Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I smile at parents who walk by and pretend I’m not counting heads, tracking doors, and cataloging unfamiliar faces.
Buck’s near the main set of gym doors, dressed in slacks and a button-down that doesn’t hide the radio clipped at his waistband or the watchfulness in his eyes. Elena’s standing near T.J.’s display, smiling as he explains something about his volcano to Mae Whitaker and Ed Winslow.
My chest lightens for half a second as I take in the pink of Elena’s cheeks and the way her hair falls over her shoulders. She wore it loose tonight, and it reminds me of how she’s looked in more intimate moments.
Her laughter carries across the gym, and I’m smiling to myself when my radio crackles in my pocket. Calder’s voice, sharp and urgent, comes through. “Buck, movement east side—”
My whole body goes tight. I turn my head toward the door as Buck does the same thing from across the gym.
Then there’s a loud bang that turns everyone’s heads. It’s deeper and more contained than a gunshot, like a hard punch inside the walls. A second later, the fire alarm screams to life, and someone in the hallway shouts.
A hard, black push of smoke starts pouring in through the doors that lead to the cafeteria.
“Move!” My voice cuts over the alarm. “This way! Everybody out!” I gesture broadly to the gym doors that open directly outside.
Buck is doing the same on his end. “Leave everything! Parents, take your kids and move!”
The crowd jolts from confusion into panic, as adults grab for children, table legs scrape, and displays crash to the floor.
I get to Elena as the crowd begins to surge. She has T.J.’s hand in hers, but the look on her face tells me she’s not ready to abandon her principal role and wants to take responsibility for getting everyone out safely.
“Elena, outside—now.” I put a hand on T.J.’s shoulder and steer them toward the exit while scanning over their heads.
The crowd compresses toward the exterior doors. Some families have made it out, but too many people are still inside.
When a woman goes by, running in the wrong direction, I stop her, but she struggles, her eyes wide and frantic. “My daughter’s in the bathroom!”
“Which one?”
“By the cafeteria.”
Damn it. “Go outside,” I tell her. “We’ll get her.”
I urge both Elena and the woman toward the doors, and they start to argue with me, but I don’t give them room for it. “Go.”
Something in my face must make the point, because Elena nods once and directs both T.J. and the distraught mother toward the exit.
I pivot and run for the hall, where heat hits me before I reach it. The corridor between the gym and cafeteria is charged with smoke. One section of the wall is burning hard and low, flames licking up from the baseboard while thick black smoke banks down far too fast. Somebody tossed something nasty into the choke point and let panic do the rest.
Beyond the cafeteria doors, a refreshment table has been knocked over, cupcakes and spilled punch making a slick mess of the floor. Above me, the alarm pulses red through the haze.
There were far fewer people out here than in the gym, and it looks like most may have used the other exit down the hall past the restrooms, but a few people are still here, frantic and confused.
A gunshot cracks from outside, close and unmistakable.
Kozlov isn’t just burning the place, he’s using the evacuation.
“Calder?” I bark into the radio.
His response comes right away. “Two outside on the east side. One down. Second moving.”
Buck’s voice cuts in. “West, you get the civilians out and triage. I’m going after the shooters.”
Another shot rings in the distance along with the sound of broken glass, and I swallow the urge to charge in that direction.
People first. Always.
I pull my shirt collar over my nose, round up the people in the cafeteria, and direct them down the hall toward the doors.
In the restroom, two girls are huddled together, and a third is on the floor by the sinks, coughing and crying.
“It’s okay.” I drop low and reach out to her. “I’ve got you. Everybody with me.”
One of the girls launches at me. I scoop the one on the floor up under my arm and get the others moving with my free hand, steering them out as we stay crouched beneath the thickest layer of smoke.
By the time I get them outside, the parking lot has turned into a scene from hell, with clusters of parents clinging to their terrified kids, fire trucks and police cruisers, and an ambulance pulling in as a disorderly line of cars rushes to pull out.
The alarm is still screaming, smoke is still pumping from the school’s roofline, and there’s blood on the asphalt ten yards from the side of the building.