Ignite

Chapter One | Part Two

By the time they had reached the next hideously adorable, New England town full of small-minded Connecticut morons, Ginny was a little suspicious of Cade.

He had been running through the woods for hours, carrying an injured girl while being injured himself. But he had managed to convince her he was just athletic and had done a lot of endurance training. After a lot of bickering, she had finally believed him―at least, he thought she had.

While Ginny was being properly bandaged by a shifty―but somehow still reliable―friend of Cade's, he had called his sister and roommate; Sloane.

“What do you mean you found one of them?” Sloane shouted.

“I wasn't looking or anything. I was just driving through some pathetic New England town when I saw this tiny car rushing into a lumber truck. I was too late. But naturally, I dove into the flames and rescued her.”

She scoffed. “'Naturally'? Naturally, you would have tossed a jug of gasoline into the collision.”

Cade looked away. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. Normally, he would have kept his distance, marveling at the pure idiocy of humans.

“And what about the truck driver?” she countered.

“Well―”

He could feel her rolling her eyes, and not because of his supernatural abilities―as inconvenient as it was, his abilities didn't work through technology, it was so disgustingly old-school―but simply because he knew his sister better than anyone in the world.

“Cade, what's going on?” Sloane asked him.

“Look, about the truck driver... I wanted to rescue him, but he was probably already dead anyway.”

“Is that really why?”

“It is. I'm serious though, Sloane, you should have seen the fire.” se said.

“Like it was anything compared to what we're used to?”

Once again, she was right. There had seen all sorts of crazy, inhuman explosions in New York.

“What happened?” Sloane asked, her voice softening.

“I don't know,” he said truthfully.

At that moment, Ginny appeared, limping out of the shabby warehouse where Cade's friend had tended to her.

“Look, I gotta go now,” Cade told Sloane. “I'll see you in two days.”

“Yeah, see you,” Sloane said before hanging up.

Cade closed his cell and slipped it into his jean pocket, he smiled at Ginny casually, hoping she hadn't seen him on the phone.

“Hi,” she said. Her shoulder-length carrot-red hair was flowing healthily and her face was no longer covered in grimy soot. She looked different, but to say she looked like a completely different person, would be a lie. When he had found her, her clothes were a bit burned, she was covered in soot and her light red hair was sticky with blood and plastered to her face. But now, she was wearing flashy new clothes―Cade didn't even want to think about who Mario had gotten them from―her hair was curled and seemed longer, and her face was heavily primped. Her skin had a healthy, pampered shine to it. Even when he had first found her, when she was covered in soot and quite crispy, she'd had a certain feisty glow to her that had little to do with her appearance.

“Hey. Should we get going?” Cade offered.

“Sure,” she said uncomfortably, pulling down on her miniskirt, which barely reached her mid-thigh.

Cade scratched his head. He could immediately tell that his 'friend', Mario, had done much more than give her new clothes, and he guessed that a combination of a microscopic miniskirt and six-inch stiletto spike booties wasn't exactly her preferred style.

But, maybe it was for the best. Without Mario's 'pampering' Ginny would probably be freaking out right now.

Who wouldn't? Wouldn't everyone be freaked out by a mysterious guy―who you know nothing about―rescuing you from a fire, carrying you through the woods to the next town, trying to kidnap you and drive you to a deserted fairground in the middle of nowhere.

“Do I look like a 'Holly' now?” Ginny smiled, glancing down at her new outfit.

Cade smiled back. “Nah, of course not.” It was true. No matter what she wore, he didn't think Ginny could ever look like a 'Holly'. She had a certain pure, happy, spirited glow. It seemed like no one or nothing could ever destroy it, at least not permanently―but Cade knew better than to think such things.

“Thanks.” She kicked her booties off and propped her feet up on the dashboard. She glanced at him, waiting for his reaction.

He didn't react the way she expected though, he just smiled. On her right foot, was a white sock with fat, blue marshmallow unicorns covering it. On her left foot, was a black Walking Dead sock with gore and the word 'Walkers' printed on it.

She raised her eyebrows. “You're not one of those my-car-must-be-tidy-or-else freaks?”

“Do I really look like one?”

She shrugged, opening her window, letting the strong wind blow her strawberry blonde hair out behind her. “Clean freaks come in the strangest, most unexpected packages.”

“Someone should quote that.”

She bit down on her bottom lip, holding in a smile. “Are you going to pull out a notebook and write it down?”

“No. Do I look like someone who would write down a quote?”

“'Quoters' come in the strangest―”

“I said 'someone' as in, anyone but me.”

Ginny smiled again―lambent and beautiful, everything that Cade's life lacked.

He turned onto the main Connecticut highway and rolled down their windows.

“Look, I hate to do this, but... we really need to talk.” Cade said, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Isn't that what we're doing?” She wiggled her bizarrely-socked toes in the sun.

He was enjoying this light, comical conversation they had going, but he knew he needed to tell Ginny what was awaiting them on June 20th.

Just not now.

“So, what's with those socks, anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why aren't you wearing a matching pair? What's their story?” Cade asked, glancing at her quickly.

She laughed. “I don't know. I guess... I guess they symbolize the bad and the good in the world.”

“Have you ever heard of gray?”

Ginny glared at him. “Of course I have. I just... I don't believe it's a mixture. There's a very thick line between good and bad. There's no gray in the world. You have black, and you have white, two very different, separate colors.” She looked up at him, waiting for his response. “But I think it's your choice. You can choose: black or white. But there's no gray.”

Cade quickly averted his eyes from her face. He stared down at his hands on the wheel. She was right. He got the message. She was white, he was black, there would be no gray. He understood. She was right about everything, except for the last part; you can't choose.

Cade had never had a choice.