Get Out If You Can

Emilie | No Weddings And A Funeral - Part Two

When we're finally in the mainstream 'funeral' area, my first thought is we're in the parking lot of a concert. Because that's what it looks like.

And it's horrible, really. Half the people aren't even dressed properly. I mean, like, okay, I don't really have a huge problem with what you wear, but – five people died, don't you get it? This isn't exactly the time to show up with neon shirts and selfie attitudes!

The reporters are acting like they all just got a raise. And maybe they will, if one of them hits the right spot. I don't think any of us will give them a chance, to be honest, but their apparent 'anonymous sources close to the five' might. I think it's Kat doing it, really. She never lets an opportunity pass up. For a while, I didn't, either.

"Ready?" Matt asks, leaving my hand to straighten his helmet. I wish he had a spare; I really need it. But still, the helmet won't help him much – he's still got that sling that's so well known, and it's pretty unmissable.

"Yeah," I say, and step into the crowd.

The crowd is wild. There's a sort of procession going on some way ahead of us, and everyone's shouting random stuff. I spot some banners with faces on them in some places. Well, that's funny. I tilt my head sideways to look.

Oh, holy shit. Emblazoned in big red font on them are the words 'Matt Is A Murderer'.

"Hey, Matt," I say, grabbing his hand. "The view's better from here. Come on."

"Is it, though?" he asks, but still follows me. "Like, it's pretty bad whichever way you see it, right?"

"Yeah, but this side, it's clearer." It definitely isn't. There are way too many news vans this side.

"Look, Em." I turn to face him.

"Yeah?"

"I know what you're trying to do," he says, sighing, "and thanks. But it's happened before," he says, "I can handle it. A lot of people don't like me, but then – if everyone likes you, where's the fun?"

"You're just impossible." I laugh. I'm glad he's learnt to take all this with a grain of salt, honestly — though that doesn't make what people are doing right. He's got a great level of — I really can't say what — but he knows when to care and when not to. Maybe, in a while, I'll learn too. I want to. "Okay, let's see where this goes."

I stand on my toes, looking for some sight of the others. I know Hunter and Alison are here, but for some reason, they're nowhere around us. Well, that's understandable, really. This crowd is unnecessarily large.

"Hey, I think I see Hunter!" Matt whisper-shouts. "There, the redheaded scum! Hey, Hun –"

"Shh." I squeeze his arm. "There's a reason we're hiding in the crowd, you know?"

I'm so glad the fire singed off my hair. If it hadn't, everyone would've recognized me by now.

Hunter – or what I assume is him – wedges himself in a small space in the crowd. I see Ali somewhere behind him. She's not wearing funeral clothes either, but at least she didn't come all punked up. She's wearing a black hoodie and skinny black jeans – and a black mask. No one's asked her why yet.

"Hello," Hunter whispers. I'm surprised I can hear him. "We're here."

"We?" Matt asks, turning around. Hunter almost screams.

"What the fuck are you wearing?" he stage-whispers. "This is not a costume party!"

"Oh, really? Because I thought it was," Matt says, and I assume he's rolling his eyes. There's not much I can see of him through the helmet. "You gotta put a wig on, orangutan. You're pretty much blazing."