There were fires to be put out. Literally.
When we got to the bottom of the hill, five cars were in flames. Zellman had gone all out. Most people had scattered. We were behind the rush, so I couldn’t imagine what it had looked like when everyone hit the lot. The cops were coming, I was sure—we were lucky they weren’t there already.
As soon as I got to the parking lot, Zellman pounded the top of Jordan’s truck. “Bren! Hurry up.”
Cross was in the back with Zellman in the front, waving through the window. Jordan was at the wheel. They couldn’t get to me. There were too many vehicles and people in the way, so I veered around, motioning to the north end of the lot. They met me, gunning the engine and jerking to a stop right in front. I grabbed hold of the bed and jumped. Cross reached for me
