The Weight of Our Sky(63)

Around me, men look at each other questioningly, wondering what to do next. I close my eyes. I don’t really care anymore; I’ve said my piece, and the anger that was driving me has been extinguished. All I want now is some peace and quiet.

“Let’s go,” a low voice says gruffly in my ear, and I open my eyes with a start, my heart pounding. Frankie is crouched down beside me, grabbing me by the arm and helping me to my feet. “Wh-what?” “Who else is with you?” I gesture to the van, and in a second he’s yanked open the door and helping May and my mother, staggering slightly under the weight of Ethan, out. “Come on,” he says urgently. “Come on quickly, before they figure out how to react.”

The crowd parts slightly for us, still unsure of what to do, and we almost make it out when we hear it. “FRANKIE!” the man in white bellows, an angry vein pulsing in his forehead, his eyes bulging from their sockets. “Frankie, you traitor to your people, get back here!” Frankie ignores them, pushing forward, brandishing his club to ward off any would-be attackers.

The man’s yells break the spell, and suddenly the air grows thick with tension. The crowd’s low murmurs quickly grow into a roar. “Get your hands off our women, you pig!” one Malay man spits out, trying to grab me by the arm, and I quickly shake him off. Beside me, Mama is panting, trying to walk as quickly as she can with Ethan’s arms clasped around her neck. I grip May’s hand tightly and try to shield her little body with mine. “Keep going,” Frankie says quietly behind us, keeping his parang ready, steadily staring down the hostile crowd.

It’s impossible to tell who makes the first move. I hear the clash and scrape of metal and wood, and the crowd explodes. “Run!” I yell, tugging May’s arm so hard she almost falls over as we streak down the street, my feet pounding to the same rhythm as my heart. To my right, I see Mama, hanging on to Ethan, matching me step for step with a strength I didn’t realize she had. I’m not sure she realized she had it either. But we can’t run forever, and I can’t think of a plan above the shouts and the thuds and the clanks and the screams.

Just then, a car barrels down the road and comes to a screeching stop just ahead of us.

But not just any car.

A little gray Standard.

Before I have time to process this, the door is flung open and Vince emerges. “Come on, come on, quickly,” he says, taking Ethan from my mother and ushering us all into the car. “What are you doing here?” I ask him as I hoist May into the front seat, then slide in next to her. “Frankie,” he says shortly, grunting slightly as he tries to settle Ethan as comfortably as he can, my mother rushing around to the other side to help him. “He was supposed to come with us to Kelantan, but right before we left, he ran off. Ma and Ba got worried—Ma knew he was itching to join the fighting. They made me go out to find him.” He scowls, slamming the door shut. “Stupid idiot, making me waste time when I should be getting them somewhere safe. . . . Where is he?”

“He was behind us,” I say, twisting around to try and scan the crowd for him. Vince wipes the sweat from his forehead and nods. “Okay,” he says. “Lock the doors. Wait for me. I’m going to go look for him. If I’m not back in five minutes, or if it gets too dangerous, get out of here. Don’t wait.”

“Vince!” It’s too late. He’s slammed the door and gone before I know it. With trembling fingers, I reach forward and push down the lock, then do the same for all the other doors. The car has stopped, and it’s as if we’re all just holding our breath and counting down the minutes.

Counting. Counting would feel so good right now. My fingers twitch on my lap, eager to start tapping; I stuff them beneath me and tell my brain to shut up. Now isn’t the time to let the Djinn back in.

The minutes seem to stretch on forever, and the noise of the fighting behind us creeps closer and closer. Next to me, May fidgets nervously. “Melati,” my mother says, “maybe we should . . .”

“Another minute,” I snap back. “Just . . . give him another minute.”

The roar of the mob gets louder, closer.

“Melati.” Mama’s voice is firmer now, more insistent. “We need to go. We need to get out of here, get Ethan to the hospital.”

I draw in a deep, ragged breath. I know she’s right. I know we have to leave. But I can’t make myself say it. Instead, I just nod, and she gets out and slips into the front seat, gunning the engine. “Hang on, everyone,” she says, easing the car into the road.

BANG.

The noise makes all of us jump, and May shrieks, flinging herself into my arms and burrowing her face in my chest. It’s Vince, pounding against the window, leaving bloody handprints on every surface he touches. “Let us in!” he yells, and I open the door and leap out.

“Are you hurt?” I say, my eyes frantically raking his entire body for any signs of injury. He shakes his head. “Not me,” he says grimly. “Frankie.”

I finally tear my eyes away from him to look at Frankie, who is propped against his shoulder, and gasp. Blood flows freely from a gash on his stomach. It’s everywhere: smeared all over him, on Vince, dripping onto the pavement beneath them. Frankie’s struggling to keep his eyes open; his head dips and lolls as he drifts in and out of consciousness. “Come on,” I say, “We have to get him some help.”