Chapter 2 Isadora Sterling Is Dead

Isadora

“Han?” I whisper, my voice sounding thin and far away as my head swims.

I squeeze her hand, but she doesn’t squeeze back.

Smoke drifts through the crushed cabin in slow grey ribbons, irritating my eyes. My lungs pull tight. I lift my free hand to my head and touch something wet. When I pull my fingers away, they’re drenched in blood.

“Han?” I say louder.

She hangs limp beside me, still held by her seatbelt. Her brown hair falls toward the roof. Blood runs from somewhere near her temple and disappears into the collar of her white school shirt.

“No,” I breathe.

I let go of her hand, and it drops toward the crushed roof.

My stomach turns as I claw at my seatbelt, fingers sliding against the buckle. It releases with a hard click, and my body drops. My shoulder hits the roof first, then my hip, and pain flashes throughout me. I bite down on a cry and roll awkwardly onto my side.

The world sways as I lie there, coughing, my cheek pressed against broken glass and torn leather. Something ticks near the front of the car, slow and steady and too loud.

I push myself up.

“Hannah.” I cough out through the smoke.

I crawl through the narrow space between the seats, dragging one leg behind me when pain shoots up from my knee. The smoke thickens, laden with the scent of petrol and tastes harsh on my tongue, making my throat close.

I reach her and cup her face in both hands.

“Hannah, hey. Wake up.”

Her skin is warm below my hands as I shake her.

“Hannah?”

Her body hangs there, limp. There is blood everywhere. On her shirt. In her hair. Across the pale slope of her cheek.

I press two fingers to her throat with unsteady hands. I search for a pulse. I move my fingers, trying and trying to find anything.

But there’s nothing.

“No,” I whisper. “Please.”

The ticking keeps going, and I turn toward the front.

“Vinnie?”

The word leaves me before I see him.

Then I do, and my breath catches. I look away quickly. My stomach heaves, but there is nothing in me except haze and panic. Vinnie is folded over the wheel. The windscreen in front of him is cracked white. His hat is gone. His face is…

A flicker of orange moves beyond the bonnet and I stare at it for one stupid second.

Fire.

The front of the car is burning.

Heat rolls through the cabin, getting stronger and stronger. The smoke thickens around us, and my eyes burn so badly I can barely see.

I look back at Hannah.

She is still hanging there, her hair touching the broken glass right under her.

I can hear the sirens shrieking somewhere in the distance, and I know my father will come.

That thought cuts through everything.

He will come. He will take me home. He will lock every door. He will tell the city how grateful he is that his daughter survived, and I will never get out again.

I look at Hannah’s bags jammed against the roof, and then my gaze drops to my wrist.

My bracelet is bright against the blood on my skin. Thin gold, polished clasp, with my initials engraved on the small oval charm.

I.S.

A gift from Father.

A pretty little chain to remind the world who I belonged to.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

I reach for the clasp with shaking hands and fumble with it. My fingers are slick, and they slip on the clasp before I can get it open.

The bracelet falls into my open hand, and I crawl closer to Hannah. Smoke spirals around her face, the fire pops somewhere in front of us, and I flinch.

“I’m so sorry, Han.”

I fasten the bracelet upon her wrist, then I lean in and place my mouth to her forehead.

“I’m sorry.”

Something snaps beneath the bonnet, and I jerk back.

The heat is getting worse, and my lungs burn now. My hands scrape over glass and metal as I grab Hannah’s bags. One strap is caught beneath a twisted piece of seat, and I yank until it tears loose.

The sirens are getting closer, and I hear voices carry from somewhere above us, faint through the trees and smoke.

“Down here!”

I turn toward the broken window where grass and dirt press close outside. We must have rolled off the road and down the slope into the trees.

I shove Hannah’s bags through the window, then I crawl after them.

Broken glass bites into my palms and metal catches my blazer, tearing it open at the sleeve. I drag myself through the shattered frame, ribs screaming, knee burning, as I hit the grass and cold air rushes over my face.

I lie there on my stomach, coughing into the dirt while the car groans behind me.

The flames climb higher through the broken front end, and I push myself up on shaking arms.

A sob tears through my chest, but I swallow it down and grab Hannah’s bags as the sirens scream closer.

I look over the wreck, through the smoke, and up the hill, where I can see the silhouettes of parked cars and people coming down.

Then I take one last look at the burning car and turn, running as well as I can into the trees.

I don’t know where I’m going.

I don’t even know how far I can make it.

Branches slap at my face and catch in my hair as I force myself deeper between the trees. Every step sends pain tearing through my knee. My sides feel too tight around each breath. Hannah’s bag bangs against my hip, and I drag it higher, gripping it to my chest.

Somewhere inside it is her passport.

Her ticket.

Her name.

Behind me, someone shouts again.

I stumble across a root and catch myself against a tree, my bloody palm sliding down the bark. For one second, I almost turn back.

Then I hear my father’s voice in my head, cold and controlled, certain I will always come when I am called.

I push away from the tree just as a loud explosion shatters through the woods behind me.

Heat rolls across my back and I twist around in time to see flames roar above the trees, black smoke climbing into the sky.

A hoarse sound leaves my throat when I realise Hannah is gone. Vinnie is gone. And Isadora Sterling is burning with them.

I press Hannah’s bag to my chest and keep moving.

By morning, my father will have a dead daughter.

But he won’t have me.