilled a deep respect for wildfires. They move fast. Faster than feels possible. With each passing minute, every news image of orange skies and burning ridgelines crowds closer.
Kael jogs up beside me, his glasses magnifying the fear in his eyes, lenses catching the emptiness behind me into a warped reflection of how alone we are.
“What now?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit, spinning in a half circle, expending useless energy trying to swallow that simple truth before it chokes me. “But… they can’t just leave us.”
“You were the speaker,” Kael says, a thin edge of accusation under the words.
“Exactly,” I shoot back. “They should be looking for me.”
We stare at each other. Sweat runs into my eyes. I swipe it away with a shaking hand. We’ve stopped running, but my brain is still circling the lake, the blue sky, the trees, the dead Buick, the empty lot, the impetuous artist, and the unseen fire getting closer.
“It’s… unbelievable,” I say. The weight of the last twenty-four hours piles against my chest.
Kael nods. “I know.”
“Oh, do you? Do you know?” Heat surges to my ears. It’s not just Kael, it’s Chase, the HR meeting, and my numbers collapsing one spreadsheet cell at a time.
“Excuse me?”
“You were all charm and chaos,” I say, the words coming faster now. “Of course it was going to fall apart.”
