by R. T. Lowe
“He’s too close,” Allison said softly, her eyes darting toward the buildings. “We’re running out of time.”
Felix agreed. There was no time for a better plan. The man on the path looked like he was trying to decide which hall to enter. He was stopping and starting, gazing up and moving his head back and forth as if checking for the building with the most lighted rooms. Felix knew they had to act quickly, but they couldn’t charge the shooter without exposing themselves for half the length of a football field, and he didn’t know if he could stop bullets, especially if they were flying at them from more than one location. He’d somehow shielded them from flaming debris when he’d exploded the car at the Cliff Walk, but he hadn’t tried anything like that since and wasn’t confident he could prevent every bullet from slipping through his defenses. They set off again, running on the grass next to the walkway in a half-crouch to avoid the low hanging branches, ready to make use of the trees again if the shooters looked in their direction.
“Take him,” Allison whispered, pointing at the man on the path, and suddenly she was off, knifing between a pair of trees and entering The Yard, weaving around and hurdling over the banners and placards left behind by the ERA protesters.
“What are you—?” Felix started to say, reaching out as if to reel Allison back in, his eyes flicking up ahead where the man had just passed another building. Wavering with indecision, he fought the urge to call out to her, realizing that would only draw the attention of the shooters. Allison’s arms were pumping machine-like, her pony tail bouncing across her back, closing on the man rapidly as he neared the western end of The Yard. Felix felt himself drifting out onto the grass like a leaf caught in a current, driven by a blind instinct to protect Allison at all costs. Then he stopped and glanced over at a door closing shut at the LaPine Building, the shooter already inside. There were students in there, Felix realized with horror. Hundreds. What should I do? He took a step toward LaPine then stopped in place. He turned back to The Yard and stopped again, watching Allison tear across the lawn. What should I do? He felt frozen with doubt and indecision. What should I do? What should I do?
Allison shouted at the man, her voice carrying easily across the deserted square, “Hey! Over here! Hey asshole!”
The man wheeled around, gun raised, and Felix’s heart froze solid in his chest, stopping his breath.
Allison, sprinting full speed, dove with her arms outstretched, grabbing the barrel in both hands, dipping her head and rolling over her shoulder, using her momentum to wrench the rifle from the man, sending him flying through the air like he’d been launched from a catapult. When he hit the ground, he skidded and rolled awkwardly on the hard turf, coming to a graceless stop. With a confused shake of his head, he bounced up and glanced at his empty hands. Allison was already on her feet, still holding the barrel. When his gaze fell on Allison and he realized a teenaged girl had swiped his rifle, his jaw went slack. Then his eyes hardened, filling with rage, and he charged her, hands reaching out wildly for his weapon.
Allison didn’t move. She waited. Then at the last possible moment, just as Felix thought Allison was going to relinquish the weapon without a fight, she spun and swung the rifle in a blinding arc, smashing it into the man’s face just beneath the protection of his helmet. He dropped instantly, crunching down on his shoulder, blood streaming from his shattered mouth. Allison stared down at him, her fierce eyes smoldering, then she gave the gun a disgusted scowl and tossed it on the ground.
Shots rang out like a distant car backfiring, making Felix jump.
Allison whirled, eyes going wide at the sight of Felix standing in The Yard watching her. “What are you doing!” she shouted. “Go get him!”
She’s alive! he thought, his head swimming with relief, feeling almost dizzy. He stared at her, absorbing the wondrous sight of Allison alive and uninjured.
“Go!” Allison screamed, waving him frantically toward the buildings to his back. “Go get him!”
Felix jolted to his senses, realizing he’d wasted precious time. He turned and blazed through the lawn and between the oaks and up the front steps of the LaPine Building, fearing his classmates might already be dead because he’d let his indecision paralyze him when he should have listened to Allison and gone straight for the man on the path. He might have been able to reach the shooter while he was still on the walkway. Why had he stood there in the grass like a stoned spectator? Was it fear? Fear for Allison? Or didn’t he trust her? Did he think she couldn’t handle—?
More shots rang out as Felix burst into the lobby, ear-splitting eruptions funneling up the staircase to the upper floors and then crashing down like thunderclaps. He flew up the stairs and hesitated at the landing, waiting, listening. The second floor was empty and silent, the offices and classrooms darkened, the doors all closed, the hallway lights off.
Krack! A single shot. Then shouting and frightened screams coming from one of the higher floors. Felix bolted up another flight of stairs, the dull light of a gray winter day filtering in weakly through the third floor windows.
“Open the door!” a voice screamed furiously. Then thud, the sound of something heavy slamming into a solid object. Screams and panicked voices drifted along the hallway to Felix’s right. He cut across the landing and stopped, silently watching the scene before him. Down the wide corridor, a man in body armor, his assault rifle strapped across his back, crashed into a classroom door with his shoulder, rattling it. The door, sturdy and made of thick pine, gave slightly, then desperate voices cried out on the other side and it shuddered in its frame.
An image of the room came to life before Felix’s eyes, so stunning and vivid in its realism it was almost as if he was there. The students were all terrified beyond reckoning, some huddled together in the back of the room, crying, praying, texting their families, barricading themselves as best they could, while others stood bravely at the door, holding it firm, pushing against it with all their strength and determination, willing to sacrifice their lives to protect their classmates. A burning anger swelled inside Felix and his fury was like a sentient thing, reaching out on its own to connect with the Source, sparking a heavy tingling sensation that began in his stomach and quickly coursed through his veins, through every inch of his body.
“Open this fucking door!” the man raged, unslinging his weapon, aiming it at the door. “Open it or I swear to God I’ll fucking shoot your balls off! I’m gonna make you cry, you goddamn pussies! You hear me, you little shits? Whoever’s holding this door is gonna suffer! You hear me?” He curled his finger over the trigger. He pulled.
Felix’s mind fixed on the rifle and moved it away from the door, controlling the man like a marionette, swiveling him and his gun, locking the man’s index finger in the firing position. The sound of the rifle was deafening. Bullets exploded from the barrel. Bursts of drywall puffed white as the bullets ripped into the wall beside the door, raking one side of the hall, then shattering the small oval window at the end of the corridor, the barrel finally coming to a stop with the muzzle aimed at the wall across from the classroom. The steel slugs poured from the gun, eating away chunks of plaster and wood, until the weapon clicked and howled, whining like a blender about to blow its motor. Felix felt a flicker of a smile on his face. The students were safe. The gun was empty. Felix released the man and watched him, eager to see his reaction. The tables had turned. Felix was going to teach the shooter a very hard lesson about fucking with the wrong person.
After the echoes receded there was silence. The man blinked rapidly, staring straight ahead at the wall opposite the door. He gave his head a rough shake (his brain no doubt struggling to comprehend how he could be facing the wrong way) and turned to look back at the classroom.
“Hey!” Felix called out, walking toward him, right hand raised, the blood roaring in his ears like a storm.
The man’s head snapped around, eyes wide and alert. With a sharp gasp, he tucked the stock against his shoulder and turned the barrel on Felix.
Felix kept walking, slowly, his anger making him feel weightless, combustible.
The man glanced over the gunsight for a moment, giving Felix a strange look, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend why a kid would be confronting him, alone and unarmed. Then he smiled and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
“You’re out of bullets,” Felix told him calmly. He wanted the man to feel fear. The shooter had come here to kill and main, to cause unfathomable anguish and loss. Now, Felix was going to give him a taste of what he had planned for his classmates. Make him understand—make him feel—the fear and pain of being on the other end of his gun.
The man popped out the high-capacity magazine with practiced efficiency and made a move to retrieve another from his vest; Felix counted eight, four on each side. Felix twitched a finger and stopped the shooter’s hand, freezing it in place. The man sucked in a short breath, looking down at his leaden fingers in confusion, teeth clenched, face straining as he tried to fight the invisible restraints.
“Thought you could make a name for yourself?” Felix said coldly, lifting him up until the toes of his black military boots brushed the dark runner beneath him. “Thought you could go in there and kill a bunch of defenseless kids? Big man with a gun, huh?” With a thought, Felix slammed him against the wall, whipping his head sideways, his helmet leaving behind a deep divot.
“What are you doing?” the man shrieked, his confusion slipping into terror. “Stop it! Let me go! Let me go!”
“Thought your armor would protect you?” Felix focused on his torso and applied pressure, imagining the shooter in the clutches of a giant vise. The man began to squirm. Felix squeezed. The hairline crack that began at the sternum was nearly invisible, then, as Felix increased the pressure, it grew, spreading rapidly across his chest and shoulders, branching out web-like. Felix tightened his mental grip, crushing armor and bone, bursting organs. The man howled in pain, blood bubbling from his twisting mouth, lathering his chin. The vest split in half down the center and peeled away from its host in pieces, broken and useless, sloughing away like a snake shedding its skin.
The man went quiet for an instant and Felix feared he was dead, then he coughed up a dark clot of blood and let out a wailing sob, filling Felix with relief. He didn’t want him to die. Not yet. Tears streaked the shooter’s face and Felix realized he was crying. Crying tears. Felix was furious. Enraged. How dare this piece of shit shed tears!
Felix shouted up at the man’s face, “You fucking little bitch! You’re crying? You need your mommy now, tough guy? You want mommy to come and wipe your eyes, you motherfucker?” Felix lifted him higher and flicked a finger, pounding him into the wall, collapsing it, his head lolling over his shoulders, his limp body snapping two by fours like they were sticks of dry kindling. Another twitch of his finger caused the man to pick up speed and Felix hurtled him down the corridor, smashing him from wall to wall, crashing him against one side of the hallway and then the other, back and forth, back and—
He was gone, the shattered glass from a tall window overlooking The Yard cascading to the floor in large jagged pieces. Felix blinked as if clearing the sleep from his eyes and ran to the window, the cold air rushing over him. Down below, a body, fractured and bloodied, lay across the top of the wrought iron railing that separated the path from the plantings in front of the building. Shit! Felix thought, disgusted with himself. He wasn’t done with him yet. How could he have not seen the window? That was too goddamn quick.
“Hey!” a voice called up to him. Allison stood near the top of the front steps, waving to get his attention. Then she glanced over at the body of the shooter. “Everyone okay?” she asked hopefully. When he nodded, she blew out a heavy sigh of relief, fluttering long strands of hair that had fallen over her eyebrows.
Shots pierced the stillness, thumping into the trees, splintering branches. Felix flinched and his eyes went to Allison, still standing in the same place, staring ahead, arms out at her sides as if prepared to lunge in any direction. Then Felix saw him: a man in body armor stained red down one side, stumbling toward them with an ungainly gait, stopping behind a tree, only the tip of his muzzle in sight. The rifle flashed and bullets slammed into the steps, throwing up clouds of crushed stone. Felix pointed toward the man, directing his will at the visible nub of metal cylinder. Bursts of light pulsed bright and blinding from the muzzle, spotting Felix’s vision. Blinking furiously, the bullets continued to pulverize the steps, tracing a path behind Allison as she sprinted for the railing and hurled herself over it, bringing her knees to her chest and tucking for a moment before extending her legs and landing squarely on her feet. Through the haze of white flares pulsing in his eyes, Felix watched Allison shuffling along with bent knees, the building to her back and the shooter out front concealed behind a tree. Allison was trapped.
The shooter must have glimpsed Allison’s head skirting across the tops of the shrubs and thought he had a clean kill shot. He took one step and emerged from behind the tree, standing unsteadily on the worn cobblestones, steam coming off his broken face, rotating the barrel to his left, drawing Allison into his line of fire. One step. That’s all Felix needed. He jerked down on the shooter’s arms, forcing them to straighten and lock at the elbow, then he maneuvered the barrel toward his face and stretched out his neck so it appeared he was searching for the sun through the dark clouds smothering the campus. As the shooter’s panicked eyes shifted madly in their sockets, Felix dug the barrel under the man’s chin, positioning it just above his Adam’s apple, pointing up. The man’s terrified eyes fell upon Felix watching him from the third floor and a spark of understanding seemed to settle over his features. Felix gave him a cold smile and fired the gun, the bullet tunneling a canyon through the man’s face and a perfect hole through the crown of his Kevlar helmet. He hit the ground in a lifeless heap, but Felix made sure his thumb stayed on the trigger. Felix was angry. The man had tried to kill Allison. He had planned to murder his classmates. A single bullet to the face was a far better death than he deserved.
A flock of robins watching from a high branch scattered as the blasts from the rifle bored through the man’s head, stripping away his helmet inch by inch until Felix lost count of the number of rounds and the explosions reverberating across the campus like waves of thunder diminished, fading away altogether, and then at last, once more, there was silence. The magazine was used up. Felix had emptied it.
Allison hopped over the railing, stepped out onto the path and looked up at Felix, mouthing the words, “Thank you!” She threw a glance at the man not far from her feet, cringed, then added with a straight face, “You think he’s dead?”
The Yard was alive now. Dark clothed men with bulletproof vests and assault rifles stalked cautiously across the field of grass and along the paths. Allison saw them and threw up her hands, screaming and gesturing hysterically toward the shooter who lay on the walkway, blood and gray matter puddling near the remains of his head. As a group of officers from the Sheriff’s department converged on her, she brought her hands to her face and began to bawl like a frightened child, allowing them to put their arms around her, to comfort her.
Felix, for a moment, didn’t understand what she was doing. Then it hit him. She was acting. She had to make them think she wasn’t involved, just an unfortunate girl who stumbled upon a dead guy with a gun in front of the LaPine Building. Otherwise, questions would be asked, and only a fool wouldn’t be suspicious about two freshmen taking out a pair of heavily-armed men with murderous intentions. Voices floated up from the stairwell followed by the heavy thumping of rushing feet climbing stairs. Felix moved back from the window and out of sight of those on the ground, preparing himself. When two men in tan pants and dark jackets—PC campus security—emerged from the landing, Felix was pointing out the shell of the window, shouting, “He jumped! He’s down there! He jumped!”
One of the men (both wide eyed and parchment white with fear) nodded at him and asked if he was okay
while the other said something into his cell phone. They stepped over to the window, black sneakers crunching on glass, and waved down to the officers below who were now swarming the area outside the building. “All clear!” one of the men shouted, pointing down at the body twisted over the fence at unnatural angles. “The other one’s down there!” The second man joined him, and together they shouted directions—incomprehensible because they were both shouting at the same time—and gestured wildly toward the body, which the men on the ground couldn’t see through a thicket of shrubs.
Felix made his way softly through the hallway and down the stairs, slipping out through the back entrance before campus security realized he had left.
Chapter 14
Water
The kitchen inside Monty’s Moosepatty Bar & Grill was sweltering. Carter had two interminable hours left on his shift and he thought about—for the thousandth time—how good it would feel to quit this soul sucking sack of shit job. Taking his cleaning tray with him, he crossed the dining room and camped out near the door, waiting for a customer to arrive or depart so the cold air could revive him. He stared out at the crowded room of ravenous diners, adopting a look of intense concentration, glancing quickly at the table in the corner where a red faced man in a cowboy hat was telling one of his dumb stories, his booming baritone cutting through the boisterous din of a busier than usual Monday evening. The man, Monty, the owner of the restaurant, wouldn’t be pleased if he saw Carter standing idle, and as much as he fantasized about jettisoning his after school gig, he needed it. Bussing tables earned him minimum wage and a percentage of the tips, enough to cover the insurance and gas on his 2012 Explorer, which he was hoping to take with him when he went off to college next fall.
