by J.M. Cagle
Chapter 5
One, then two, then all five toilets burst, showering them with water and pieces of porcelain. Sam buried his fingers in her hair, thrusting her head under his body as he attempted to shield them from the worse of it. Then the sink behind her began to pulsate in its Formica prison.
“Run!” Sam ordered before pushing her toward the door.
Joey ran into the hallway just in time to see the water fountain erupt, tearing tiles and plaster from the wall. Jackson just appeared even though his classroom was on the other side of campus, wrapping his arms around her and quickly dragging her down the hallway. Joey never saw Sam come out of the bathroom, but he was somehow waiting for them in a huge SUV idling in the circle drive in front of the building.
Jackson shoved her into the car, climbing in beside her as Sam accelerated, pulling away before they had even had a chance to shut the door. As soon as he was settled on the seat beside her, Jackson began checking Joey for injuries.
“Stop,” she said, pulling away. “I’m okay.”
“Are you sure? I smell blood.”
“That would be me,” Sam said from the front seat.
Joey instinctively leaned forward, reaching around the seat so that she could see Sam. “Are you hurt?”
“Just a few scratches,” he said, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. “Sit back,” he ordered, his eyes flying to Jackson in the mirror. “Put a seatbelt on her, Jack.”
Jackson pulled her back, obeying Sam with the unquestioning loyalty of a prized poodle. Joey was too dazed to say anything. She sat back, turning to stare out the window. The world looked so normal, other cars passing beside them filled with bored housewives and crying toddlers. She saw a cop sitting nonchalantly on a bicycle across the road, waving to a group of women as they stepped out of a coffee shop down the street. She wondered why he wasn’t rushing to the high school, why he wasn’t trying to find out whomever had destroyed the bathroom.
“Was it a bomb?”
Jackson glanced at her, a frown marring his handsome face. “You haven’t told her?”
“Haven’t had a chance.”
“Told me what?”
Jackson tilted his head toward Sam, but Sam was busy negotiating the traffic as he merged onto I-35.
“Someone should do something,” Joey said. “Kids could get hurt.”
When neither man seemed intent to act, Joey yanked her cellphone out of a pocket in her skirt. She began to dial 911, but Jackson grabbed her phone, yanking it painfully out of her hand and tossing it out the window.
“Jackson—”
“That won’t help you, darling,” he said in his familiar drawl.
“What the hell is going on?” She reared up, tugging at her seatbelt, but unsure where she planned to go once she was free. Jackson grabbed her hand, the strength in his arms suddenly ten times what it had been the many times before when he had touched her. And, like in the break room, his arms seemed to have grown, his body taking on the lean, muscular appearance of an athlete rather than the skinny, nerdy appearance of her good friend.
“Settle down,” he said, his voice soft, gentle.
“Don’t do that to her,” Sam said.
Jackson immediately released her.
The sense of calm that had begun to envelope her disappeared, leaving her with the cold, heavy fear that had taken up residence in her chest.
“You know each other,” she said, gesturing between Jackson and Sam.
Neither acknowledged her.
“What’s going on? What are you doing? Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere safe,” Sam said.
She shook her head, pulling at the seatbelt again. “Let me out. I’m not going anywhere until the two of you explain what the hell is going on.”
“Joey—”
She never learned what Jackson had begun to say because, just then, that thing, that feeling of thorniness and a steel band wrapped around her grabbed her, pulling her hard against the car seat.
“Nephilim,” Jackson cried as he turned to her, his jaw elongated with long, frightening fangs suddenly jutting from his open mouth.