The Barn Run - Part 11

Stephi reached for my shoulder. “God, you’re bleeding,” she said.

I asked her if it was bad and she said, "Well, it’s not good." She prised the rip of my tee shirt up. My shoulder burned.

“Shit, you’re going to need stitches,” she said.

I told her not to show me the blood. It always hurts more when you see the blood.

“You don’t believe that, do you?” she said.

I told her this wasn’t a good time to give me a reason to not believe it.

She lowered her head. “I’m so sorry, Brad,” she said.

She said it was her fault. She got us into this. All I wanted to do was study, and if she hadn’t come to call on me, none of this would have happened.

I told her she didn’t need to apologise; she warned me, she’d said we could have some fun hanging out.

“You call this fun?” she said.

I grinned, and told her it wasn’t the first time I’d been in a bit of a pickle.

“Pickle?” she said, and I said, “Yeah—what do you think this is? It’s a pickling factory.”

She screwed her face up. “Fat Cassie’s Pickles. Ooh, yummy.”

Some people like them. The same people hadn’t been in a place like this.

Me, I didn’t want to stay in there any longer than we had to. The air was probably too acidic to be healthy; who knew what damage it could be doing to our lungs?

“We’ve gotta get out of here,” I said “We’ve gotta find Jojo.”

“Motion seconded,” Stephi said. “Who’s going to poke their head out first to check for Cassie and her pooch?”

It’s not something we needed to decide. Three loud clunks and a rattle sounding at the doors saved us the effort of rock, scissors, paper, and instead we both spun round looking for somewhere to hide.

I spotted what looked like a good place behind a vat, but Stephi grabbed my arm and said, “No—this way,” and we squeezed in behind a vat in the far corner of the barn, pressed together, breathing as shallow and as silently as we could. Stephi’s arms were moist with sweat, her hair clinging to her head; our hands found each other, and our fingers intertwined for reassurance. At times like this you know, you’ll get through. At times like this you know if you don’t get through, at least you’ll fail together.

“Open seven,” Cassie said. “And get that little fuck in here.”