The Outliers (The Outliers, #1)(81)

Quentin heads over to the wall, to where we removed the plywood. With his back turned to us, he stares down at the long, thin hole in the wall. I step then between Quentin and the door. Between him and my friends. Because it’s me that he wants. And maybe this is how all of this is—how I am—supposed to end. I have to believe I will find a way to escape somehow. And if I cannot, that feels like it might be okay. Because I may not know who I am anymore. But I do know one thing: I am done being afraid.

“Let Cassie and Jasper go and I’ll do whatever you want,” I say.

“Wylie.” Cassie’s voice wavers. She can see what I’m doing now. Can tell that I am planning to sacrifice myself so that they can run.

“I’ll teach you whatever you want,” I go on, moving closer to Quentin.

I’m amazed at how convincing I sound, like I really might know how to teach anyone anything. But it’s harder to keep my composure once Quentin turns around and locks eyes with me. It isn’t until then that I feel the full weight of his emptiness. His insides are a hole. His heart a cliff. And I’m about to slip into the abyss.

“I can’t let them go, Wylie,” he says calmly, like it’s just the unfortunate truth. One that he and I must face together. “Not now.” He lifts his head, looks vaguely toward the road, the woods. “It wouldn’t be safe anyway—not with North Point.”

“Oh, come on,” Jasper shouts. “There’s nobody coming!”

“I wish they weren’t, believe me,” Quentin says with a calm shake of his head. “Some of them are here already. Fiona has a bullet wound to prove it.” But the way he says it makes me feel like Cassie was probably right: Quentin was responsible for that too. He turns then and crouches down in front of that thin hole in the cabin wall. “I’ve always thought that the only thing worse than having no way out is falsely believing that you do.”

I hear a faint sound then near the door, Stuart’s voice maybe, talking to Lexi? Jasper coughs to cover the sound. Lexi doing as she promised, getting Stuart off the door. This is it. We can’t wait any longer. This is our chance. Quentin is still crouched down, looking at the carefully cut rectangle in the wall. He is distracted enough to buy a moment. I turn to Jasper and Cassie.

“Go,” I mouth at them. “Now.”

Maybe I will even be fast enough to follow before Quentin grabs me. Do I believe that? No, not really. But somebody has to get away. And part of me died the day my mom did. Maybe this is a sign that it’s finally time for the rest of me to go.

What happens next happens so fast. And none of it is what I intended. None of it is what I wanted.

The cabin door does not fly open. I do not watch Cassie and Jasper disappear out into the night. It’s Cassie who moves first, and so fast. But not toward the door like she’s supposed to. Instead, she lunges to the side and grabs up one of the lanterns. A second later she swings it high overhead, then smashes it to the ground between Quentin and me.

And I think: What? Why?

Quentin seems to think the same as he stands and we all stare down at the small pile of broken glass, and the silly little blue flame sputtering in its midst. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks Cassie, amused almost.

Jasper speaks next. Because he doesn’t understand either. “Cassie, what are you—”

But then she spins to face me, puts a hand in the center of my chest, and shoves. Hard. As I stumble back, I catch a whiff of the smell. The jeans and coat she never changed out of are still tinged with gasoline.

Suddenly, I understand everything. “Cassie, no!”

But it’s too late. The rest is slow and terrible. Impossible to believe even though I am staring right at it. And her.

“Go!” Cassie screams again, as she steps forward into the flame and the edge of her coat catches fire.

“No!” I rush toward her. But her body is already engulfed in flame. And it’s—she’s so hot, even from a couple of feet away. I can feel my eyelashes being singed as I move closer. I hold my hands up in front of my face. But it’s no use. My palms have already started to burn.

The worst part is the silence. Her silence. The only sound the crackle of things bursting into flame. And Cassie doesn’t cry out. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t move. It’s almost as if she’s escaped somehow, slipped out into the cloud of smoke above. But then suddenly, she collapses to her knees.

“Stuart!” Quentin shouts as the couch next to him catches fire, and some paper on the other side of him. He is trapped by flames on every side.

“Oh shit!” A voice from behind the door. Stuart rushes past, grabbing up a blanket to smother the fire.

And then I am jerked backward, dragged away from the smoke toward the door. I am kicking, fighting to be let go.

We have to do something. We have to save her, I think, even though I know it’s already too late.

“Come on, Wylie!” It’s Jasper shouting in my ear. Pulling me out. His voice is high and tight like a terrified little boy. “We have to go!”





Outside, we run. It’s cold and dark and the air smells burnt. Of flesh. And of death. Of Cassie on fire. The smell is coming off me. Seeping out of my pores. I gag hard as we rush across the pitch-black, damp grass toward the even darker woods. No moon tonight, no stars. Like the universe has folded in on itself and disappeared. There are tears in my eyes and a burning in my chest as we run. No, I think again. That did not just happen. None of this is real. And my legs are so heavy suddenly, too heavy to move.