Page 88 of Break Out the Girl

“No, not yet. But if no one finds her, she’ll run out of air.”

Somewhere out across the forest, a distant wail sounds, echoing across the valley like the starter siren of the worst race in history.

I pat her on the head then drop down to the ground, flipping once to clear my mind, before landing right in front of Burt’s Burly wolf.

He immediately presses his wet nose against my chest, huffing and chuffing.

“I know!” I tell him. “It’s awful.”

Burt growls, agreeing with me.

“So what do we do?” I look upward. “Pigeon told me to head to the center. Or, if I’m being accurate, she pointed in that direction.” I frown and think for a second. I cannot for the life of me remember if she used her words or her pointing finger.

“Anyway, if they’ve planted her like a potato with eyes, I don’t think there’s any time for her to sprout, right?”

Another growl demonstrates that Burt concurs. His head tilts slowly to the side, then blinks.

The air around him suddenly shimmers and warps, making the fur melt away. An odd choice in this weather.

He glares at me, straining the plaid button-up with his angry shoulders. “London, what the fuck are you talking about? Use normal human words. What did you learn?”

“Oh, couldn’t your wolf-brain understand?” I blink. It’s not insensitive to say that I hope. “I’ll talk slower next time. So what should we do?”

“Do about what, you fuckwit?”

“About Sky being buried alive, of course. Burt, I know you’re the skipper, but is it a good idea to be wasting time talking? Like, her coffin probably doesn't have much air.”

Burt’s face goes a funny white color. “Buried alive?” His eyes track in the direction Pigeon had pointed (or told me). “Gods… the evil motherfuckers.”

“Soooo?” I twist a hoof in the mud, feeling a bit rubbish that I can’t come up with the answer myself. “How do we find her?”

Burt’s expression darkens even further. “There are miles of fucking forest, I don’t have her scent on lock, and if she’s six feet under? FUCK!”

My heart drops to my hooves. Burt never gives up, he plows on like a plow-horse, cutting through the fields to make everything right. But right now?

I echo his sentiment.

“FUCK!”

31: AURORA

“FUCK!”

I slam my fist against the LandRover's dashboard, the vintage plastic almost cracking beneath the impact.

“Gods, lady!” Basil yells, pressing his small frame back into the driver's seat. “What the hell is wrong with you? Is that what you call laying low?”

I can’t answer him. I can’t breathe.

FUCK.

The word didn't just come from my mouth; it ripped straight through the bonds, into my lungs and poured out of my throat. Somewhere out there in the freezing downpour, Tally and London’s absolute hopelessness hit my chest like a physical blow.

Through Tally’s thread, I taste the bitter, suffocating panic of a predator running out of time, his wolf instincts screaming, but I don’t understand why.

Through London, his erratic mind spirals and spikes. He’s unmoored again. Fully.

Are they giving up? Are they hurt?