Tad could feel Rashid’s eyes still on him. “I’m not . . .” He shrugged and kept his own eyes lowered. “I know my friends say a lot of things, but I never do. I’m not like them.”
“Really? So you automatically assumed I had something to do with the bombing, but you aren’t racist like they are? Fine. You can keep telling yourself that.” Rashid shook his head and started walking again.
“I’m not a racist!” he yelled at Rashid’s back. “Hey.” He hurried after him. “You know I’m half black.” Tad’s footsteps were right behind Rashid.
“Wow. I never noticed.” Rashid’s laugh was bitter as he stepped over a fallen board. “You think that means you’re not a racist? Then why did you automatically assume I’m hiding something terrible because I didn’t want to tell you who I called when I thought I was going to die?” Rashid stopped next to an open doorway.
“It’s not because I’m a racist, and it isn’t my fault my friends say crap things sometimes.” Tad stopped walking. “You don’t know anything about me, so don’t pretend you know me.”
Sweat trickled down his back. The hallway was growing hotter. The smoke was thicker, making it harder to breathe.
Rashid turned and started walking again. “You’re right. I don’t know a thing about you. But not knowing me didn’t stop you from passing judgment.” Rashid rounded the corner. “Your double standard is—”
Rashid suddenly went quiet. Tad raced around the corner and almost crashed right into Rashid, who was standing as still as a rock. Then Tad looked beyond Rashid and realized why.
Smoke. Waves of it poured down the stairs located smack in the middle of the hallway. Dark tendrils were coming from the blackened ceiling. And there were flames.
“Aw, hell!” Tad looked back down the hallway they had just come from and then toward the staircase in the middle of the hallway . . . near the fire. “This sucks. This really and completely sucks.”
Rashid didn’t move. He was just staring straight ahead as if he’d fallen into some kind of trance. Great. This was just perfect.
Tad stepped around Rashid, swallowed down the pulsing panic, and rubbed the back of his sweat-coated neck. The fire hadn’t reached this floor yet. It was still in the upper stairwell. The stairwell going down looked okay. But who knew how long that would last?
“Screw it. I’m going.”
“What are you doing?” Rashid asked, grabbing his arm. “You could get burned. We should wait for the firefighters to put out the fire.”
“If we wait, the fire will spread to the rest of the staircase.” He pulled his arm out of Rashid’s grasp and started down the hall, trying hard to ignore how much hotter the air was with every step. “I lost one escape route because I decided to save you. I’m not going to lose another.”
“And what about the friend you said was still in the school?” Rashid called. “Do you intend on leaving him to die?”
Tad turned. “I don’t even know for sure that he was in the school when the bombs went off. He probably stood me up.”
The heat pushed like a stiff wind, stealing the air around him.
Pressure built in his chest.
He wiped his stinging eyes and turned back toward the stairs. The fire was moving down them, closer to the second-floor landing, but the stairs going down to the first story were still clear of flames. “I think we can make it.”
The smoke was terrifying. Flames crackled as they licked the stairs, getting closer to their level. Tad started forward, but Rashid grabbed Tad’s arm and yanked him back. Tad stumbled and slipped on the wet floor.
“Let me go.”
“Stop.”
“We can make it if we go now.”
“Just stop.”
“You want to stay here, fine, but I’m going.”
“Wait!”
Rashid’s fingers dug into Tad’s arm and refused to let go.
“Look in that locker!” Rashid yelled, pointing through the growing haze toward the wall near the stairwell.
“Who cares about a locker? We can—” That’s when Tad saw what Rashid was pointing at. A flicker of red light glowing near the bottom of one of the lockers.
He squinted and took a step forward to get a better look as a wave of hot air swept over him. Sweat dripped down his back. “What the hell is that?”
Something in the stairwell above snapped and cracked, and a flaming board crashed down the stairs.
Rashid grabbed his arm and pulled hard, but Tad held his ground as he studied the stairs. He could still make it. He was fast. If he went now, he might get down to the first floor. Then he looked back at the locker, squinted into the haze, and realized what the red glow was. Numbers. And they were counting down.
“Tad! Run!”
Holy hell.
Something cracked.
The fire roared down the stairs.
Tad took two steps backwards, then turned and followed Rashid’s lead. He ran.
“This way!” Rashid shouted over his shoulder as something else came crashing down in the stairwell. Tad ran faster. He couldn’t breathe. Rashid rounded the corner. Tad raced right behind him. The minute the flames reached that locker, all bets were—
Z
— Chapter 32 —
“SCREW THEM! They have to come help.” Z slid his head and one arm out the narrow window and waved at the people standing at the parking lot far in the distance. “Hey. Yo! We need help. Hello! It’s time to do your freakin’ jobs. Are you blind?”
“They see you,” Diana said as he craned his neck to get a better view of the parking lot and the dozens of people in uniforms who were standing in the hot sun, looking up at the building while gesturing and shouting but essentially doing nothing. Nothing!
“Look over there,” Diana called to him. He looked down to where she pointed, farther to the right, where people in dark blue jackets were standing at the base of the north set of steps, which led up to the front entrance. On the back of the jackets were stamped the letters FBI.
“Hey!” he screamed down at them. “Move your asses and get us out of here!”
Still they didn’t budge. Damn it!
“You might as well stop screaming,” Diana said. “They aren’t going to pay attention to you.”
“Well, it’s not like we have a hell of a lot of other choices,” he said, kicking the wall beneath the window. Diana was right. Between the sirens and the people shouting and the helicopters whirring overhead, there was no chance anyone could hear him. Still, standing around doing nothing wasn’t an option.
“Let me try,” she said as she unlatched the narrow window at her end of the room and cranked it until it opened as far as it would go. There was a safety feature that was supposed to keep kids from doing something stupid—like jumping. Or being able to scream for help during a bombing.
Still, Diana managed to get her arm through. She looked up at the sky instead of down at the ground then waved her arms and said, “Please. We need help.”
“If they couldn’t hear me, do you think they’re actually going to hear you?” Z sneered.
“It’s not about hearing me!” she shouted at him before waving toward the sky and calling up again.
Good, Z thought, because the whirring sound of a chopper grew louder, drowning out anything she had to say.
Slowly, she twisted enough to pull her head and arm back inside, then raced across the room.
“What the hell are you doing?” Z asked as she ripped a poster of the Eiffel Tower off a bulletin board and flipped it over. “This isn’t the time to make paper airplanes.”
“I need a marker. They can’t hear us, but there’s a camera on that news helicopter.”
A camera that could see a message and let the people on the ground know that Kaitlin needed help.
“I’ll find something.” Z hurried toward the desk at the front of the room near Kaitlin. He glanced over at her as he threw open a drawer. “Hang in there, Kaitlin. Diana’s got a good idea to get us out of
here.” He pulled out the next drawer and felt a surge of triumph. “Will this work?” he yelled.
Diana turned, and he tossed the thick, dark red marker over to her. She caught it and nodded. “It’s perfect!”
She brushed off a desk, flipped the poster over, and started writing. Z squeezed Kaitlin’s hand, then crossed the room to read Diana’s message.
I’m Diana Sanford. My father is Senator Howard Sanford. The exits are blocked. We need help.
“What the hell?” Z grabbed the poster off the desk. “What about me and Kaitlin? You didn’t even mention that she’s injured and needs help right now. Don’t you think they should know that?”
“Nothing I write about Kaitlin is going to make a difference.”
“But telling them your name will? News flash. If we die, you’re going to die too. It doesn’t matter who your daddy is.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” She grabbed the sign and headed for the window. “The media cares about a school getting bombed and people getting trapped inside, but they care more when a United States senator’s daughter is fighting for her life with no one making a move to help get her out.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Maybe,” she said, sliding the poster through the open window. “But that doesn’t make it less true. I didn’t make the rules.”
He balled his hand into a fist and stalked to the other window as Diana angled the poster up toward the sky so the camera she promised was on board would get a shot of it when the chopper flew by. Poking his head through the window, Z waved his arms to help get attention. “Hey! We’re here. Read the stupid sign and come help us.”
The news chopper flew closer, and Z craned his neck to look up at it. Then he glanced down at the parking lot, where the emergency workers continued to hold their ground.
This was a bust.
“Okay, Princess,” Z said, pulling his head back inside. “They saw your stupid sign. And they still aren’t coming in.”
Ducking back inside, Diana said, “We have to be patient. They have to follow protocol.”
“Protocol can kiss my—”
“Hello?”
“What was that?” Z whirled toward the door.
“Hello?” the voice came again, and Z let out a whoop.
“Kaitlin, do you hear that? They’re coming.” Firefighters were coming to the rescue. They were going to get out of this. “You’re going to be okay.” Z wove through desks and yelled back, “Hey! We’re down here. There’s someone injured in here.”
“Hello?” the voice called out again. This time closer.
“Please hurry.” Z knelt down next to Kaitlin. Gently, he took her hand. She looked up at him, and he smiled as someone called, “Cas, they’re here.”
“Thank God you found us.” Z looked toward the open doorway and stopped smiling. Standing there was a dirt-streaked, sweaty Frankie Ochoa. Not a firefighter who could help Kaitlin, but a football player with no way out—just like them.
Diana
— Chapter 33 —
DIANA WASN’T SURE how to feel about Frankie’s appearance. He was shirtless, and his tanned chest was covered with sweat and dust, a change from the last time they’d seen each other.
Two dates. He didn’t show for the third, and he never bothered to tell her why. She refused to ask and instead took it as a sign. Now he was here, and the horror on Z’s face made it clear how he felt about seeing the star quarterback.
“It’s you.” Z glanced behind Frankie as if hoping for someone else to appear.
And someone did.
Her face looked almost gray next to her dark frizzy hair. Her eyes were wide and glassy. Dirt and blood smeared the girl’s face and neck. It looked as if she had one arm wrapped in a dirty sling.
“I can tell I’m not exactly who you were hoping to see,” Frankie said, looking at Diana. His eyes flicked up at the hole in the ceiling and then swept over the massive metal air conditioner wedged into the floor. Frankie went completely still and the cocky smile he always seemed to be wearing disappeared as he spotted Kaitlin under it.
“Oh, God,” the girl with the bandaged arm said. “Is she dead?”
“Not yet,” Kaitlin answered for herself.
“Not at all.” Z knelt down next to her. “Once the firefighters decide to do their job, we’ll get you out of here.”
“What are you talking about?” Frankie asked.
“Look outside.” Z pointed toward the window he’d shattered. “The firefighters and police and everyone are just waiting around out there for the building to collapse. They aren’t doing anything.”
“That makes no sense,” said the girl with the sling as Frankie hopped over a desk and followed Z to the window. While Frankie yelled and waved at the people below—because clearly he believed she and Z must not have done it right in the first place—the new girl asked, “What are they waiting for? An invitation?”
“Little Miss Princess here gave them one. She seemed to think they’d trip over themselves to help if they knew she was in the building.” Z sneered. “Must sting to know they care just as little about you as they do about the rest of us.”
It would if it were true.
“I guarantee you that dozens of politicians are on the phone right now demanding action and threatening anyone who will listen with hearings and investigations to make something happen.”
“And yet nothing’s happening,” Z said, kneeling down next to Kaitlin, who had started to cough. “Kaitlin needs help now.”
“And I told you, they must think there are more bombs,” Diana said. She walked to the window. “Look at how far back everyone is standing.” She took her phone out of her pocket and said, “I don’t have cell service. Does anyone else?”
Frankie pulled his out and frowned. “You think they turned it off?”
“But that would mean they don’t want us to be able to use our phones to call for help. They wouldn’t do that,” said the new girl Diana had almost forgotten about.
“Yeah—they would.” Frankie shoved his hands in his pockets. The cockiness that Frankie was known for and that Diana once found fascinating—until she realized he wasn’t as confident as he pretended to be—was gone. “Because they think there could be more bombs.”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m not waiting around for the people out there to get their crap together.” Z grabbed the long board he’d pitched to the ground earlier. “I’m getting this thing off of Kaitlin, and I’m finding a way out of this place.”
He shoved the board under the side of the air conditioner that was pinning Kaitlin’s legs down. It wasn’t going to work, but Diana found herself almost hoping it would as she said, “Wait a second. Before you do anything, let’s find bandages so we can make a tourniquet for her legs when we pull her out. She’s going to hemorrhage, and we have to stop that as fast as possible or she’ll die before we ever have the chance to leave this room.”
Frankie nodded. “She’s right. See what you can find in this room. I’ll check the ones down the hall.” He turned toward the dark-haired girl and said, “Hang here, Cas. I’ll be right back.”
Frankie gave Cas’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, then hurried out of the room. He ignored Diana, and she didn’t care. Frankie wasn’t anything more than a guy she had kissed twice. No big deal. Right now, none of that mattered, she told herself as she did a slow turn, taking in everything that was in the room.
Z was rummaging through the teacher’s desk. Cas was still clutching her bag close to her while leaning on the door frame as she looked down the hall—probably watching for Frankie, just like every other girl at this school.
“We could use the straps of your bag,” Diana said to Cas. “We can use them to tourniquet Kaitlin’s legs and try to stop them from bleeding.”
“Good.” Z slammed a drawer shut, making Cas jump. Kaitlin remained still as a stone. “Because there’s nothing in here to use. Here, give it to me.”
Cas stepped ba
ckwards into the doorway, shifting so Z couldn’t grab her bag.
“Over my dead body,” the girl shot back. She looked as if she might collapse at any minute, but she still had fight left in her and tugged the bag back toward her—surprising Z, who let go. He started to reach for it again, and the girl almost tripped going backwards through the door as Frankie called, “I’ve got something.”
He appeared behind Cas, juggling several rolls of duct tape and a bunch of paper towels. “There’s a lot of smoke coming down the hall. Once we get Kaitlin free, we’re going to have to find a way down to the first floor and out of here—fast.”
Diana kept her eyes on Cas as Frankie stepped into the room and started explaining how the bandaging would work once Kaitlin was free. Cas leaned against the doorway again and looked down at the bag she was hugging against her chest.
“Whatever’s in that bag must really be important,” Diana said quietly as the boys circled the air conditioner, discussing their options.
Cas didn’t respond, and her dark hair was hanging in front of her face, so Diana couldn’t see what she might be thinking. She just clutched the bag tighter, making Diana really wonder what was inside.
“Diana, could you come help us?” Frankie yelled.
Cas’s bag would wait.
Turning, she asked, “What do you want me to do?”
“You’re going to pull Kaitlin out once the air conditioner is lifted,” Frankie told her. “We won’t be able to hold it very long.”
“Give me the tape and the paper towels and a sec to get ready.” Trying not to look at Kaitlin’s pale face, Diana ripped several long strips of duct tape off the roll with her teeth and hung them from the leg of an overturned chair. She then stacked paper towels nearby.
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