Mila Santos Is (Not) Dead

iii: twine wound around your ankle

BREATHLESS, MALACHI REACHED Reza's car, where Auntie Isabel waited. He'd called her as they ran; she must have been closer to the car than they were. Reza heaved behind him. Malachi threw open the passenger door and collapsed in the seat. Reza keeled over a nearby trash can and vomited.

"What is it?" Auntie Isabel turned to face Malachi, her eyebrows knitted together, frowning. Malachi could see the worry in her eyes, the denial—it couldn't be. "Malachi? Did you find something?"

Malachi shut his eyes. He tried to block out the memory of Mila's bloodied and torn clothes, strewn about the forest floor and hanging from branches. Of the fort they used to play in as kids, smashed to pieces. Of the blood. So much blood. And the flies. Dear God, the flies. He nodded. He was so sick to his stomach, even the tiny motion sent waves of nausea rocking through him. Any minute now he'd join Reza at the trash can.

Auntie Isabel grabbed hold of Malachi's arm. She shook him, causing his stomach to roil. Her fingers dug into his coat. "What did you find?"

The other kids were out there searching in the dark woods with their flashlights and nothing to protect them, unaware of the absolute shit-show he and Reza had stumbled upon.

"We need to get everyone out of there," Malachi mumbled.

"Why?" Auntie Isabel demanded, her eyes wild. "Malachi, answer me! What the fuck did you find?"

"... not safe," Malachi explained, shaking his head. "... need to get them out."

Malachi fumbled for his phone in his pocket and pulled it out with shaking hands. He dialed Adrian's number and looked to Auntie Isabel to call Becca. She watched him, her lower lip trembling.

Reza rolled over so he was leaning backwards against the trash can, his pallid face tilted toward the sky, his mouth agape.

"Call Becca," Malachi insisted.

She shook her head, blinking her eyes hard, and buried her face in her hands. "Malachi, tell me what the fuck you found," she demanded. "Now."

Malachi sank low in his seat, folding his arms over his chest. He knew he wouldn't get her to call Becca until he told her. And they needed to get the others out of there. He ended the call to Adrian before it went through. "Blood," he managed, half-choking on the word. "So much blood."

"Mila's?" Auntie Isabel whispered.

Malachi nodded. A lump formed in his throat that he struggled to swallow down. "Her clothes were... in the clearing... all torn up. I know it was..." His voice came to a screeching halt as a sob rose in the back of his throat.

"Malachi..." Her voice wavered. "This can't be..."

Malachi could only bring himself to shake his head. It was all he could do to without vomiting or bursting into tears.

Auntie Isabela mechanically turned her head forward. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pursed her lips and took a long, deep inhale. Then she slammed her forehead into the steering wheel. A resounding constant HOOOOOOOONK shook the ear. She screamed even louder than the horn, so loud that Malachi's head vibrated and his vision spun. He winced and covered his ears. Just as he was almost used to the sound, she lifted her head up. The horn quieted. She slammed her fists into the steering wheel. Several short, sharp HONKs knocked Malachi's head around. She pressed her forehead back into the horn, her hands falling still. The cycle began again. She screamed.

Reza jogged over to the car, pulling open Malachi's door and sticking his head inside. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. He reeked of vomit, and a couple chunks smeared across his sweatshirt. "Did something happen? Is everything okay?"