Across the Water

Chapter 11

0 Hours

Nine

The series of snapping and popping noises coming from outside my tent in the morning cause me to bolt from my bed in a state similar to cardiac arrest.

Those noises. Are they gunshots in the distance? Are Twelve and Lisa in danger? Have we been caught?

I nearly rip the zipper off the tent door in my frenzied rush to investigate.

When I scramble from my tent looking for the emergency, I'm greeted by Twelve and Lisa who are surrounded by a scattering of spent firecrackers.

Oh.

"What the hell are you thinking?" I yell, bending down to pick up the wrappers. "This is an invitation to the police. And you two nearly gave me a heart attack." I clutch at the front of my shirt, still feeling the pounding in my chest. "I thought you two had been shot."

Twelve has the audacity to light another and discard the shell as I am literally cleaning up his mess and scolding him.

"Because it's fun," he reasons, though his logic is feeble in my opinion. "The forest deadens the sound and the smoke is negligible. I doubt anyone near here, including the police, can hear or see us. It's uninhabited for miles."

It cracks suddenly and I flinch.

"It's still fucking idiotic. I'd like to savor our time not spent in jail instead of welcoming the police to our doorstep."

Twelve hands one to me. "Loosen up and light one."

I scowl. "I don't approve of this activity."

"Too bad I don't care," Twelve says defiantly, throwing multiple up high and watching them burst as they come down. "If you would just relax, you could have fun. Wouldn't having fun be nice once and a while? You never have any because you have this stick-up-your-ass attitude all the time."

I cross my arms. "I don't have a stick up my ass all the time. I can have fun."

"Then light the firecracker," he dares me.

I'm not one to turn down a challenge.

It looks like he has a system going where he holds the fuse over the lit camping stove. I light the fuse and pitch the firecracker into the soft forest dirt before it can blow my fingers off. I won't lie, it is satisfying to hear it pop.

"We've got plenty more," Twelve says, enthusiastically thrusting a large pile into my arms.

"Where did you even get these?" I ask, though part of me doesn't even want to know the answer.

"I made them," he says proudly. "The potassium nitrate and sulfur were in the lab inside the Settlement, and we stole charcoal from the art room."

I survey the mountain of fireworks. "They had enough for this many?"

"Well—no," he admits.

I take off my glasses and rub the bridge of my nose. "Dear lord. What did you do?"

He grins diabolically. "I dissected a few of your bullets for the gunpowder."

Sometimes I wish I had the guts to punch him. I really wish I did. If we die because we run out of bullets, then it's his fault.

"Also," he continues, striding to the table and picking up a handful of wires. "I made sparklers."

"Unbelievable. The firecrackers are one thing, but sparklers are practically lighting a flare for the police."