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Everyone could get back to their lives if he burned the Holland Pride to the ground.
His truck was making a noise as he headed out of the trailer park. The belt, maybe?
He turned down the rock music and listened carefully to try and identify the grinding, screeching noise.
He’d just gotten this damn thing back from the shop. The noise sounded louder as he came to a stop at the bottom of the hill.
It was late, and dark, and there weren’t any streetlights way out here. Light wasn’t necessary for a fire monster though.
Wreck shoved his door open and popped the hood of his old F-250. He had always liked classic trucks, but they were a pain to upkeep. He stood on the front bumper and poked around the area the abrasive sound was coming from. Definitely the belt. Shit. He could replace it himself, but he was going to have to get some parts.
Wreck hopped off the truck and slammed the hood down, hooked his hands on his hips, and searched the woods for inspiration.Think.
He gritted his teeth and considered borrowing Gunner’s truck, but he would die before he asked for a favor fromanyone. The belt would hold until morning, it would just be an annoyingly loud drive.
“Screw the vision,” he ground out as he hopped back into his truck and threw it into gear.
Wreck floored it out of the drive to 1010 Winding Creek Way, where the Fastlanders lived, and gunned it onto the main road that would lead him to the highway he needed to get through Laramie and headed in the right direction.
The screeching belt was annoying, but it didn’t affect the smooth ride. Wreck took a long sip of his coffee and turned the music back up. This part, he was good at. He could drive alone for days. His mother had always said he should’ve been a trucker. He was built for the solitude and he slept like shit anyway, so he could make the long drives with fewer stops. Driving had never made him tired. On the contrary, the scenery woke up the curiosity in him.
His phone rang, and he frowned when it wasn’t in the cupholder where he’d left it. He must’ve knocked it out when he’d stopped to check the belt. He searched for it, and saw the phone’s light shining between the center console and the seat. Great.
He tried to shove his fingers into the small gap to grab it, but was only able to touch the cover of the phone before the phone stopped ringing.
Very few people on this earth knew his number, and one of those people was extremely important to him. His mom would absolutely be calling him right now. She got “bad feelings” and often called him at odd hours for reassurance.
There were headlights up ahead on the straightaway, but they were far in the distance. He tried to reach the phone again, and slid it halfway up the side of the console before he lost his grip. Damn his big hands.
The phone rang again. He gripped the wheel and leaned as far as he could to get a better angle. He…could…almost…reach…
He carefully slid it up as he approached a bridge, both sides of which were lined with guardrails. The two-lane road narrowed here, so he focused on keeping his truck straight as he slid the phone up the console centimeter by centimeter.
The headlights had reached him, and they were going to pass each other on the bridge. Fuck, he didn’t want to drop the phone. His mom was probably freaking out that he hadn’t answered.
There! He flashed the phone screen at himself and saw a text.
Unknown Number said,Stay off the bridge!
Pop!
The other car came careening sideways toward him, like the car had lost control. The nose of the small car aimed for him, and Wreck dropped the phone and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands as he hit the gas to try and avoid the car’s trajectory.
The truck gave him what he needed and he took the hit on the back end, but was able to keep enough control. He hit the brakes as his truck fishtailed, and yelled, “No!” as he saw the other car disappear into the ditch just past the guardrail.
He shoved his foot down hard on the brake and barely let the truck come to a stop before he threw it into park. He didn’t know how he did this part—morphing from one place to another. He was fast. Faster than a camera could catch, and so he was there when the car hit the tree.
He was there when the fireball went into the air, and he was there to draw the heat off the car and absorb it into himself to give the driver a shot at living.
Hand out, drawing the fire from the car, he ripped off the driver’s side door and uttered a soft curse as he saw the woman. The airbag had deployed. Between that and the broken front windshield, her face was cut up. Her eyes were closed, and when he pulled on her arm, she was limp.
Gritting his teeth, he released her arm and moved to the front of the car. It was wrapped around a tree. He could smell gas, and he couldn’t let the fire touch the back of the car. He roared at the burn as he drew the fire into himself in a burst of violent effort.
The night went dark, and the sound of flames died to nothing.
Full of power, skin on fire, anger roiling like it always did when he absorbed the power of fire, he strode around the car and stopped in his tracks when he saw the woman.
Her eyes were open and trained on him. Blood trickled down the side of her jaw, and her nose looked like it might be broken.
