Chapter 133
- Evan -
We didn't waste any time.
Uncle drove the van as it rattled like bolts wanting to remember their freedom, but the engine held on. Duke sat in the passenger seat, arms folded tight, half asleep. He was the only one of us who didn't sleep for days. Not sure how angels work, but being in a human form for so long must be tiring. He still looked like a loaded gun ready to go off and spring into action if the situation called for it. The rest of us were wedged in the back with gear that clicked every time the van hit a pothole—which was constantly, since the dome had not been kind to the roadworks delays in repairs and the city's other distractions.
Micah leaned against James, looking out the window as the city slid past: once-happy, playful people filled neighborhoods that were now dead, quiet ghost towns. Uptown lights flickering, streets half lit, half dead.
Missing posters of children were still taped on lamp posts. Some were peeling now, edges curled from sun and damp. I felt something twist in my chest.
No kids had gone missing since Thomas. Thankfully, we got to him and brought him back to safety before they could even print a poster.
That was a good thing.
But it meant whoever had taken him and the other children had been waiting for something.
And what was worse... We didn't pull into the youth center parking lot. No one trusted open ground anymore.
Uncle parked two blocks away for a stay, sliding the van into the shadows of an old auto shop sign.
"I'll call him and let him know we are here," Micah said.
But the phones didn't work.
We forgot for a second.
"Are you okay, Micah?" I asked.
"Yeah, just a bit sleep deprived; I'll catch up mentally in a second. I know what I did was dumb with the dome."
"Eh, we all have our moments regardless of sleep," Josh joked.
It hit all of us—that strange, sudden ache—remembering what normal used to mean.
Uncle didn't comment. He simply stepped out of the van and whistled once—low, sharp, a signal.
We didn't ask how Tomoo would hear it. We just waited.
Tomo stepped out from behind the corner of the old laundromat like he'd been carved out of the brick itself. Big guy, arms thick, shoulders still built like someone who'd survived by needing to look unbreakable. But his eyes—his eyes looked like something had been scooped out and replaced with guilt.
His hands were wrapped. Not because he was training.
Because he'd been punching something.
I thought back to the time I got mad at Kaysi's ex-boyfriend for almost beating her when she broke up with him. She stood there like she was weak and defenseless, as if she would accept her pain, her fate. It hurt me to see her like that. Now she's so much stronger and will fight even when she has taken a beating and is recovering in the hospital. Looking back, she doesn't look like the girl who would stand there and take a beating. But she is still the same kind Kaysi that wrapped my hand after I put it through the solid steel gym doors.
He looked like he might have been hitting walls and doors himself... But that didn't matter.
He walked up to us slowly, like every step cost him a thought.
Micah was already out of the van. "Tomo!" She yelled at him like she had seen a long-lost relative, but with Uncle's reputation, everyone around him is family.
He managed a smile, but it didn't touch his eyes. "Micah, you grew up—Mini Moo!"
"Mini moo?" Josh questioned.
"Yeah, she used to be a cute, chunky baby with a stuffed cow she carried everywhere called Mini Moo—ow."
Micah elbowed him in the ribs.
"I see you've been training and staying in shape too," Tomo said with one eye closed and a smile.
We arrived back at the van—
—and that's when a bottle hit the pavement.
Glass shattered behind him, a Molotov.
An angry voice in the mob shouted.
"There he is! That's him! That's the one who let the kids go!"
In the crowd, six hooded figures stood. "That looks like some of the people from the same group that attacked Thomas Kaysi and me," Josh informed us.
They tried to blend in, wearing masks and wrapped scarves to hide their faces, but the hoods had the same design Josh told us about earlier.
They moved fast.
Tomo didn't hesitate. He didn't look ready to fight.
He didn't even stand in a defensive posture.
Just like Kaysi, he looked already defeated, tired, and like he was ready to expect a hit.
I swore under my breath, "Damn it."
Uncle calmly yelled, his voice cutting through the air, "Get in the van."
Tomo hesitated.
I looked at Tomo and grabbed him, throwing us both into the van. Josh grabbed the door, slammed it shut, and locked it.
I watched from the windows, and everyone took their stand.
The first masked attacker lunged toward the van—
—and Uncle grabbed him by the collar and redirected him into the side of a parked car. Not theatrical. Not flashy. Efficient. Controlled.
The others stopped for a half second in shock.
Duke was already cracking his knuckles when Micah threw a sharp gust of wind, knocking a few to the ground. Baby waited for a person to come close, with a look on her sleep-deprived face that said, "I will not hesitate to take someone across the street on the face."
Uncle jumped into the driver's seat and started the engine—just as one of the masked men pulled out a gun from his coat.
"Everyone IN!"
This wasn't a fair fight that looked like it could be reasoned; it was a murder waiting to happen.
We didn't argue. As soon as Josh opened the doors, he slammed them shut as the last of our party entered.
The mob surged.
The first strike was against the windshield—something hard, maybe a rock. The safety glass spiderwebbed.
The van lurched forward.
Not fast.
Not jerking.
Smooth.
Smooth in a way that felt wrong.
Like Uncle had done this exact thing, under exact pressure, before.
The masked group gave chase—on foot at first, then two jumped into a beat-up sedan parked at the curb.
Micah twisted toward the back window. "They're following!"
Uncle turned at the next intersection—a tight turn, just avoiding a row of barricades. The van skidded but never once lost traction. Duke braced himself with one hand on the dashboard, watching the angles, impressed despite his driving skills.
"Uncle," I said slowly. "You...uh...drive really well." Trying to stay respectful and not say what I really thought. You're a badass.
He didn't answer. He didn't need to. He checked the rearview—calculated as he shifted weight.
Tapping the brakes once—precise—forcing the sedan behind us to swerve to avoid rear-ending us.
Then he took a corner that no standard van should have been able to take.
Baby grabbed the seat in front of her. "Where did you learn to drive like this!?"
Uncle's jaw ticked once. "I used to have to handle... responsibilities for people."
Duke turned. Softly, not mocking, not prying.
"Before you had a family and the bakery?"
Uncle didn't blink. "Yes."
The sedans gained again, and they tried to box us in. One of them went to our left, and we could see two figures. One leaned out of the window, holding chains, as they swung them like grappling hooks, trying to catch the bumper or the mirrors.
Josh curses. "If they wrap the axle—"
"I know," Uncle said.
BANG!
A gun went off in the second sedan just out of sight, caught up when we were occupied, and shot a gun. The bullet just grazed Uncle's forearm as they fired.
He braked—hard.
The sedan overshot.
"Uncle! You're bleeding!" Micah cried.
Then he floored it. "I will be fine; it's just a flesh wound. Let's get to safety first.
We passed the sedans while they were still distracted.
Duke let out a low whistle. "Okay, I take back any time I may have called you old."
"You're my age, Duke."
"No, I am only 35; I just lived a long life—very long."
Uncle tried to smile, but it was weak.
His eyes locked on the road ahead as we finally lost the mobsters.
The youth center, the accusations, the guilt, the demon—all of it—hung in our minds like cold breath breathing down our necks—we were all tense.
Tomo finally broke, voice cracked.
"I didn't let the kids go. I didn't... I failed to protect them... I couldn't stop them or the children from being misguided.
"What fully happened?" Micah asked.
"It started with one girl, and she led the other children. A woman came in, claimed to be new staff, and told the kids we were going on a field trip. The one little girl helped some of the kids who doubted and were unsure. They got on the bus, and we never saw them..."
Micah turned in her seat. "Tomo—she and the other children were being targeted; you couldn't have known."
"NO," Tomo rasped. "I know, I know in my head, but shame doesn't live in the head."
We understood that too well.
Uncle slowed blocks as we were blocks away, deep in the side street that most people didn't know existed.
The back entrance to the bakery.
Tomo looked at the bakery like he was looking at a bomb waiting to go off.
Uncle turned in his seat, meeting his eyes.
"You're staying here, laying low for right now." Uncle contended before Tomo had a chance to say a word.
Tomo swallowed hard.
"…Okay."
Duke nodded, "We will be back when things settle and we have some leverage."
Josh raised an eyebrow. "So...we're going to get leverage on the mayor now?
I looked at Josh, but I think we knew the answer.
Uncle was invited to a community dinner. This was a tactic to get on the people's good side. The mayor's term was almost up, and things didn't look good for his vote. But this gave the opportunity to get answers from him instead of going on a manhunt.
The community dinner was packed, and we wore our best suits to fit in without standing out too much.
There was no cheer, and most people were unfriendly. This dinner was more of a joke, even to half of the supporters.
Half the place was packed with people who were desperate for answers, not a political dinner.
The tables were cheap, fold-out ones. Half the place was fashioned, probably not expecting the dome to last as long as it did. The mayor's hands nervously shook like a parody of a campaign commercial.
His smile was too bright, too fake.
His aura was wrong.
A black smoke curled around him, and a small demon perched on his shoulder. Long fingers curled the back of his skull like a crown.
I felt bile rise.
Micah reached out, squeezing my wrist. "Evan...?"
"I know." We both saw it.
"It is definitely attached to him." Baby mentioned, "I can't remove this one without harming the host. Only the host can release themselves from a demon such as this."
Uncle stepped up to the podium, not because he was invited, but because someone had to.
His voice wasn't loud. And security lacked the manpower to take him off the stage. Anyone who tried, we stood guard to stop them.
His voice wasn't loud—but it carried.
"We have lost many people since the sealing of the dome. Some of you have lost children. Some of you have lost faith in yourself and your neighbors. But I need all of you to understand something—"
The room went still.
Duke lowered his head, scanning the room for rioters or mobsters.
Josh went silent, focusing on Uncle's protection.
Micah held her breath, knowing Uncle was painting a target on his back.
"We. Are. Still. Here."
Everyone was locked into his words like they were the last before a march.
"The ones who started this want control, order, whether they be men or monsters, or something in between; they want us to falter. Want us isolated. Want us divided. But we do not fall apart. Not no. Not when our lives and others hang in the balance. We matter, and you matter. We fight for the ones we lost and for the ones still to keep safe."
He said, looking over at his niece, Micah.
"We hold the line—together to push back the darkness."
Uncle has always been a light in our community, looking out for others. Even now, dim light shines in this profound darkness.
The mayor stepped forward, smiling broadly and forcedly.
"Well spoken," he said smoothly. "But what this city needs is progress, not time holding on to things of the past." Infrastructure. Completion of our new development project. Once that's done, the dome will fall. The situation will resolve. We are on the brink of resurrection—"
"No, we're on the brink of another collapse," I snapped.
Heads turned.
The mayor tilted his head. "I'm sorry!?"
I stepped forward.
"We were at the construction site." I forced the words through my teeth. Too much had boiled to the surface; I couldn't just stand by and observe anymore. "The one your office claims is stable and nearly complete!"
Silence.
"It's gone. Machinery has gone into the unknown. Workers injured. Some lost... " My voice cracked a bit. "You're not telling people the truth. And whatever you're planning next will make it worse, I am sure."
The demon on his shoulder leaned in closer to his ear.
No one else saw that I was unsure if he knew it was there.
But the mayor smiled.
"We appreciate your concern. We will take that into careful consideration."
Uncle tried to reason with the mayor, who seemed to have once shared a personal relationship with him, whispering loudly enough for him to hear. "Meliseo, you're better than this..."
He didn't bat an eye at his uncle's personal attempt to reconnect with his humanity.
That was his way of dismissal.
The crowd didn't know what to do.
Uncle rested his hand on my shoulder.
"We said all that we could and needed to say," he whispered, trying to bring me comfort.
As we all turned to leave, I swung around one last time and clipped him with a punch to the face, splitting the corner of his lip.
"Evan!" Josh grabbed my shoulders and gave me a shove out the door.
That was a show. When we got outside, Josh smiled. I could see him making a joke: "You beat me to the punch."
"We need to get ready. They are not going to stop now."
The demon smiled with the mayor as his eyes flashed before the doors closed shut.
And somewhere across the city—
I could feel an energy breathing in the air again. A portal may be hungry, waiting to feed again.