How to Save Your School From Soul Stealing Demons

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

"Go. The front door," Ambrose orders, hurrying for the door, dragging Renny away from the battle. Watts stumbles to his feet and the four of us rush downstairs. Ambrose flings the door open and slams it behind us once we sprint out, cutting across neat front lawns to get to his truck. Every time I look behind me, I expect her to be there, dead-eyed and burnt, skin smoking like Miguel's.

We make it to the truck and pile in—Renny is busy helping an exhausted Watts inside the crew cab, so I take shotgun instead of my usual spot in the back. Ambrose is peeling out of there before we even shut all the doors.

Watts has his eyes closed as he talks, and he's panting so hard that I almost can't understand him. "I lost... lost... the book."

"Fuck the book, we almost lost our lives." Renny runs her hands through her hair.

While she has a point, I understand Watts's concern. "What if we need it?"

"We can go back before homecoming—with weapons—and get it."

Considering that homecoming is only the day after tomorrow, that doesn't leave us a lot of time. But all options considered... well, that is our only option, as far as I can tell.

"Speaking of weapons, that was good thinking," Ambrose commends her split-second flamethrower.

She shrugs a shoulder, smirking as some of the tension falls away. "I've always wanted to do that."

Ambrose arches an eyebrow, "To Kayla specifically, or just in general?"

"Well... both, I guess."

"You know, if that cheesy line you gave is any indication, I think you've watched one too many horror movies."

"What was it again?" I ask with an exhausted laugh. "Eat aerosol, you ancient bitch?"

Renny sighs, an embarrassed smile growing on her face. "Don't be jealous of my line." She turns to Watts, who's resting with his head leaned back, exposing the vicious marks on his throat. "How's your neck, Watts?"

It takes him a second to answer, and his closed eyes tighten as he talks, voice barely above a whisper. "Hurts."

"Can you breathe okay?" Ambrose asks, looking in the rearview.

Watts sits up to answer, but I watch in the mirror as his eyes roll back and his body slumps over, falling onto Renny's lap.

"Watts," she says his name with a hint of amusement, obviously thinking he's playing around. Then, with every hint of playfulness replaced by worry, she repeats, "Watts?"

She gasps, and I turn around to see her moving his unzipped hoodie, exposing his t-shirt. The bright blue fabric is torn, and bloodsoaked halfway around. As I take in the mutilated flesh underneath, all the nerves in my body seem to turn to lead.

"No—!" she chokes out, cradling his face in her hands. "Ambrose—he's—"

Ambrose turns to look at the scene behind him and curses.

"Help me!" she orders through tears as he turns back to the road. "Tell me what to do!"

I have to shut my eyes—I can't handle this. I can't handle him covered in blood, unconscious, looking so pale and... dead.

"Calm down," he says, earning a cry of disbelief from Renny. "He's not bleeding out, Ren."

"You don't know that! You haven't even looked—"

"Renny. There isn't enough blood. I'm almost positive he passed out from pain and shock."

"So what do I do?"