Erin grabbed the shotgun and the box of shells next to it. “The kids are in the furnace room. If you think of any way to fix the radio or get them safely off campus, do it. Understand?” She loaded shells in the shotgun and pulled the pump. The familiar shock-shock echoed throughout the room.
Ralph, still whimpering on the floor, nodded. Erin spied a heavy coat on a coat rack to the right of the door. She put it on, zipped it up, and put the remaining shells in both pockets. She opened the door and raced into the storm.
Chapter Sixty-Three
Franco climbed the stairs to the second floor and said, “This is taking too long.”
“I agree,” Antonio replied, “but with the cell phones down and no way for police to get here, we can afford it. The important thing is to make sure Paul doesn’t escape. He can’t hide for long.”
“What about the kids who ran?”
“None of them could identify us,” Antonio said. “We don’t need to waste time with them.”
Franco smiled. “It wouldn’t be a waste. You saw how he acted. He cared about them. We can use that to our advantage.”
Antonio shook his head. “I’ve been trying to tell you all that killing an FBI agent for revenge works because people understand it. But if we kill children, the media will be outraged, and they’ll force the politicians to come after us no matter where we are. We’ll never be safe, no matter how many people we buy off.”
“They’re politicians—they can be bought or killed.”
“Things aren’t as simple here.”
Franco opened the second-floor door. Antonio pushed him aside. Splotches of flame burst outward and an explosion echoed through the hallway.
Antonio fell backward, hit his head against the stairwell railing and dropped to the floor. Shards of the metal door impaled into his stomach. The door was blackened, splintered, and bent halfway open.
“Fuck,” Franco yelled, pulling three small shards out of his arm.
A small explosion sounded from the opposite end of the hall.
Franco recognized the two people running down the hallway and then Giovanni and Portia cautiously opened the door.
“How bad?” Giovanni asked.
Portia knelt and probed the wound with her left hand and then pried open Antonio’s eyes.
“No way to tell,” she replied. “He’s got internal bleeding and a head injury. Both can be serious.”
“Another reason Paul has to die,” Franco growled.
“What can we do?” Giovanni demanded.
“Nothing here,” she said. “He needs a hospital.”
“How much time do we have?”
“No way to know,” Portia said. “He isn’t bleeding too badly. We probably have a few hours. But the important thing is not to move him unless we have to.”
“Then we can still kill Paul?” Giovanni asked. Anger punctuated the question.
“Yes, but we’ll need to move cautiously. He probably set more traps.”
“That will take too much time,” Franco yelled.”
“Then we force him out,” Portia said.
Franco smiled and headed down the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Giovanni asked.
“To find the children,” Franco replied without stopping. “I’ll bring a few back and torture them one by one until Paul gives himself up.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Paul ran down the third-floor hallway, opening and closing doors at random, and glimpsed the storage closet. After a quick search, he procured bottles of cleaning solution, copper wire, and other chemicals that would be useful.
Using a knife from Chuck’s kitchen, he cut off the top third of an ammonia bottle and bleach bottle. He shoved the bleach bottle against the door, lightly taped the ammonia bottle above it, and dropped the copper wire into the ammonia.
Whoever opened the door would break the tape on the top bottle. It would drop into the bleach, mixing with the ammonia and copper wire to form chlorine gas. It wouldn’t kill anyone, but it would screw up their lungs.
This was the highest floor. In order to slow the Grimaldis as much as possible, he needed to grab more ingredients and rig traps on students’ doors along the hall.
Once he was out of traps, or they were out of doors, he’d have to fight them hand to hand. After that…he didn’t know. It had only been twenty minutes since the Grimaldis had first entered the building. He needed to buy more time.
He thought about climbing out one of the windows and leading the Grimaldis’ on a cross campus game of hide and seek or stealing one of their snowmobiles and luring them into the mountains. Two things stopped him. One was the storm. In his haste to get the students out of the building, he’d forgotten his coat. In his khaki pants, dress shirt, and oxford shoes, it would only take ten minutes for frostbite to set in. He’d be useless then.
The second problem was the students. If he left the building and led the Grimaldis on a chase, they’d realize his delaying tactic for what it was and go after the kids. They’d search for tracks in the snow or search buildings one by one. Eventually, they’d find the students and start torturing them, knowing Paul would give himself up to stop that. He had to keep them focused on him, which meant he had to stay here.
A small boom sounded below him and, seconds after that, a loud explosion. The liquor bottle and propane canister had detonated. He wondered who was hurt and how badly. He wished it was Franco, but that was probably too much to hope for.
He darted into a room, upended his backpack, and dumped his recently scavenged items into a pile. He opened two Ziploc bags and filled one with vinegar and the other with baking soda. Using the handle of the knife, he crushed a few old photography flash cubes and dropped them into a third bag, then inserted the vinegar and baking soda bags into the one with the flash cubes. When he tossed the improvised flash grenade, the liquid would run into the powder and the contents would explode with a white-hot flash. He repeated the procedure until he ran out of ingredients then packed them in paper towels so they wouldn’t accidentally explode.
Next, he grabbed two pieces of string and soaked them in household oil. Then he took two empty soda cans, pricked tiny holes in the bottom, and fed the strings through the openings. After that, he put tissue paper in the bottom of each can and filled the containers with coffee creamer. When detonated, the cans would spray fire and melted aluminum everywhere. The only problem was the fuse. He had no idea how long it would take for it to ignite.
Finally, he lit a match and held it in front of an Axe deodorant can. The improvised flame thrower melted several birthday candles. He dumped the liquid wax into a chemical cold pack and added sugar then mixed the three ingredients with a pen until it was fully dissolved. Grabbing several cardboard toilet rolls, he bent their bottom ends closed, filled the open end with the cold pack mixture, inserted the oiled string as a fuse, and closed the top ends to form tubes with the string hanging out. The smoke bombs wouldn’t hurt anyone, but they would confuse the Grimaldis and allow him to get away if needed.
Shotgun blasts exploded on the floor below him. The Grimaldis had found someone. His heart raced. He grabbed his devices and ran to the stairs.
Chapter Sixty-Five
David stared at the dozen students standing in the basement furnace room. They shivered with fear and cold. Two girls cried while the boys stood silent, their eyes wide as they darted back and forth. Tiffany stood off to one side and hugged herself.
“We’ve got to get out of here!” Kevin squealed.
“But Mr. T. and Miss. Randolph said we should stay here,” David replied.
“Teacher’s pet,” Kevin sneered. “There are people with guns on campus. We have to leave!”
“Hypothermia would set in before we got halfway down the mountain,” David said matter-of-factly.
“We could make it.”
David shook his head. “No, we couldn’t. None of us is dressed for a winter storm. The cold and wind would seep into your clothes and
cause frostbite.”
“No, no,” Kevin said. “I can do it. I’ve skied in Aspen. I can handle the cold. I can get us out of here.” As Kevin spoke, he made eye contact with each student in the room.
David knew what was happening. Kevin was influencing them. He’d read that charismatic people could make you believe something even if you knew it was wrong. But if they followed Kevin, they’d die. He had to make people understand how wrong Kevin was. He remembered an article he’d read on hypothermia.
“In less than ten minutes, our bodies would start to shiver.” Some students turned from Kevin to him. “That is the first stage of hypothermia. Shortly after that, our muscles would lose coordination and we would be unable to walk straight.”
David remembered what Mr. T. had said about speaking colloquially and carefully chose his next words. “Next, our hearts would race. We’d have difficulty speaking. Our minds would get foggy. We’d forget which way to go, and frostbite would turn our fingers and toes black.”
Everyone’s eyes left Kevin and turned to him. “In this storm, that would probably take thirty minutes. The nearest town is more than a two-hour walk. We’d literally freeze to death before we got off the mountain. The best thing to do is barricade ourselves in here and prepare for anything that may happen.”
Silence reigned.
Finally, Kevin said, “You’re wrong,” and moved to the door. “We can make it. Who’s coming with me?” The group hesitated. Slowly, two boys moved beside Kevin. They tried to pull the door open, but it was stuck.
“But you’ll die out there,” David pleaded.
“We’ll make it,” Kevin said. “I’ve skied in Aspen.” The door strained and groaned as the three boys pulled it open.
Kevin led the boys into the hall. David moved to push the door closed and heard a thunderous shot in the concrete hallway. Kevin and the other boys rushed back into the room, their eyes wide. “They’re here,” Kevin said. “They’re gonna kill us.”
Students screamed wildly. David’s heart pounded and his body froze. He knew he needed to act, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. Then he forced his mind to take control and leaned against the door with all his weight. It wouldn’t budge.
“Help me!” David screamed. Kevin leaned against the door, then two other students pushed against it.
Heavy footsteps stomped toward them. “Hurry!” David yelled. The door inched forward. A bestial yell sounded in the hall.
With one mighty push, the door scraped forward. Before it slammed shut, David glimpsed the largest man he’d ever seen charging towards them.
As the door clanged closed, David shoved the bolt into the lock and jumped backward. A mighty blow shook the door in its frame, raining shards of rust and dust onto the floor. A second blow bent the lock. It wouldn’t hold.
Students screamed.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Erin raced through the snow, taking care not to stumble through the knee-high powder. The storm had grown worse. She couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her. The lights from the dorms, however, guided her.
She rushed into the boys’ dorm and stopped at the stairwell door. She had no idea where the killers were, so she edged forward and listened. Voices murmured above her, then another door slammed.
Her heart hammered in her chest. Adrenaline felt like electric current running through her body. She crept into the stairwell and up to the first-floor door. She peered through the glass into the hallway. No one was there. She heard commotion above her.
Careful to remain silent, she climbed the stairs and stopped just before the mid-level landing between floors. She craned her head forward, looking up and to the left.
Above her, in front of the second-floor door, she spied a woman leaning over what looked like a prone man. The woman seemed unarmed. Erin thought her best chance to help Paul was to somehow take these two and lock them in the cleaning closet on the second-floor.
She thought back to the single hunting trip her father had dragged her to and tried to remember everything about shotguns. She removed the safety, took aim, then stood. “Put your hands in the air.”
Before Erin could blink, the woman snatched a gun from the floor and fired several shots at her.
As Erin backed down behind the cover of the stairs, her weapon accidentally discharged. The shot went wild, but the woman ducked away from the landing.
Shit, Erin thought. What was I thinking? The woman is a trained killer.
The door above her opened and she heard a man speak in Italian. She wondered what she should do. The woman had nearly killed her. Now she had help. Could she shoot them? Could she actually kill them?
The people above switched to English.
“Franco hasn’t come back yet?” the man asked.
“No,” she replied. “But he’ll find the kids soon and end this cat and mouse game.”
They’re going after the kids, Erin thought in panic. She stood to rush down the stairs and bullets rained down.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Paul burst through the third floor door onto the landing. Portia and Giovanni stood immediately below him, firing downward. Erin ducked behind the stairwell—blood running down her leg. His heart clenched.
Reaching into his backpack, he brought out a smoke bomb, lit the fuse, and tossed it onto the second floor landing. Giovanni whipped his weapon toward Paul and fired.
He leapt backward and yelled, “Erin, run!” Giovanni rushed up the stairs, firing at Paul as he moved. He wanted to stay and help Erin, but he had nothing that could stop a bullet, and he thought the Grimaldis would chase him, so he retreated through the door.
As soon as he entered the third-floor, he lit the smoke bomb and tossed it. Then he lit the flame bomb and watched the fuse burn as he rushed down the hallway. He had no time to disable the chemical gas bomb at the end of the hall, and the flame bomb he held in his hand would burn aluminum all over his body if he held it too long. But if he didn’t time it right, it wouldn’t hit Giovanni.
He looked over his shoulder as smoke filled the hallway. Gunshots echoed behind him and he heard a bullet whiz past his ear. Evidently, Giovanni was being uncharacteristically cautious because he didn’t come through the smoke. The fuse on the bomb was low.
Gauging as best he could, he tossed the flame bomb behind him. The explosion detonated. Giovanni screamed. Before he could recover, he lit another smoke bomb, tossed it behind him, opened a door to his right, then darted into the room on the left, closing the door quietly.
Seconds ticked forward. “You missed, traitor,” Giovanni shouted.
“Fuck,” he swore under his breath. It hadn’t slowed him down. He probably wasn’t even seriously injured.
He hoped his plan to attack him while he was in the room opposite him would still work. He searched the room for anything he could use. No pictures on the wall, only posters. He opened the small refrigerator and spied a few coke cans. He grabbed them then rifled through the dresser and found a pair of long, thick socks and dropped the cans in the socks. They weren’t great weapons, but in close quarters, where the bombs he’d made would harm both of them, the impromptu flails were the best option he had.
Giovanni voice was close as he said, “Franco’s looking for the kids.”
His chest tightened. He no longer had time. He needed to either fight Giovanni now and lose precious minutes, or chase Franco by escaping out the window, hoping that the snow would cushion his fall.
Giovanni had a gun. He had coke cans in socks. He doubted he’d win that fight. If he was certain his death would make the Grimaldis leave, he’d let them kill him. But he’d known their cruelty first hand, and his experience told him they’d kill him and the students, so his only option was to escape and stop Franco.
He ripped the sheets off the bed and tied them together. Once finished, he quickly secured one end to the base of the bedpost. Then he quietly opened the window and dropped the end of the rope down the side of the building.
&nb
sp; The cold air battered his skin. Without a jacket, he knew he’d freeze, but he didn’t have a choice.
“Traitor,” Giovanni said. His voice sounded close. Paul wondered if the Grimaldi brother felt the rapid drop in temperature. Securing his backpack over his shoulders, he climbed down the makeshift rope. Freezing wind whipped through his shirt and pants; his skin prickled and his muscles shook. The world outside was black sky behind white swirling snow with dim lights coming from the girls’ dorm.
He heard the door burst open. He looked down. Still two stories up.
Giovanni poked his head out of the window above him.
His only hope was to drop and hide in the storm. Using his legs, he pushed off the building and let go.
As he fell, he saw the muzzle flash from Giovanni’s weapon.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
David watched as the door boomed each time the killer slammed into it. Students screamed with each metallic clang.
David fought a rising panic. He closed his eyes and forced away the distractions. The letters GOAD formed in his mind. Yes, he thought. His Goal was to keep everyone safe. He opened his eyes and observed every detail of the room. The walls were soot covered concrete. The small rectangular windows above the wall were too small to climb out. Old desks, broken chairs, his potato gun, and other debris littered the floor.
The latch that held the door bolt was loosening.
Analyzing everything he’d seen, David realized they couldn’t break through the concrete walls, the windows were too small and too high to climb through, and the furniture wouldn’t make an effective barricade against the giant outside the door.
David decided his only option was to use the debris on the floor as weapons or a trap. He quickly picked up debris then glimpsed a familiar canvas cloth. His heart jumped. He grabbed the sack and pulled, but it was trapped under fallen junk.
The Italian Deception Page 24