Gasoline | Ben Parish

40

THE sprint into the demolished store front is a rush. The sniper must've had some idea that we were going to head for the better opportunity of cover because he opens fire the second we step out from our shitty side shelter. 

We move fast and low. More importantly, we move together. Our feet are fluid and in sync, mirroring the other's actions.

Our boots crunch over glass instead of snow when we jump through the smashed windows. The inside is musty and dim. A big emblem is painted on the floor, promoting the shop's name.

"Over there," Teacup whispers. She's pointing to a corner near the front entrance packed with... balloons?

"We need to send a message to Poundcake, right?" She's muttering quick and quiet. I have half of a mind to yell at her that the sniper probably can't hear us, but I don't want to deter her thought pattern right now. "Grab one of those bags of balloons."

I follow her orders silently, swiping the plastic bag and ripping it open. Colors fall across the floor and over my feet.

"Green, give me a green one," Teacup instructs as she drops onto her knees and rummages behind the counter.

Wordlessly, I pass her the selected one. Teacup places it on the counter before wrenching something heavy out from the built-in storage unit. Then she stops, staring at her feet. "I hope this works."

"What is it?" I finally speak, peering over the black counter.

It's a helium-filled tank.

I glance at Teacup and her plan comes together in my head. "You want to blow up a green balloon and use it as a signal for Poundcake to shoot the sniper?"

She shrugs. "You've got a better idea?"

"I thought I told you-"

"That was before a grenade nearly took off my foot," she says harshly. "I just want to make sure that Poundcake does his job."

There's no use in arguing with her anymore, otherwise I'll probably get mad and clock her. I let her stretch the balloon over the nozzle and fill the thing with helium.

"Okay..." Teacup struggles to tie the end but eventually gets it into a successful knot. "I really hope this works."

"Me too," I grumble.

We trod back to the front entrance, me with my rifle and Teacup with her green balloon.

Carefully, she steps out into the snow. She glances around and then edges a little farther.

"What the hell are you doing?" I hiss.

She glares at me. "I want to make sure that it gets out."

I roll my eyes.

Teacup slowly lets go of her message and then scurries back to my side. She left her rifle on the counter; she retrieves it and then waits.

The balloon rises swiftly, tossed in a jagged pattern due to the wind. I see Cup cross her fingers.

When the balloon reaches the third level of the parking garage, it pops.

Because someone shot it.

There's another small burst of gunfire, but it's not from the sniper.

Our message was received.