“They’ll be safer at school. He followed your fiancé, she came here. That’s the idea, anyway,” Max said, moving over to a ratty recliner opposite the couch, the only other furniture in the living room. He flipped off the seat cushion and took up a clip he had hidden in the box springs. He loaded it into his handgun with a click like the closing of a door and the gun gleamed in the dusty light. Troya held her breath when she saw it and Cy squeezed her hand again.
“You gonna take him on yourself?”
“That’s the plan.”
They stayed that way, Max standing and Cy and Troya on the couch. The few times Cy tried to speak to her, he wasn’t able to get past the first word. Eventually he settled for holding her hand as she leaned back and watched the ceiling like an orphaned child. Max kept his eye out front, waiting.
Something was amiss with Max. He stood now in the center of the room, his hands on his hips, his gun jutting loosely. He bit off a nail and spit it on the floor.
“Where’s your bogeyman, Max?”
Max only shook his head.
“See?” Cy said, slapping his thigh and standing. He patted Troya on the back and smiled. “No harm, no foul. We all got started off on the wrong foot—”
“Oh, he’s coming. He’s just not coming here.”
Cy went cold.
“I think I may have made a mistake,” Max allowed.
Chapter Thirty
THE HOTEL ROOM WAS as quiet as a tomb. Nikkie Hix lay unmoving, breathing softly. Her eyes were closed, but Max knew that she wouldn’t be sleeping. Not this close to their next match against the English of Grey. Not after what Northern had done to her.
He admitted he felt a small stab of bittersweet pleasure when he’d seen her eyes, the way she looked at Northern when he’d waltzed in from his night with the college girl. There was deep hurt there, a hurt that might not heal. For nearly five years he’d been forced to set aside the part of himself that called out to Nikkie. He shut away his need to be with her, and eventually he functioned as they needed him to. Fighting for all of them impartially, equally. He was able to compete for his country, and not solely for her.
But lately he’d found that things shut away don’t go away, especially pieces of the heart. Max was no fool. He knew Nikkie felt something for Northern, but he believed it wasn’t love. Not true love, like he had once felt for her, before he sealed himself away for the sake of the team. Northern was many things, and some of them good, but he was not a man to love. He would never return love in kind. He loved only the Tournament.
Now, it seemed, Nikkie was finally figuring this out about her beloved captain, and for the first time in years Max allowed himself to imagine a different future. One that involved her. Once she knew Northern for the man that he was, that Max knew him to be, perhaps she would also see Max differently. He was reminded of their cabin in the woods of years gone by, and of the safe they had drilled into the foundation there, where Northern had first hidden the guns. He’d long felt that when Northern brought those guns out that day, he forced Max to lock something in their place. The part of his heart that loved her. It was a forced paring, and Max hated him for it, but he also knew it had to be this way if they ever hoped to come together as a team.
In the eye of his mind, he walked down that old hallway, towards the cabinet wherein the safe had been placed. He crouched and peered at its flaking, wooden face. It had actually been the battered red of a faded wagon, but in his mind’s eye it was the deep red of blood, red almost to black, and it seemed to sing to him. He reached out and paused, hesitant, but then he touched it, and it felt warm, like the palm of her hand when he held it as she slept fitfully in the hotel bedroom.
He snapped back to the present, to the heavy silence of that room. He shook his head free of these thoughts. He didn’t dare trace the strings of his older self. Did he? What would he become?
He stood and walked to the door and Northern’s eyes followed him. He needed some air. Perhaps he’d go out to the front carport again and watch the sunrise. He had to think.
On his way down the hall towards the elevator, Northern called out in a whisper. Max stopped and turned, and found his captain watching him from the doorway of her room. He had a wary expression, and his blue eyes, normally sharp as a blade, seemed muted, almost sad.
“Max... wait.”
He stepped outside into the hall and gently closed the door behind him. He walked up to where Max stood and crossed his arms, glancing away, at a loss for words. Max wondered, for just a moment, if he might actually get an apology. If Northern might admit that he’d hurt her, hurt the team as well, and was asking him for advice. He furrowed his brow. He didn’t want to like Northern. Not now. He understood only the cocksure Johnny Northern. He wouldn’t know what to do with a penitent captain.
But then Northern spoke.
“I just have been wondering, recently, if you have been... feeling things, again,” he said, glancing back at the closed door. “For Nikkie.”
Max clenched his jaw. He narrowed his eyes. “That was years ago.”
“I know. I just wanted to make sure it was all still behind us.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Max said, voice cold and flat.
“It’s better for you, for all of us, this way.”
Max could only stare at him. That was something only a man who has never loved another person could say.
“I need some air,” Max said, and turned on his heel, leaving Northern alone in the long hallway.
————
The hallways of Shawnee Mission High hummed with the heady energy that comes with the last day of classes before a long break. Winter vacation was finally here, only three class periods away. For many students, this meant fewer than two hours to turn in final papers; they were cluttering the library computer labs or crowded around one of the printers. Others sat in groups at the lunch tables with flash cards for the final exams that still lingered. A good many of the students had already checked out and were cleaning out their lockers or simply killing time in the hallways until the clock hit 3:45 pm, when they could skip out without attracting the attention of the police officer outside. Freedom was near to hand—they could taste it in the air, but it wasn’t upon them just yet.
It was also on this day, near the one o’clock hour, that Alex Auldborne and his striker, Draden Tate, paused to survey the school from a small hill overlooking the parking lot. They stood there much as Greer Nichols and Max Haulden had before them, under an old, bare elm tree. They were darkly cloaked against the ringing winter wind, Auldborne in a trim wool greatcoat, his scarf whipping behind him. Tate stood like a block of obsidian, hands in the pockets of a puffy vest that made him seem half again as barrel-chested as he already was.
“This is it then?” Tate growled. “A school?”
Alex walked over to the trunk of the elm, its branches rattling in the wind. He pointed to a clearly carved symbol, an encircled letter T, and an arrow pointing at the building. Grinning, Auldborne thumped it with his gloved hand.
“There it is, right where Mazaryk said it would be. Looks like we’ll find our prize in the school.”
“Why would Max Haulden be here?”
Auldborne shrugged. “If Mazaryk said so, he will be here.” He turned to face the school and his visage darkened, his grey eyes matched the color of the sky.
“I don’t like it. Trusting that Russian. His help isn’t cheap.”
“Nothing worthwhile in this life is.”
“What is his price? Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because I am the wanted man. It was my decision, and mine alone, and you’ll follow me because I am your captain and you are my striker.” There was a touch of a snarl upon Auldborne’s thin lips. “Or am I wrong?”
“What’s yours is yours,” Tate said, his voice unwavering, but he trailed off when he saw Alex tapping his pockets, counting off rounds in his head. “What are you doing?”
“What better way to flush a rab
bit than to drown the hole?” Alex offered.
“We can’t just go into a school and start shooting. For Americans, it brings up bad memories.”
“You’re telling me an awful lot of what I can’t do, Draden, and it’s wearing on me.”
“How we gonna get out? They bring down fire for that type of thing here. They train for it.” Tate flicked his head down in the direction of the squad car idling by the front gate.
Alex chuckled. “I’ve made a deal. Mazaryk promised me an answer and an exit. He will deliver. Now come.” And with that, he strode down the hill. Tate swallowed and looked around, but nobody seemed to pay them any mind. He took off after his captain, trying to look as though he belonged. When he couldn’t do that, he settled for looking down at the ground. The two passed the idling squad car without so much as a glance from the officer inside who idly tapped away at his dispatch computer, his face slack.
Once well within the parking lot, Auldborne slid his gun from his shoulder holster. After a moment’s more hesitation, Tate did the same. As they walked towards the back doors, Auldborne dragged the thin sight of his barrel lightly across the powdery covering of snow upon the cars, whistling softly.
————
Ellie Willmore was draped over her desk, furiously erasing a botched math problem on her calculus final. Even the act of erasing made her wince. She was sore all over, and had been for days.
She stopped herself and sat back, pushing all of her hair behind her as she let out an explosive sigh that elicited several glances, Kelsey’s included, and one particularly lingering, over-the-glasses gaze from Mr. Zimmerman. Ellie stared blankly at the ceiling. What was the point, really? She’d pass math even if she failed the final, and she wouldn’t fail the final. She probably had a good case for graduation right now, even if she never stepped foot in Shawnee Mission again. That’s what working like an automaton and having no friends got you, for all the good it had done her; she was sure Eddie Mazaryk would be proud of her honors distinction. She was sure Alex Auldborne would applaud her GPA. He might even congratulate her on how high her class rank was, right before he shot her in the face.
She dropped the eraser and it thunked across her desk. High School was over for her. Mr. Zimmerman peered at her again, at length.
“What?” she shot back. Everyone stopped their figuring and looked at her. “I know you’ve never liked me. I get it. Everyone gets it. I had the misfortune of taking calculus early, so I’ve had the pleasure of your company for both intro and advanced, and not once in those two years have you, and—”
The door whipped open. Everyone jumped as it collided against the wall behind it, and in rushed Max Haulden followed immediately by a flustered and pale-faced administrative worker that Ellie vaguely recognized. Max scanned the room frantically and when he found her, he looked directly into her, his eyes wider than Ellie had ever seen, and Ellie immediately felt sick.
“We have a problem,” he said, his voice stuck a touch high in his throat.
The harried administrator adjusted her skirt and looked pleadingly at Mr. Zimmerman. “I tried to tell him! Only the attendance clerk can remove a student from class!”
Zimmerman stood behind his desk, pushing his chair back against the whiteboard. “What in the name of... I have a final exam in progress—”
Max turned and pointed at him with two fingers. “Shut up.” He turned back to Ellie and his wild, animal look hit her in the gut again and gave her a feeling that wasn’t so different from when he’d punched her there the night before. His barely veiled panic was rubbing off on some of the students. Those closest to him shot up out of their desks and moved away.
“Leave your things. Time to go,” he said.
Zimmerman came around the front of his desk. “You can’t just barge in here and take one of my students out. Not only is it disruptive, I believe it’s illegal.”
Ellie held out her hand to stop him. “No. I’d better go.” Her ashen face gave Zimmerman and everyone else in the room a moment’s pause.
“Ellie, if there’s a problem we should call the police,” Zimmerman said.
“She’s leaving,” Max said, holding open the door and ushering her out with a flicking hand. He turned abruptly to Zimmerman, “And there is a problem. And you probably should call the police,” he said, before whisking out behind her.
They ran out into the hallway on the second floor and Max herded her towards the main staircase.
“Who is it?” Ellie asked.
“It’s Mazaryk. We have to get you out of here.”
“What about Tom?”
They got about one hundred feet down the hallway before Max stopped; he held up his arm and Ellie ran into it.
“Did you hear that?”
Ellie stilled her breathing and cocked her head to the side. It was faint, but she heard screaming filtering up from the staircase. It swelled and then disappeared, as if carried on the wind. Then there was silence. Unnatural silence. The handful of students milling about outside of the classrooms on the second floor heard it too; they naturally sought each other, like a herd in the face of a storm.
“Get out!” she hissed at them. “Go!” But none ran. One group even moved slowly towards the banister to see what was happening.
Ellie shied away from the staircase the way she had from the one in her own house as a toddler. The one that led down into the darkness that became her bedroom. But this was no figment of her imagination.
“There’s a fire escape,” Ellie said. “Down this hall.”
“No! No fire escapes,” Max said, and he absently rubbed at his cast. He recalled his last experience with one, in which he was left broken, splayed across the rusty metal stairs. “He’ll have someone there. The sweeper always watches the perimeter. I’ve got to run right at him.”
Ellie stepped back and stared at him.
“That’s our only hope. I have to run right at him. You take the atrium exit. Cy is in the car out front waiting for you.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll take care of him, meet up with you later.”
“Are you crazy?”
“You’re the captain. The main prize. We have to get you out. Hopefully Tom locks himself away and waits it out. As long as he’s out of sight he’ll live.”
“This doesn’t seem right. I can help you. I can help clear this place out.”
“You’ll be dead before you set eyes on him. You need more time, Ellie. Much more time—”
Then came another round of screaming, much closer this time. Ellie heard the sneakers on the linoleum floor just below, the soft screeching of rubber as students turned the corner and ran out the west entrance, by the library.
Then another sound: a clear measured clicking, as of leather soled shoes, slow and ominous, approaching below. The clicking echoed up the stairway and paused directly below them. There was a muffled scream and the slamming of a door, followed by the distant rumbling of furniture being moved. Time stopped for the span of a breath, and it was as if they’d been caught out in the open while a spotlight swept just above, and all anyone could do was pray.
Then the footsteps moved on.
“He’s going towards the library,” Ellie whispered, hand over her mouth.
Max was breathing hard, hand balled into a tight fist. He swallowed. “Now’s our chance. Down the stairs, through the atrium, to the car. Understand? Go!”
————
Alex Auldborne walked with calm, measured steps towards the open double doors of the Shawnee Mission library. His face was easy, but his eyes were the gleaming gray of a whet stone. His trim tweed overcoat was open and sailed softly behind him. He placed one hand in his pocket; the other gripped his handgun and swung loosely at his waist.
He paused at the open foyer just inside the doors and surveyed his scene. In the center of the room shimmered a glass sculpture of a lion, the Shawnee Mission mascot, encased under a spotlight, frozen in a silent roar. To his right, the chec
k-out desk curved out and away into the stacks of books at the rear. To his left, row upon row of cubicles interspersed with tables.
Nobody was visible, but he could hear them: cramped movements and soft whimpers permeated the room. In the far back he heard a door slam. Here and there he caught a glimpse of a foot, or an arm, poorly concealed. Auldborne grinned. It was as if the students were playing a game of hide and seek and were terrified to find that the world had shrunk on them since their childhood.
He approached the checkout counter and dragged the barrel of his gun along the wood surface as he ran its length. He heard a panicked shuffling and a clipped inhale from below and paused. He tapped his gun lightly on the desk.
“Hello down there!” he called, a wicked smile in his voice. When there was no answer, he peered over the desk. Whoever they were, they were holed up deeply. He dragged the tip of his gun further along, towards the stacks.
“I was hoping you might help me find someone. A man in his late twenties, a sad sort of fellow. Brown hair, troubled eyes. He shouldn’t be here.”
He reached the tall metal stacks that hemmed in the far corner of the desk and continued along them, tapping his gun upon the separators.
“The sooner I find him, the sooner I leave you alone.”
He reached the edge of the bordering stack and swung around the corner like it was a lamppost in the rain. He quickly sighted under the desk, but he needn’t have worried. The young girl hidden there didn’t move. She didn’t even look up at him. She was crouched deep in the corner, knees up, her head resting upon them. Her eyes were closed and she was muttering softly to herself, blonde hair draped over her face.
He walked slowly up to her and stopped just outside where she was cornered. Bracing himself on the desk, he leaned in to hear her whispers, and still she didn’t move. He reached under the counter with his gun and pushed aside her hair with the barrel to expose her face, and still her eyes remained closed. Auldborne rested his handgun on her shoulder and cocked his head to listen. She was praying. Reciting names over and over again as if in a trance, each string followed by ‘bless us and keep us.’ Auldborne breathed in deeply.
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