Time Bomb

  Once again, Diana looked out the window to see what was happening. She wondered whether Tim was there with her father, trying to move the pieces on the board.

  Seven people were trapped in this room. Odds were that there were still more people in other parts of the building. Diana glanced at Kaitlin and had to wonder how many were like this girl whose eyes stared at the ceiling as she gasped for air. Most everyone should have been out of the building when the first bomb went off. But people had still died, and the three firefighters caught in the last blast might not live.

  Diana walked closer to the window while a commercial for insurance played on the radio.

  “How about we put anything we find that can be useful in the center of the room? Like our captain said earlier, nothing is too crazy to consider,” Diana said, giving Frankie a sweet smile, even though his handsome face made her want to scream. “We can listen to the news while we’re doing that. And maybe, since Cas isn’t up to moving around a lot, she can make another sign with all of our names on it.”

  “Why?” Rashid’s head snapped up.

  “To let the firefighters know we relocated from the third floor down here with you. If they’re given the go ahead to enter the building again, we want them to know where we are.”

  Without waiting for approval, Diana grabbed a poster off the wall, found a black marker in the teacher’s desk, and handed it to Cas. Then she walked over to the middle of the room where Frankie had shoved back a few desks to clear a space on the floor for dumping anything useful they found. So far there were two short extension cords, a couple of rolls of burlap-looking twine, and some metal rulers.

  “Not a lot to work with so far,” she commented. Frankie glanced at her and shrugged.

  He’d asked her out a bunch of times, and she’d dodged at first because she knew his reputation with girls. No one went out with Frankie Ochoa without putting out. Everyone knew that.

  So when she finally decided she wanted to break free of her perfect mold, he was the ideal choice. Their first date was a movie. The movie sucked, but making out with Frankie more than made up for it. She’d actually looked forward to seeing him at her father’s Fourth of July party. Only not long after he arrived, Frankie told her he was going to the bathroom, and he never came back. No explanation. No apology.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out,” Frankie said. “I’m not the giving-up type.”

  “Yes, you are,” she said as Cas asked Z for Kaitlin’s last name and for his real one.

  “Alex Vega. And hers is O’Malley. Kaitlin O’Malley,” Z said as Frankie turned away from Diana. As if who she was wasn’t important enough to matter. Just as Diana’s father had so often done with her.

  Well, Diana thought, they were wrong. They were both very wrong.

  Cas finished writing. Diana helped put tape on the back of the sign while trying to decide what her next move should be. She didn’t like waiting around, hoping things would turn out the way she wanted. She needed to do something.

  The poster ripped as Diana yanked it through the narrow opening and finally was able to slap it to the brick wall next to the window. She ran her hand over the front to get the thing to stick as best she could, then waved out the window at the people standing in the parking lot. The wind pulled at the paper, and Diana knew it wouldn’t stay in place for very long, but it would be long enough for the cameras to record the names. Then when the wind blew the paper off the wall, reporters would capture that image, too. It would make for a poignant moment of television. They would show the image over and over again while they read the names of those who were trapped inside, begging for help. Tim always said the framing of her father’s narrative was just as important as the message. It was why Diana always had to look perfectly all-American. A picture was worth a thousand words, because rarely did anyone bother to read the words that went with the picture. It was the picture that drove them to action.

  “Why do you dislike Frankie?” Cas asked.

  “What do you mean?” Diana kept her eyes directed out the window, but inside, she went still. “I like him fine. Everyone does.”

  “You sound annoyed whenever you talk to him, and you looked worried when he got near your backpack.”

  “Maybe you heard me being stressed when I talked to Frankie,” Diana deflected. “Or maybe you’re just upset because you told me something you wish you hadn’t.” Cas looked away, and Diana lowered her voice to ask, “You said you came to school to die. How did you plan on doing it? Do you have a gun with you?”

  Once again, Cas pulled her own bag close against her side. It looked mostly empty, but clearly there was still something inside.

  The fear in Cas’s eyes was all the answer Diana needed.

  Diana glanced over her shoulder out the window, then turned back. “I think they’ve seen the sign,” she said loud enough to make sure everyone in the room could hear. Cas directed her attention toward the window, and Diana tried to decide what to do next.

  Tim would have an idea. But as much as her father listened to advice, he was the one who made the tough calls. If her father could do it, she could too.

  The rest of the group hurried toward the window to look as the radio news anchor reported that firefighters were still battling the blaze and explosive experts were using all methods open to them to get in and rescue those still trapped in the building—seven of whom were located on the second floor.

  “. . . Members of the senator’s staff have suggested that the target of today’s ongoing attack is Senator Sanford’s daughter, Diana. While authorities will not confirm that speculation, Senator Sanford has been under attack from many who believe his Safety Through Education bill will usher in what has been called a new version of McCarthyism.”

  “Well,” Diana said, “at least they know where we are now. My father says—”

  “No one gives a damn what your father says!” Z spun to face her. “From what that announcer is saying, it’s because of your father that we’re in this mess.”

  Diana stepped forward. “My father had nothing to do with this. He’s working to make the country safer.”

  “I’d say if he’s trying to make things safer, he’s already failed.”

  “It’s not like he made the bombs that blew up this place.” Tad jumped into the fray.

  “Which means what? That he isn’t responsible?” Z ignored Tad and leaned toward Diana. “Politicians are never to blame, right? It’s never their fault when people do the stuff they encourage because, hey, they didn’t actually do it themselves. Your father is telling kids to judge each other, but he’s trying to pretend it’s all about safety. I’m sure he won’t be responsible, either, when teachers get rid of students who don’t behave exactly the way they want by reporting so-called dangerous behavior or when students start taking matters into their own hands and start hurting each other.”

  “My father isn’t saying he wants anyone to get hurt.”

  “Of course he is.” Z laughed. “Teachers already hate me because of my tattoos and my hair. Now they have a great way to dump me from their classroom. And how long will it be before kids get jumped just for being different or because they’re having a bad day? After all, your father and his law said it was okay.”

  “That’s not what—”

  “Your father’s law is supposed to be for?” Z cut her off. “Yeah, like no one’s heard that before. How about Tad here? Wanna bet people already look at him sideways because he’s black? How long do you think it will take for some idiot to report him based on that alone?”

  She dug her nails into her palms.

  “And what about Rashid?” Z took a step toward her. “He’s Muslim. Don’t you think someone is going to find that scary for no reason? Or Cas here. She looks defensive. Could be she’s hiding something. Or maybe there’s some other kid looking to take that quarterback spot. Wow. What do you know? Suddenly Frankie is a suspicious character and his whole life should be turned inside out. That sounds
great, don’t you think, everyone?”

  “That’s not what my father is saying,” Diana snapped.

  Z took another step closer. “No? Then maybe you aren’t listening. The nicer the words sound, the worse it always is.”

  “My father wants to make the world safer.”

  “God bless America, where we turn everyone against each other to keep us safe. Screw trust and friendship.” Z spun around and pointed at Tad and Cas and Frankie. “How safe would you really feel if you were surrounded by spies ready to jump on anything you say or do? I’d rather get blown to bits right now if—”

  “Quiet!”

  Diana and Z turned toward Rashid, who had jumped up from his stool and put his ear near Kaitlin’s mouth. After a second, he yelled, “She’s stopped breathing. Help me!” Only he didn’t wait for anyone before climbing up on the table and straddling Kaitlin. He put his hands on her chest and started pushing against her again and again and again.

  Diana stepped back as Z tripped over a fallen chair and yelled, “What do we do?”

  “Put your hand on her forehead and gently push it back,” Rashid said, never stopping the pulsing burst of pressure on Kaitlin’s chest. “We have to keep her airway open.”

  Z’s hand shook as he touched Kaitlin’s forehead. His face was almost white as Rashid told him to get her mouth open. Z was a jerk, but he cared about Kaitlin. So did Rashid, and he didn’t know the girl.

  Rashid nodded and kept pulsing on her chest in a quick, steady rhythm with an intense look of concentration as he performed CPR.

  “Is she breathing?” Cas asked.

  “I don’t know.” Rashid was pushing too rapidly for Diana to tell if it was working. “Should I take her pulse?”

  “No,” Rashid said as he continued CPR.

  Sweat dripped from Rashid’s face. Diana waited for him to give up. But he kept going.

  The woman on the radio was interviewing someone who recited the names of the trapped students and the information they’d been able to get about each of them.

  “How long have I been doing this?” Rashid demanded.

  “What?” Frankie asked.

  “How long since I started CPR?”

  The compressions were slowing. Rashid was getting tired. Still, he kept fighting.

  “A couple minutes,” Tad said. “At least two. Maybe three or four.”

  “Okay.” Rashid stopped the compressions and leaned down to put his fingers on her neck.

  “Why are you stopping?” Z asked.

  Rashid closed his eyes, tilted his head, and frowned as Diana placed a hand on Z’s shoulder to keep him from shouting again. After a moment, Rashid took a deep breath and his eyes opened.

  Looking up at Z, he said, “She’s got a pulse. She’s okay.”

  Diana stared at Kaitlin as Z took her hand and held it tight while telling her that he wasn’t going to let her die. Diana was certain no one, not one person in her whole life, had ever cared about her—the real her, not the perfect girl who smiled but the one who screamed behind the smile—as much as Z cared about Kaitlin.

  And she was sure no one ever would.

  1:09 p.m.

  Tad

  — Chapter 38 —

  HELPLESS, TAD WATCHED Rashid kneeling on the desk, looming above Kaitlin and breathing hard. Sweating. As if he’d been on the field, running wind sprints. But instead of dashing up and down a field, Rashid had saved a life.

  He hadn’t freaked out. He’d just taken charge and done what needed to be done.

  The guy had saved a life after Tad had basically accused him of causing the bombing.

  All because of a shaved beard and the 911 call Rashid lied about.

  “. . . communication with authorities has threatened additional explosions if demands aren’t met. Meanwhile, police dogs and a bomb robot are currently sweeping the areas around the entrance points for explosive devices while firefighters continue to battle the blaze on the east and south sides of the school. Of the three firefighters caught in the fourth explosion, two are in critical but stable condition while the other—”

  “Thanks.” Z put a hand on Rashid’s shoulder. “I owe you.”

  Rashid shook his head and tried to step away from Z, but Z held on to his shoulder as Rashid insisted, “You owe me nothing. I only did what anyone would do.”

  “I couldn’t do what you did.” Frankie stepped in between Rashid and Z. “You’re a serious hero, man. Where did you learn to do that? Because it didn’t look anything like what they do on TV.”

  “My father.” Rashid reached for a bottle of water and poured a little on a paper towel. He wiped his face with it as he looked past Frankie to where Kaitlin was breathing—not strong, but breathing. “My father is a doctor.”

  “Well, that explains it.” Frankie slapped Rashid on the arm and added, “It’s good we have someone who knows what to do if something bad happens.”

  Tad rolled his eyes and laughed. Leave it to Frankie to make people laugh even when there was nothing to laugh about. The bad just kept getting worse. Frankie not talking to him. The explosions. The fire. Being trapped in here with everyone hoping they didn’t die. And if it weren’t for Rashid spotting the bomb in the locker and telling Tad to run in the other direction, Tad might not be around to experience the bad at all.

  “. . . seven students are known to be trapped on the second floor. Of those, one is the daughter of Senator Sanford, who was in his office working on gaining additional support for his Safety Through Education bill when he learned of today’s events. The senator, his wife, and several of his staff members are currently holding vigil outside with members of the other families who have loved ones trapped inside the school.”

  Frankie walked toward Diana. “Do you think the senator will be able to light a fire under them and get people in here to save us?”

  “He’ll try to make people pay attention.” Diana looked away, toward the corner of the room.

  “Is that the best you can do?” Z asked. “Your father is going to try?”

  “What do you want me to say?” Diana shot back. “Yes. If the FBI and police insist on keeping the firefighters back, he’ll talk to reporters and put pressure on them that way. The media has power. They don’t just report news. The issues they select to put on the air shape how people think. Perception is everything in this world. And now that the news stations have our names, they’ll be flashing photographs of all of us and talking to our families to add the human element to the story. The media will make people care. And when people care, action is actually taken.”

  “Which is good,” Frankie said.

  Tad coughed and glanced down. Wisps of smoke were coming under the door. They all had to get out of here soon.

  “Is it good for us, or for her father and his career?” Z asked. “He’s the one who’s talking to the cameras right now, acting all humane and probably telling everyone that if his law was passed, this kind of thing wouldn’t happen. Pretty great deal for him. Don’t you think, Princess? If you died, you’d probably guarantee his election to the White House.”

  “Screw you,” Diana spat.

  “Screw me? Why don’t you—”

  “Hey, everyone,” Tad interrupted. “It’s time to get a grip. Yes, this sucks, and I think we can all agree that Diana’s father’s law sucks too, but we need to focus. Until they let the firefighters come in, we’re on our own. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not be in this place if another bomb goes off. So maybe we should try to figure out how to escape instead of pointing fingers and screaming at each other.”

  Although how they were going to do that with the things Tad was looking at was beyond him. There were several eight-foot extension cords like the one in his hands, along with a small stepladder, several sizes of PVC pipes, twine, some small rolls of wire, a box of Bunsen burners, another box with rags, and a whole lot of other long sticks, glass tubes, laminated posters, and various odds and ends.

  “Tad’s right,”
Rashid said quietly. “Kaitlin needs a doctor. We have to find a way to build a stretcher or something that can lower her to the ground.”

  “We could break apart one of these tables,” Z said, getting down on his hands and knees and looking underneath one of the black high-top desks.

  “That might work,” Tad said, walking over to examine the table with Z. The chemistry desks had withstood a bunch of explosions, and they were still standing. As far as Tad was concerned, they couldn’t get much sturdier than that.

  “Help me flip this over,” Z said, scrambling to his feet. “If we can break off the legs, we can use the top as a stretcher.”

  Tad grabbed one end as Z grabbed the other and grunted as they tipped the thing over.

  “The table won’t work,” Rashid said.

  “Why the hell not?” Z glared at him. “A stretcher has to be sturdy, and this is as sturdy as it comes.”

  “It’ll never get through the window.” Rashid didn’t raise his voice in response to Z’s anger as he explained, “And even if it could get through with Kaitlin on it, we don’t have ropes strong enough to lower it to the ground.”

  “He’s right,” Frankie said. He was standing next to Cas with his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll just have to come up with another plan.”

  “. . . looks like the blaze to the south of the building is coming under control . . .”

  “We’ll figure something out,” Rashid told Z. “I promise.”

  Z went back to the center of the room to rummage through the stuff with Tad. Frankie and Cas joined them as Rashid hurried back toward Kaitlin. Sympathy stormed in his eyes as he felt for a pulse and tried to get her to drink.

  They also needed rope, but at this point Tad didn’t see how anything they’d found could be used to make a stretcher. The PVC pipes were obviously the strongest material they had, but as Cas and Frankie tried to come up with a way to use them with other things like the wire or balsa wood, Z was quick to point out the flaws. There was no way to attach them that would hold Kaitlin’s weight.