False Gods | The Prime Archives #3 ✓

twenty-five

Driving one-handed always looked easy in the movies.

Oscar quickly found out it wasn't. Though, he figured his bleeding arm—courtesy of a javelin nearly ripping through his forearm—had something to do with it. Blood was getting all over the cream-colored seats, which had previously been in mint condition. Sister Maria must've paid a fortune for the whole thing. He still wondered how she had gotten it.

He wouldn't be able to ask her, though. He'd never know how she was able to afford that beautiful, crimson Mustang. He couldn't ask her about her life before she became a nun. There would be no more pozole after Sunday Service or annoying words of wisdom whenever he messed up.

There wouldn't be anything from her. She was gone.

Atlas took her from him. Just like they took everything else.

A snarl grabbed his mouth and twisted his lips. His long hair fell into his paling face as he continued down the street.

He hoped Stella whoever that Prime with her was got killed in the blast. Though, he had a feeling they were still alive. That didn't matter, though. He would see them again. And when he did, they wouldn't survive.

He would make sure of it.

Above him, the sun was beginning to come up. He felt the early morning rays tickling his clammy skin. Night was long gone, the only remnants of that dark period being the fading, midnight blue veil in the sky. He could already feel the Californian heat beginning to set in around him. The state didn't seem to know what winter was.

He glanced at the seat beside him. Xiomara was fast asleep, her head resting against the passenger side window.

She had been crucial in their escape from the motel. After he blasted a hole in the wall of their rented room, they had been stopped by some girl with weather powers. Oscar figured she was one of Atlas' new recruits. He wasn't sure how, but Xiomara had used her powers to heat up the air around them, rendering the weather girl's storm cloud useless.

He didn't even know that was an ability she had. Up until now, he had been operating under the notion they shared the same powers. It was clear that wasn't the case. As he peered down at her, he wondered what other secrets she held within.

As he straightened the steering wheel in his grasp, he winced. A shooting pain ravaged his arm. He had a piece of cloth he found in the glove compartment tied around his wound, but his blood had soaked through it ages ago. The feeling was beginning to disappear; pins and needles scaled up the appendage.

He feared too much blood had been lost.

Wiggling his fingers weakly, he let out a breath of relief. He hadn't lost total control of his arm. Not yet, at least.

He needed to get to a gas station. Perhaps he could find a first aid kit there.

Grimacing, he continued driving down the road.

He still couldn't believe it.

A spear? Seriously, cabron?

He couldn't fathom why a Prime who could fly at the speed of sound and catch a semi-truck with his bare hands would need to fight with any type of weapon.

When he first saw the guy stop that truck in the middle of the street, he couldn't believe his eyes. He had seen Chase lift plenty of heavy objects, but he hadn't quite seen anything like that before.

That Prime, whatever his name was, was the real deal. Had it not been for his lucky diversion, he wasn't sure how he and Xiomara were going to get away.