Life Is Short and Then You Die_First Encounters With Murder From Mystery Writers of America

by Kelley Armstrong

  “Here,” she says. “But there’s no reception.”

  “I know.” I fumble with the slab of metal and glass, swiping until I find the phone’s flashlight. With the slide of a finger, a tiny light comes on, and I see my reflection in the train window. I look like a ghost.

  “Everyone!” I yell, waving the beam over the scared faces huddled in the car. “Get out your phones and turn on your flashlights. Hold them high.” I demonstrate, holding Natalia’s phone in the air.

  Slowly, more beams appear. One or two to start, like stars in a dark sky, and then more, until the whole cabin is illuminated by a constellation of cell-phone lights.

  “Is everyone okay?” I ask. The kids look about. Heads are nodding. “We need to stay calm and wait for them to come get us.”

  Even as I take in the ashen faces in the group, my mind is moving ahead. There is something I don’t like about our situation, but I’m not sure what it is.

  The bully yells at me. “How do you know anyone will come? And who put you in charge?” He points at Natalia. “They want her. I think the farther we are from her, the better.”

  He walks to the red emergency latch and yanks on it. The door to the train makes a loud hissing noise, then inches open. The bully jabs his fingers through the gap and shoves open the door.

  “I don’t think it’s safe to go into the tunnel,” I say. “There could be trains or…”

  I don’t say it, but I am thinking more guys with guns. The image of the man I knocked to the ground flashes in my head. Then the other man, motionless on the platform floor. I try to beat back a rising fear—a churning in my stomach, a flutter in my chest. Are there more bad guys? Did they somehow manage to stop the train? Are they coming after Natalia again? Is one of them on the train?

  My thoughts are interrupted by a scream straight out of a horror movie from the other end of the car.

  “He’s dead, he’s dead!” someone shouts.

  Then there’s a stampede for the exit.

  3.

  “CHILDREN WITH ADHD ARE OFTEN CHARISMATIC AND NATURAL LEADERS.”

  I don’t follow the crowd. That’s never been my thing. So I’m still in the train car.

  It’s dark again, lit only by Natalia’s phone in my hand. I fear I’m all alone now, but then I feel a hand touch my arm. Natalia has stayed back.

  “You didn’t need to stay. You’re safer in the group,” I say.

  “You have my phone.” She grins, and I know it isn’t about her phone.

  In the back of the car—where the scream came from—we see two other points of light. As my eyes adjust, I recognize the jock. I can’t make out the other figure.

  “We better take a look,” I say to Natalia, and we walk over.

  The jock and a blonde girl are crouched over someone, a boy. He’s sprawled on the floor, motionless, his legs splayed out. He’s shirtless, with what looks like red puncture wounds. And blood on and around him. The blonde and jock seem to be trying to find a pulse.

  “You know those two?” I ask Natalia as we draw closer.

  She shakes her head. “No, it’s our first day. We’re, like, from fifty different schools.”

  Together, the jock and blonde look like they’re a couple of Instagram models. A bit too perfect. There’s an obvious familiarity between them. The girl is wearing an orange shirt. It’s a bit large on her, so she’s tied a knot on the side to make it more form-fitting. There’s also blood on the front of it from trying to help the kid.

  The jock stands up, looks at me, and shakes his head.

  “I lifeguard every summer,” he says. “I know a little about this stuff. He’s not coming back.”

  The blonde girl straightens up, too, and leans into the jock, who wraps a protective arm around her. Yeah, they’re definitely a couple. Pretty fast, if all these kids just met. But guys like him tend to be lucky that way.

  We’re all looking at each other, none of us sure what to do.

  I move the phone-flashlight over the dead kid’s torso. I swallow hard. It’s the first time I’ve seen a dead body. The killer took his shirt. But why? So he could blend into the crowd of students? That means he’s out there somewhere, in disguise. Then I notice something else is off. The boy’s muscles are well formed and dense, and he has a web of tattoos across his chest, blue against a darkish skin. I’ve never seen a kid with so many tattoos. My mom would freak.

  The light hits the boy’s face, and Natalia gasps.

  What is it? I wonder. I look at Natalia, who’s obviously shaken, then back at the kid’s face, which is now glowing under the beam of the jock’s flashlight as well. He’s also curious about her reaction.

  The dead boy’s face is the same olive tone as Natalia’s. That’s when I realize that this is no boy. Under our dual spotlight, I see wrinkles, perhaps covered by makeup. A developed neck. He’s older than us by a good five years. And there are scars running down his left side.

  “Do you know him?” I ask the group. I’m thinking maybe he’s a chaperone or counselor.

  “No,” the blonde says.

  The jock adds, “I met him this morning. He said he goes to high school in New Mexico … or maybe it was New Hampshire.”

  High school. No way.

  “He’s my bodyguard,” Natalia blurts out.

  “Your what?” I ask.

  She doesn’t answer, but says, “And they killed my other bodyguard—on the train platform.”

  My mind flashes back to the beginning.

  “Wait … what?” the jock cuts in.

  Natalia glances around, although there’s only the four of us in the train. Then, standing so close to me I can smell her perfume or body spray or whatever it is girls put all over themselves, she says, “My father is an important man—back home. There are bad people in our country who want him to do things he won’t do, so they threatened our family. That’s why I’m in boarding school in the U.S. That’s why they killed—” Her voice catches.

  “Where’s home?” the jock asks.

  “Far away.”

  “What kind of answer is that?” he says. “If we’re in this because of you, we deserve to know who—”

  “Leave her alone, Alex,” the blonde girl says. “She’s as scared as us.”

  “Don’t tell me what to—”

  “Everyone relax,” I say, loudly. Too loudly, I realize, and drop my voice. “Let’s all take a deep breath.” I let everyone do that, like my mom has me do when I get worked up. When I hyperfocus and can’t get back to the regular world.

  I take a breath myself, count to ten in my head, then say: “As I see it, I’m with the bravest people in your ‘leadership’ group.” I put air quotes on leadership since I’ve seen only four leaders so far, these three and the bully who led the group into the tunnels. “I’m Kyle and this is Natalia.” I gesture to her.

  “I’m Jennifer,” the blonde says.

  “Alex,” says the jock.

  “Where are you two from?” I ask. It’s a weird time for small talk, but it seems to be calming them down. Me too.

  “Illinois,” Alex says.

  “Texas,” Jennifer says. “We met at the regionals.”

  All eyes turn toward Natalia. Before she answers, I say, “We know: You’re from ‘far away.’” I smile. And they all do, too.

  Natalia seems to collect herself. Then she says, “They’re not after you. Just me. So go. You don’t want to be near me when they come.”

  I swallow at that. Not if they come. When they come.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I say, a little surprised at how quickly I make the decision.

  I see Jennifer and Alex contemplating the idea. They eye the train door. They eye us. Then they exchange a small nod. They’re staying, too. But I’m paying more attention to how Natalia is looking at me. I wish everyone looked at me that way.

  “What do we do?” Jennifer asks.

  “I see two options,” Alex says. “Stay here and wait for help, or follow the others i
nto the tunnel.”

  But before we can make a decision, we’re interrupted by the sound of screaming coming from outside. It washes through the tunnel like a wave. Then, through the row of windows between cars, we see flashlights bobbing in the distance.

  More screams. Whoever they are, they’re coming our way.

  “Follow me,” I say. “Quickly.”

  And they do.

  4.

  “CHILDREN WITH ADHD ARE INTUITIVE AND OFTEN NOTICE THINGS OTHERS OVERLOOK.”

  It’s a simple matter of standing at the open door, jumping up and grabbing the lip of the train’s roof, doing a pull-up, then foisting a leg up to climb on top. Okay, not so simple, so I go first. I usually have trouble with the small things—tying my shoes, holding a pencil, and that kind of stuff—but getting out of this train, I can handle that. And I make it onto the roof easily enough.

  I then shoot a hand down for Natalia, who gets a boost from Alex. She’s followed by Jennifer. Alex brushes off my assistance and glides up effortlessly, his muscles bunching and stretching with an athlete’s natural ease. But when he stands upright, he scrambles to keep his balance on the slippery surface. His shoes aren’t sneakers, but dress shoes with slick bottoms, an odd fashion choice. I reach out to steady him.

  With the four of us topside, I feel an overwhelming urge to dash across the roof to the farthest end of the train for safety, zigzagging to dodge bullets I imagine flying past us. But now there’s flashlight beams coming from beneath us in our train car. We need to be quiet, really quiet.

  I motion for everyone to drop down on their stomachs. We flatten ourselves on the roof. We listen. Below us, the carriage rocks. How many of them are down there?

  Peering over the ledge, I watch as the flashlight beams move through the car. I stay dead still. The lights stop right under us and I hold my breath. I feel the train car shift as the shaft of the light shoots through the open door. A bad guy pokes his head out. Don’t look up, please don’t look up. After what seems like an eternity, the lights head back.

  “To the far end,” I whisper, my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  We slide across the dirty metal roof on our bellies, like a family of snakes. When we reach the end of the car we all stand, Alex shuffling his feet in a panic as he nearly slips in those stupid shoes.

  In a silent and intent line, we find our way forward with care, leaping over the narrow gaps between the cars. I look back, and Jennifer seems to glide across the rooftop, her demeanor calm, like she’s a gymnast or superjock like Alex. Why is everything so easy for the Beautiful People?

  We reach the end, a good seven cars and one hundred yards from where we started.

  Then I see a large light up ahead. I realize it isn’t a single light, it’s three flashlights and another group thirty yards back and gaining. A voice is shouting something from behind the glow.

  Then I hear gravel crunching from behind us.

  My heart sinks when I realize we’re trapped. There’s figures coming from ahead and behind.

  Natalia grabs my hand, which somehow gives me courage.

  Alex calls to us. “Follow me,” he says, shimmying down the side of the rail car. He’s found a door along the wall of the tunnel. Maybe a maintenance entrance.

  But something is holding me back. Something doesn’t feel right. All of the details I need to sort through are a hopeless jumble in my head.

  There’s more shouting. And I can make out what the first group of advancing shadows are saying now.

  “Put your hands where we can see them!”

  “Don’t move, we’re federal agents!”

  My senses are telling me they’re real, but I hesitate. What if they’re faking it? What if the bad guys are trying to pass as agents? Like Natalia’s bodyguard as a high schooler? We’d be walking right into their hands. Then one of them calls out again. His voice has power. He sounds so commanding. It must be the FBI.

  “I think we should go to them,” I say.

  “That’s crazy,” Jennifer says. “It’s a trick. We need to run!”

  There’s something desperate in her voice I don’t like. Then the jumble in my head begins to clear. Goose bumps roll down my arms as the pixels fall into place. First off, Alex isn’t wearing an orange shirt. It didn’t seem strange in the beginning—kids forget things. I do all the time. But then there’s his dress shoes.

  Plus, Jennifer’s shirt is covered in blood and it’s too big for her. It’s got to be the missing shirt from Natalia’s dead bodyguard. And this perfect couple supposedly met at regionals, but Alex said he was from Illinois and Jennifer from Texas—those states wouldn’t be in the same region. And I don’t hear even a trace of Texan in Jennifer’s voice.

  My suspicions are confirmed when Jennifer slips behind Natalia and pushes her through the tunnel door. The last thing I see is Alex’s sneer before he slams the door shut, leaving me by myself in the tunnel.

  * * *

  I plow through the door after them, the voices of the federal agents, who I now think really are agents, echoing behind me.

  I’m in a long, dark hallway. There’s small bulbs along the cement corridor. Control panels along the wall. I don’t see them ahead. I start to run, when I’m broadsided.

  I’ve never been hit so hard—another first for today—and I land with a hard thud, Alex on top of me. I flip over on my back. Alex straddles me and pins my arms with his hands.

  I struggle under his bulk but it’s hopeless. He outweighs me by thirty pounds.

  Alex turns to Jennifer, who is holding a gun on Natalia.

  “Get her out of here,” he says. “I’ll take care of this idiot.”

  That was a mistake. I hate being called stupid. Hate it. And, like I said, I hate bullies even more. As I’m pinned, I lock eyes with Natalia. And I see fire in them. She nods at me, then comes alive. She whirls around and grabs Jennifer’s gun arm, slamming it against the cement wall. The gun goes off just before it comes loose and clatters away. The sound of a ricocheting bullet fills the tunnel.

  “Over there,” Alex says, lifting a hand and pointing at the gun for Jennifer.

  With one arm momentarily free, I let fly at Alex’s jaw, but miss and strike him in the Adam’s apple. Crap, I think, my only chance, and I blow it.

  But Alex starts gagging. Both of his hands go to his neck. I heave and buck and he topples off of me.

  I race over to Natalia and Jennifer, who are rolling around on the ground, lashing out at each other, clawing for the gun inches away. I circle around them and get to the weapon first. I bend to pick it up, but collapse to the ground when a fist slams into my back, knocking the wind out of me.

  Alex scrambles over me. Fighting back the pain, I wrap my arms around his leg. He totters and falls over, his hand stretching out for the weapon.

  He’s kicking in a rage now, wanting to break my hold. A strangled sound comes from his throat. His fingertips touch the grip and begin drawing the weapon in.

  If he gets the gun, we’re—

  That’s when I hear a yelp and see Natalia stomping on Alex’s back. He curls up into a protective cocoon. I let go of him, jump to my feet, and take two giant steps to scoop up the gun. I see a shadow of Jennifer running back the way we came.

  Then a blast of light shoots through the door. Men and women in windbreakers rush toward us. They have flashlights and firearms.

  Jennifer screeches to a halt and raises her hands, Natalia and I raise ours. I let the gun tumble from my grasp. Natalia looks at me with those brown eyes again and smiles.

  Finally, we’re safe.

  5.

  “CHILDREN WITH ADHD ARE RESILIENT AND BOUNCE BACK QUICKLY.”

  The long hours of questioning begin. FBI, CIA, NSA, ICE, almost as much alphabet soup as my ADHD report.

  The report. My mom’s gonna kill me. I lost my backpack at the station. At least my excuse today is better than usual. Stopping a guy trying to abduct my friend. That’s what she is now, my friend. Someone who,
after today, I’ll never forget.

  They’ve shut down the station and cordoned off the area for the victims of the attack. The kids in the orange shirts are huddled together. I notice the bully from before, and he’s blubbering away now.

  They’ve separated me and Natalia from the group. There’s a ring of agents around us, like we’re getting special protection.

  “Who is your dad, anyway?” I ask, thinking he must be pretty important given what happened and the attention we’re getting.

  “He’s a man with lots of enemies,” she says. “I begged him to let me out of that prison of a boarding school to come on this trip. He’ll never let me out on my own after this.”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I think you handled yourself pretty well.” I smile. “You saved me.”

  “And you saved me big time. Twice.”

  She places her hand on mine, and I feel electricity rip through me.

  * * *

  After endless questions, they start releasing kids to their tearful parents. My mom rushes in and wraps me in a tight hug. I try to calm her down, when I notice a group of what look like dignitaries march in and surround Natalia. She rolls her eyes.

  A stiff man in a dark suit says something to her. I don’t think it’s her father. He seems too formal. She points at me. The man stares at me for a long moment, then the whole group marches over.

  My mom’s eyes widen as they approach.

  The man stops squarely in front of me. Straightens his shoulders. “You’ve performed a great service for our country, young man. His Highness has asked me to personally extend his deepest gratitude.”

  I look over at Natalia, who’s smiling.

  His Highness? That would mean … Holy crap.

  My eyes swivel back to the dignitary and I say, “He’s, uh, very welcome.”

  The man nods approvingly, says he’ll be in touch, then whirls around on his heels and nods to the men in his group. They form a protective circle around Natalia and usher her toward the subway exit.

  She cranes her neck to look back at me.