An Excerpt from The Twirl

“Out of the fires of desperation burn hope and solidarity.”

-Sharan Burrow

Here is an excerpt of my book I wrote - The Twirl. No background information, no synopsis, just words on paper. Enjoy.

“Axel.” A voice tugs at me, trying to pull me out of my dreams. I resist.

“Axel!” I’m ripped from my dreams, yanked up by Dad’s grabbing of my shirt. “We have company.” His voice is low, barely more than a breath.

My pulse kicks hard. Hazel flashes through my mind. I spin toward her, but Danny has already had that pleasure. Moonlight slices down to us, catching the tense crease in her brow, the flick of her eyes. Her swiveling head is looking in every direction. Her worry amps up my distress.

I tear my eyes from Hazel and face Dad. “Who’s here? And where?”

His jaw tightens. “It must be the Blackout Crew,” he murmurs. “Three, maybe four. They’ve been circling for a while.” His gaze darts all around us. “They stay in the shadows—I can’t spot them.”

Danny motions us in. He whispers, “Everyone, around the bush.” He’s steady—more than the rest of us.

We huddle close, shuffling behind the bush. One by one, we shift until we’re in a tight circle, backs nearly touching.

“Don’t break off,” Danny whispers. “If someone’s left behind…they won’t make it. Got it?”

No words, just sharp nods in the moonlight.

I glance at Danny and spot something glinting in his hand—a knife. When did he get that? No time to ask. With a twist of his wrist, he signals. We shift as one, rotating the circle until we’re all facing out. My senses flare. I hawk the area, head snapping from shadow to shadow, but there’s nothing—no movement, no shapes. 

Beside me, Dad raises his gun, steady but tense. Maybe the sight of it will make them think twice.

“Stay low. Stay quiet,” Danny whispers.

We crouch to the ground, fear nipping at our insides. This is different—our first real encounter outside the safety of the house. Before, the Visitors were distant. Contained outside the walls. But this is real. Nothing shields us—no house, no walls, no hiding. It’s just us against them.

A sharp gasp slices through the silence. Hazel. She’s being dragged—hands locked under her arms, yanking her backward. Her head jerks side to side, feet flailing. She digs her heels into the dirt, but it gives way beneath her. Whoever’s got her is too strong. I lunge for my walking stick.

“Hazel!” I shout, the word tearing out of me, exposing us all.

Wham.

A fist slams into my jaw—I never see it coming. I hit the ground hard, my stick flying from my hand. My head smacks the dirt—once, twice. I push up, trying to get my bearings, but my legs buckle and drop me back down. The sky spins overhead, stars whirling like they're caught in a storm. I try to stand again. No good. I shake my head, forcing the blur away. Slowly, the world steadies. Then I see the movement—figures running, voices shouting.

Chaos has begun.

I grope blindly for my stick, but it’s gone. Panic spikes. No sign of Hazel anywhere. The shouts and footsteps drown everything out. I can’t hear her gasping voice anymore. Has she been taken? Or worse…did they hurt her?

I turn—Dad and a Blackout Crew member are locked together, crashing to the ground in a tangle of fists and limbs.

My head pans vigorously, searching for the gun, but I can’t spot it anywhere. More shouts have me whipping my head in a different direction. It’s Danny, full weight on top of one of the gang members, thrashing him to shreds. One punch—another—another. Blow after blow to his face. The abuse takes on a rhythmic beat—completely knocking the member unconscious, red seeps from the gashes on his face, trickling onto the dirt he lies on.

I’m frozen, just watching it all unfold. I force myself to my feet, the world tilting as I fight off the dizziness. Danny rushes now to Dad’s aid, helping him with another Crew member. They are gaining the upper hand now—two of them are no match for just one member. 

Dad pins the man down while Danny does what he does best—savagery. He shows no remorse. He winds his arms back, fist clenched tight, and lets loose. The crunching of the members' nose makes me squirm. Screams of agony don’t stop Danny. He stomps on the man’s knees. More excruciating screams. I don’t watch what’s happening anymore. It’s…brutal.

I shift. Hazel—I need to find her.

Muffled gasps and frantic mumbling snap my attention sideways. It’s close. It sounds like someone’s trying to silence Hazel. Then a sudden scream tears through the chaos, sharp and wild. 

“Axel, help!”

Her voice cuts through the noise, and I bolt. Instinct takes over. The fear of the Blackout Crew fades—I only see Hazel. I just need her safe. 

I sprint toward Hazel’s voice, the world swirling as I sway from side to side—my head still foggy from the blow. She’s running, and someone is gaining on her. I dig deeper, legs pumping, then dive low, arms wrapping around the gang member’s legs. We crash—he hits the dirt face-first. 

In a blink, he flips over, his face inches from mine. We grapple in the dust, fists flying. I finally land a clean hook to his temple. His head jerks to the side. If this is the guy who clocked me earlier, I just got a little payback. 

Hazel spots me wrestling him down and rushes in, dropping beside me to help pin him. My hand throbs from the punch, a deep, pulsing ache I try to push aside. I glance around, wishing for something—anything—to tie him up, to incapacitate him, to keep him from lashing out again.

With my knees pressed into his chest, I lean over him to pin his wrists above his head. I glance at Hazel, then back down at him. He’s older than us—but younger than Dad—maybe mid-thirties. Not built for this. Sweat slicks his face, soaking into the grime on his shirt. He bucks beneath me, straining, but there’s no strength behind it—just panic. 

Hazel and I lock eyes. She drops onto his legs, helping me hold them down in case adrenaline gives him a second wind. 

“What do you want with us?” I snap.

No response. 

I lean in, our faces inches apart, breath mingling in the heat between us. 

“Who are you?” I shout, my voice raw.

Before the man can speak, a gunshot cracks through the night. My gut drops—Dad. I jerk my head up, scanning the darkness. Hazel does the same. 

We see nothing. Just black. The gang member twists hard, tossing us off, and scrambles to his feet. I pull Hazel up fast and step in front of her, bracing for the next hit. But he darts—running flat-out in the opposite direction, limbs flailing like a man running in fear. We could hunt him down. Easily. But there’s no time. We’ve got bigger things to worry about.

Hazel and I sprint toward the sound of the gunshot, dread pounding every step closer. Flashes of Dad lying motionless flood my mind. 

But as we round the corner, relief crashes into me—Dad and Danny are standing, in control. A man’s on the ground, wrists bound tight with rope.

“What happened?” I ask, breathless.

“We heard a gunshot,” Hazel adds, eyes peering at their faces.

“We’re both fine,” Dad reassures us. “He got control of my gun momentarily, but Danny and I were able to fend him off.” He glances at Danny—just a flick of the eyes—but the gratitude is clear. Looks like Danny did most of the work. Dad turns back to Hazel and me. “He fired into the sky. No one was hit.”

The gang member lies in the center of our circle, wrists bound above his head. Dad and Danny stand over him, one foot on his chest, the other on his lower stomach—pinning him like a caught animal.

“Are you guys okay?” Danny asks, eyes bouncing between Hazel and me.

“Yeah,” I say for the both of us. “We fought one off— he ran that way.” I gesture toward where he disappeared. “We only have two of them accounted for. Where are the others?”

“Gone,” Danny says. “The one who busted your nose took off right after he hit you—ran off with some woman. You two handled the fat guy. This one’s all we had left.”

“We lost him,” I admit. “Had him down, but the gunshot threw us off. He slipped free.” I drop to my knees in front of him. “Who are you?” 

Nothing. Not a blink, not a flinch.

I press on. We need answers. “Are you the Blackout Crew? What do you want from us?” 

He shakes his head—slow, desperate—like he’s trying to say something.

Dad steps forward, peels the duct tape from his mouth, then hauls him upright.

“No, we aren’t them,” the man gasps. “Look, we’re starving, we just…we didn’t know what else to—”

Slit.

Danny’s blade cuts clean, straight through the heart.