He stops and scrolls back up to see the image that he just passed. The photo is dim. But something familiar about it catches his eye. The desk with a large calendar pad on it with lots of dates x’ed off. The nameplate next to a coffee cup that says Nottawa Newts. Next to that a clock that has wires coming out of it and a large fountain firework. He squints at the photograph but can’t make out the name on the desk, so he copies the image and pastes it into a program that allows him to change the contrast and zoom in.
Dr. Amelia Jain
School. The photograph is of an office at school. Bryan clicks back to the message board, this time scrolling down far enough to see the caption above the photograph. One word that has him reaching for his phone and running for the door.
Boom.
Kaylee
CRAP. MY PHONE RINGS as I stand with my hand on the door, trying to decide what to do. I silence it and listen again to the sounds of the empty school. No. Not empty. Because the whisper comes again and this time I can make out what the word is.
“Please.”
I jump as my phone vibrates, and I pull it out of my pocket.
“Bryan?”
“Thank God. Kaylee, are you still outside the school? If you are, run. There’s some kind of bomb in one of the offices. It’s on a timer. You have to go.”
“I can’t.” The plea comes again and, no matter how much I want to, I can’t turn away. “Someone is trapped inside.”
Bryan yells my name, but I hit End and shove the phone back into my coat pocket. Bryan told me to get out. My eyes and throat already burn from the fumes. Somewhere a fuse is ready to be lit. This place is going to explode. God, I’m scared. I don’t want to die.
Scraping. I hear it again. The sound of something being dragged. And the voice cries again. A girl’s voice. It’s not Nate. And since no one else except DJ cares what the hell happens to me, it shouldn’t matter who might be somewhere inside this building waiting to die.
But it does.
Bryan’s warning screams in my head. My phone vibrates again in my pocket as if duplicating the plea. But as much as I don’t want to die and I don’t want to care about whoever is somewhere down the hallway, I have to help.
The floor is slippery. Each step makes me sick with fear that I will do something to ignite the gas and engulf myself in flames. Coughing, I pull my scarf over my nose and mouth and grip the flashlight tighter. Don’t drop it. Don’t send up a spark. No sparks.
I don’t call out. If the person who set the bomb is still around, I don’t want them to find me. I doubt they are, but I don’t know for sure. So I stay silent. Which is good because the dry, burning ache in my throat is getting worse the longer I’m in here.
Go toward the offices or turn toward the gym? I don’t know when the timer will go off. Any minute? My phone says it’s eleven forty-five. If I were the one setting the timer, I would set it for midnight. That means I have ten minutes at most to find whoever is trapped if I want to have time to get out.
Oh God. I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.
Propelled by the fear that the timer will go off any second, I come to the next hallway and stop as I hear the sound again. To my right. Away from the offices. Toward the English classrooms.
The floor has a line of shiny wetness running along it, but the entire surface isn’t as slick and the smell isn’t as strong. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. I don’t care. I cling to the idea that this part of the school isn’t as coated in gasoline and listen for the person to call out again.
“Hello? Ethan? Please.”
The last word, spoken as almost a whisper, makes me run. The girl’s voice comes again. To the left. An open doorway and a trail of gasoline into the room beckon me forward and when I turn the corner and flash my beam I see her. Tied to the chair of the school desk is Hannah Mazur. Her eyes are wide. There’s blood on her terrified face. The smell of gas is stronger in here and I see the pool of liquid that surrounds her chair.
“Help me.”
The words hit me like a slap and I realize I’ve just been standing there looking at her, doing nothing.
As she struggles against her restraints, the desk she’s tied to scrapes against the tiled floor. “Help me. Whoever the hell you are.”
“It’s Kaylee Dunham.” I pull away my scarf and point the flashlight upward so she can see my face. I cross the few feet between us and squat down behind the chair to get a better look. Tape. Lots and lots of duct tape that’s become bunched and twisted so it’s almost impossible to see where to pull it free. It would be easier if I could turn on an overhead light. But can I? Could something that simple cause the fumes to ignite? I don’t know.
What should I do? Cutting her free would be easiest. But I don’t have a knife. What else would work?
“Keys.” I left mine at home. “Do you have keys somewhere?”
She coughs. “Please don’t leave me here.”
“I won’t,” I agree. “But if you don’t help, we both might die.” Time is slipping away. “Where are your keys?” I yell.
“In the left front pocket of my coat.”
She shifts so I can reach the deep coat pocket and I realize she’s wet. Gas. Hannah is soaked with gas. I pull out the keys and almost drop them as I flip through looking for the one that will give me the best grip.
“Okay.” I put my bag down on a dry section of the floor and lay the flashlight on top of it so it shines toward Hannah’s hands.
I attack the restraints with the key. The tape is thick. Wrapped at least several times to strengthen the hold. How much time is left? How long will it take for the gas here in this room, on Hannah and now covering my hands and who knows what else, to ignite? I keep sawing at the tape, all the while I can’t help remembering mean comments I’ve heard Hannah make. Comments directed at me. I wonder for a second if she remembers those moments.
My eyes sting and I try to stay focused. My phone vibrates again in my pocket and I ignore it. No time to answer. The key rips through part of the restraints. It’s a start. I saw harder. Hannah yelps that I’ve hurt her, but who the hell cares. She’s going to hurt a heck of a lot worse if this place goes up in flames. I tune out her hoarse babbling and keep working.
More bits of tape break free. Getting there. “Hannah, pull your hands apart as much as you can. Harder.” She grunts as I saw. Another rip in the tape gives me hope and makes me attack it more furiously. We’re going to get out of here. We are.
“Got it.” One down. Two to go. Only now Hannah can help. “Here,” I say, handing her the flashlight. “Shine this while I work on getting your feet free.”
The light helps. The tape isn’t as thick on her legs, but still it takes time. How much time? I don’t look at my phone because that would take precious seconds. My phone vibrates again as I get the top part of the tape around Hannah’s left foot to rip. “You do the other,” I say, shoving the keys into her free hand. Then I grab the ripped sides of the tape and pull. It gives a bit and I pull again. The rip widens until finally the tape is off one foot.
“Hurry,” I say, coughing, and I blink as the world spins out of focus. The fumes are making me dizzy. Hannah can barely function. So I grab the keys back and attack the tape around her other foot.
This restraint takes longer to cut through. Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s just knowing there are minutes—or seconds—until midnight that makes me feel as if the sawing is endless. I shove the keys back in Hannah’s coat pocket and pull at the tape with my hands. Finally she’s free.
“Thank you, Kaylee. Thank you.” I hear the tears. The panic. The fear as she tries to get to her feet and falls back down. Crap. We don’t have time for this now.
“I know you don’t feel good, but you have to get up. This place could explode any minute.” Hannah pushes to her feet. I grab my backpack, shrug the strap onto my shoulder, and grab Hannah’s arm as she sways. Her legs start to buckle. She grabs on to me and almost takes us both down to the fl
oor. It’s a miracle I stay on my feet, but I refuse to bite it in this school. No way. No how.
“We’re going to die if you don’t move. Don’t make me leave you behind,” I threaten. I don’t mean it, but she doesn’t have to know that. “You have to hurry. Okay?” I pull Hannah upright and don’t wait for her to agree before I start to move.
I want to run, but Hannah isn’t capable of running. She jerks and stumbles, but leaning on me she stays on her feet and we reach the hallway.
“Hannah, do you know if the side door you came in through is the only door open?” I hope she says no. I don’t want to go back that way. Maybe she knows another way out since her father works here. When she doesn’t answer, I yell, “Hannah? Is there another unlocked door?”
“I don’t know,” she says, crying. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Perfect.
“Stop it,” I snap. I can’t help it. I’m scared too. “We’ll just go back the way I came.” Following the path of gasoline that is waiting to catch fire. The rest of the doors in the school are probably locked up tight. They might even be chained shut as they sometimes are for security reasons. It will only be worse if we waste time heading for an exit and end up trapped.
Hannah isn’t big, but she’s taller than me, which makes our progress awkward. So do her tears and the way she starts to ramble about stuff I don’t understand. Nate. Ethan. Her father. A date. The end of the hallway is just a few feet away. Then one more length of hallway to go. We can make it.
“Kaylee!” Oh God. That sounds like Bryan’s voice and it’s coming from inside the building.
“Bryan?”
Hannah jolts against me, loses her footing, and lets go of her hold on me as she trips and goes down in a heap onto the gas-slicked floor.
“Kaylee!”
I stumble toward the wall and use it to keep from landing on the ground as Bryan races around the corner. Hannah shrieks and cries harder.
“You shouldn’t have come in here!” I yell, but I’m glad to see him. Glad to have someone who isn’t sobbing to help get us the hell out.
Bryan kneels next to Hannah. “I think I can carry her if you help me get her up.”
Between the two of us we pull the wet, hysterical Hannah to her feet. Bryan grunts as he picks her up and tells me to run. And I do. Around the corner. Down the hallway. I don’t need to glance over my shoulder to know Bryan is back there or that he is falling farther and father behind. His footsteps and Hannah’s crying are enough to tell me that. I pull out my phone and look at the time. Eleven fifty-nine. I want to be wrong about the timer. Please let me be wrong. I have to be wrong.
I reach the door well before Bryan and push it open. The fresh air whips in my face as I hold the door. Bryan is still at least thirty or forty feet away from the exit.
“Hurry!” I yell, even though I know he’s doing his best. I look at the door, tamp down my instinct to flee, and run back down the hallway to help. Bryan shakes his head as I try to take on some of Hannah’s weight.
“Hold the door open for us.” He coughs and struggles to speak. “I’ve got her.”
Okay. I race back toward the door, making sure not to get too far ahead just in case Bryan needs me. The clock on my phone hits midnight. I hold my breath as I reach the door and fling it open again. Bryan’s head lifts and I know he feels the fresh air. Less than ten feet away. Almost there. Come on. Come on. Bryan stumbles across the threshold and I follow, letting the door slam shut behind me. Hannah must be heavy as hell, but it isn’t until we reach the parking lot that he puts her down in the snow.
Bryan doubles over to catch his breath. Hannah is crying and I’m coughing like I’ve got pneumonia. We’re a mess, but we’re alive. And I was wrong about the timer.
Or not. As soon as that thought crosses my mind I hear a rumble, then the echo of shattering glass. A moment later the school goes up in flames.
Ethan
NOT AT HOME. Not at Nate Weakley’s house. Ethan frowns as he thinks about where to look next. Someone has clearly been at Kaylee’s house recently. The tire tracks in the driveway were dusted with fresh snow. Whoever was there couldn’t have left very long ago. Ethan could have assumed Kaylee drove off with whoever paid her a visit, but a professional can’t rely on assumptions. Which is why he knows Kaylee left on foot. Her footprints were partially covered, but not enough. He was able to track them to the fence and when he drove to the next street he was easily able to spot where she’d come out on the other side.
The boy has skills.
The streets are icy. Not many cars are out. Too bad a plow already came by. Otherwise Kaylee’s footprints would lead him all the way to her. Of course, that wouldn’t be nearly as challenging. The bigger the challenge, the better the reward.
Come out, come out, wherever you are, he thinks.
Although, as much as Ethan likes the idea of stalking his quarry, he’s not sure he’ll be able to find her. The town isn’t that big, but it’s dark and snowy and Kaylee could be anywhere and he hasn’t a clue where to start looking. More information is required.
In Mercenary of War, players earn power-ups, which provide clues to the best method of locating and eliminating their targets. It’s too bad there isn’t a way to earn clues in this game. Then again, NEED wants Kaylee. If it wants her bad enough, NEED will help him track her down.
Ethan steers the car to the side of the road and pulls up the email he received after the website came back online. Since he can’t access the site from his phone, this is the next best thing.
Quickly, he types his message and hits Send. Now what? It’s not like he’s going to go home. Not with his mother starting to question him. He has time to kill until NEED gets back to him. So why not drive by his last project and see how it turned out? What better way to wait for instructions on his next assignment than to see that school and everything in it go up in flames?
Putting the car in gear, he realizes it’s too bad he didn’t think to bring hotdogs or marshmallows. He could roast some snacks while cheering Burn, baby, burn.
Kaylee
ALARMS SOUND. Smoke billows into the night sky. Fire crackles and the smell of gasoline hangs thick in the air. The sight of the school in flames is mesmerizing against a backdrop of snowy white. I jump at the sound of more glass shattering from somewhere inside. I was in there. I could have died. We all could have died.
Hannah is curled up in the snow, sobbing. Bryan is crouched beside her, consoling her while watching smoke spiral up from the building. I don’t say anything. I can’t.
Alarms continue to scream.
Alarms. I try to shake off the horror and think. Help will be coming soon. Firefighters. Police. They’ll come to put out the fire and if I don’t get out of here they’ll find me. Question me.
Nate. The shock of finding Hannah and the explosion made me forget for a moment that I was looking for him. Nate doesn’t have time for me to stand around talking about how I got here and why. He needs me to find him. I have to get away.
I shift the backpack on my shoulder and look down at Bryan and Hannah. Her sobs have changed to whimpers and that should make me feel sorry for her, but instead it irritates me. Probably because I wish I had time to cry. I wish I could wait around for help to arrive. Later. I can cry and freak out later. When Nate is safe and NEED is taken down. Because seeing the school engulfed in flames makes me realize again the lengths to which NEED will go.
“I can’t stay here,” I say loud enough to carry over the crackle of the fire and Hannah’s moaning. “Can I borrow your car, Bryan? I have to find Nate.”
Bryan coughs, shakes his head, and stands. “I’m going with you. Let’s just get Hannah further from the school first so she’s not breathing in the smoke.”
Easier said than done.
The minute Bryan tries to help her stand, Hannah starts to scream her head off and kicks and claws to get free. I can’t blame her for flipping out, but this isn’t helping. I try to pull her t
o her feet, but she’s dead weight and the adrenaline that kept me moving up until now is wearing off. We’re about to try one more time when I hear sirens.
“If she doesn’t want to move, I vote to leave her,” I say. “Five more minutes of sitting here won’t hurt.”
Bryan shakes his head. “Here.” He reaches into his pocket. “Take my keys. Get the car started.”
He tries to reason with Hannah. I run to the car, unlock it, and put the key in the ignition. The radio and the heater come on full blast. Crap. How do I turn the radio off? I hit the button to silence it and realize the sirens are louder still.
“Bryan!” I yell. “We have to go!”
Bryan gives up on Hannah and hurries toward the car as I climb over the middle console to the other side. Bryan gets in, puts the car in gear, and asks, “Where are we going?”
“ Just drive.” We can figure out the rest when the cops aren’t closing in.
The tires spin before they catch hold. Hannah screams and I see Bryan flinch as he turns off the car’s headlights. His hands tighten on the steering wheel while he drives the car out of the parking lot and onto the road.
“Can you go faster?” I ask.
“No.” The car fishtails as if to confirm. Knowing I can run faster than we are moving makes me want to jump out and sprint. In the distance I can see red and white lights flash as they approach. I hope if they spot our car they’ll be too worried about the blazing building to give chase.
I hold my breath until I see the first emergency vehicle turn into the school lot. The rest follow. Bryan and I remain silent until he turns the car onto the next street beyond the reach of the flashing lights.
After driving another block he turns the car into a parking lot, flips the headlights back on, and asks, “Now what?”