by Eden Ashley
Hogan nodded. “Cool.”
Ethan called to them from over his shoulder. “We need to move,” he said.
“Right.” Relief short-lived, Davey grabbed her brother’s hand and began following Ethan’s long and purposeful strides.
“So, what’s going on?” Hogan asked again.
She squeezed his hand. “I’ll explain everything later, kiddo. Right now, we need to do exactly as Ethan says because he’s here to help us.”
“Okay, Davey.”
Hogan was putting on a façade of bravery, but Davey could tell he was worried. The way his eyes stretched a little too wide and the white-knuckled grip on the shoulder strap of his backpack were sure signs he knew something big was amiss.
She squeezed his hand again. “It’s going to be okay.”
The main entrance was just up ahead. At the end of this corridor, they only had to make a right and then walk another fifty feet or so to exit the building to where Ethan’s unmarked patrol car was waiting. After getting her brother to safety, Davey could then focus on making Ethan remember who she was, because there was no way she could let him leave again without a fight.
As they walked, Davey noticed several speakers mounted throughout the hallways, about seven feet from the floor. She guessed the devices were part of a PA system. Confirming her suspicions, they were about thirty seconds from exiting the school when a loud beep sounded from overhead, followed by a burst of static. After the crackled feedback ended, a male voice spoke over the intercom.
“Ethan Remington, we meet again,” he said in a tone that was somehow cheerful and yet full of malice.
“Keep walking,” Ethan ordered.
The man continued speaking. “No doubt you are attempting to remove my prize from these premises, but I have someone here with me who is going to make sure that doesn’t happen.” A rustle of movement flowed through the speaker, accompanied by a whimper. Then the man and his discordant tone returned. “Sweetheart, tell Mr. Remington your name. Speak into the mic please. We need to be sure he can hear you.”
“S-summer Prince,” a woman answered in a frightened whisper.
Hogan stopped abruptly. “Davey, that’s my biology teacher,” he said, looking quite distressed.
“Summer,” the man repeated. “What a lovely name…a lovely name for a lovely woman. Thank you for your help in this most important matter, Summer Prince.”
“No, God,” the woman sobbed. “Please. Don’t—”
A gunshot rang out, exploding through the speakers, ending Summer’s frantic plea. A chorus of screams seeped through the walls as students and faculty reacted in shock. Horrified, Davey wasn’t sure she believed it. Next to her, Hogan started to shake.
“Ethan Remington,” the man said almost cheerily. “We now have the first casualty because of your interference. Give me what I want, and no one else has to die. You have twenty minutes.”
Swearing, Ethan grabbed Hogan by the backpack and began ushering him toward the exit. “Keep up, Ms. Little. We have to go.”
“Wait,” Davey yelled and ran to catch up. “We have to help them.”
Ethan’s face lacked all emotion as he dragged a dazed Hogan across the faded asphalt of the parking lot. When Hogan stumbled and briefly lost his footing, Ethan simply carried him, letting Hogan dangle by the straps of his backpack until he managed to walk again.
“Ethan!” Davey screamed.
“Stop right there!” a second voice commanded.
Davey froze. Already next to his patrol car, Ethan kept a firm grip on Hogan but also didn’t move.
“Turn around slowly.”
She watched Ethan comply, heart pounding as she wondered if it were Drekker giving the orders. Hogan slowly raised his hands, looking as frightened as ever and Davey didn’t know what to think.
The commanding voice spoke again. “You too, miss. Turn around.”
Davey did as she instructed, raising her hands as slowly as possible as she did so. She was comforted to see that the voice actually belonged to a cop. Balding and a little too thick around the middle, he was one of the officers assigned to the school’s security detail. What was less thrilling, however, was the Glock he had aimed in her direction.
“How about you let the boy go, son?”
Davey wasn’t sure how many years had passed since the car accident that had taken Ethan’s human life at twenty-two, but in a synthetic body, time stood still. He still looked like the same rookie she had met over a decade ago on a dusty roadside back in high school.
Ethan shook his head ever so slightly. “I can’t do that, Sergeant Kendrick.”
Taken aback, the cop lowered his weapon a fraction. Davey understood his confusion. There was no way Ethan could have already known who he was. It also wasn’t humanly possible to read a name plate from so far a distance. “Then you and I are going to have a problem,” the officer said, recovering. He refocused his aim. “There’s been a report of shots fired, which means this campus is officially on lockdown. So, I can’t let you leave here. And I definitely can’t let you leave with these kids.”
Davey looked at her wristwatch—a graduation gift from Travis when he was still only Dr. Kane to her. Five minutes had elapsed since the cold-blooded murder of Hogan’s science teacher. If Drekker remained to true to his word, then another innocent person would die very soon.
“Ethan, please,” she whispered.
He studied her for a long moment. Davey steeled herself, meeting those impassive grey eyes for as long as they held hers and swore she saw a glimmer of recognition. Her heart lunged forward, grasping at the hope-shaped straws. But then the moment was gone, and Ethan’s gaze shifted back to the cop. He turned back into the cold, all-business operator once more. “I am Special Agent Ethan Remington, and I am assuming control of the scene. Sergeant Kendrick, get on your radio and locate the rest of the detail assigned to this school. Notify them that there is only one gunman. I assume you have already alerted dispatch to the situation?”
Sgt. Kendrick lowered his weapon. “Special Agent?” he repeated, wearing an expression of bafflement. His stare drifted to the badge attached to Ethan’s waistband. Given the severity of the circumstances, Davey wasn’t all that surprised the officer hadn’t noticed it sooner. She guessed recognition (or lack thereof) had to be a disadvantage for any plainclothes operative dealing with uniformed authorities. “With what department?” the sergeant asked.
“ATF.” Ethan released Hogan, but the look on his face dared him to move an inch. “Davey, come here. Stay with Hogan.”
Once she had done so, he turned back to the cop. “We don’t have much time. In less than fifteen minutes, someone else is going to die. I won’t be able to stop that, but with your help, maybe the casualties can be limited.”
Hesitating for a moment longer, Sgt. Kendrick nodded. “Okay. You’re in charge.” Speaking into his radio, he rapidly located two of the other three officers assigned to Hogan’s school. The third did not respond, and Davey got a bad feeling.
“Simmons is on the west campus, near the gymnasium, and has fifty kids holed up with him,” Sgt. Kendrick reported. “Barber is holding position in the cafeteria. Only a few staff members are there. I couldn’t reach Yates on the radio.”
Ethan frowned. “Tell everyone to stay put.” He turned to Hogan. “Where is the deceased’s classroom?”
Her brother stared at him blankly.
“Summer Prince,” Ethan clarified.
“On the second floor in the Garber building,” Hogan answered quickly.
“Tell your men the shooter is there and give Simmons the green light to evacuate his kids. You can’t see the gymnasium from the Garber building.”
“How do you know that?”
“I read the blueprints,” Ethan said, tapping the side of his head. “What’s the ETA on backup?”
Sgt. Kendrick checked his watch. “Five minutes.”
“Good enough. Wait here for the strike team. Instruct the commanding off
icer to put snipers on rooftops, positioning them on the west side of the Invictus building and the east side of White Knoll.”
“Got it.” Sgt. Kendrick did his own swift appraisal of the sites and turned back to Ethan. “It would be wise to put someone on top of Curtis Hall as well.”
Ethan nodded. “That’s where I’ll be.”
Sgt. Kendrick raised a wary brow. “You’re a trained sniper too?”
The faintest of smiles crossed Ethan’s lips. “No. I’m something better,” he said. Turning back to the unmarked squad car, he opened the trunk to reveal a small arsenal.
Swallowing a thick lump that had formed in her throat around the same time her foolhardy idea came to mind, Davey saw an opening and took it. “No one else has to die, Ethan. We can save whoever Drekker’s next victim will be.”
Pocketing an extra clip of ammo for his sidearm, Ethan then pulled a rectangular case that measured about two and a half feet in length from the trunk. “I can get into position and acquire a visual on Drekker. Any further action without proper backup would only risk getting more people hurt.”
Davey took a breath. “Unless I go in.”
Ethan shot down the suggestion instantly. “Absolutely not.”
He started to move past her, but Davey grabbed his arm. She may as well have slapped him from the stunned way he stopped in his tracks. Pushing aside any inferences into what that could mean, Davey rushed to make her point.
“Why did you come back, Ethan?” she asked, trapping him not just physically, but with her eyes as well, daring him to defy her with any more “not authorized” bullshit.
His gaze slid away from her and then back. He spoke, but the words came at a halting pace. “My primary directive is to ensure Hogan Little’s safety and deliver him to my superiors. Mason Drekker is the secondary target. I am to neutralize him if at all possible.”
Davey licked her lips. Her mouth had gone paper dry. She was close to reaching him. She could feel it.
“Why did you come for me first? You could have used that fancy badge and taken custody of Hogan from Welling and St. Aire without me.”
Frowning, Ethan stared at the pavement and was quiet. Finally answering, he shifted uneasily. “Because you were in danger, Davey Little.” Starting to say more he stopped. “And because I have to protect you,” he finished.
Okay, that’s something. Letting go of his arm, Davey slipped her fingers into his. Though cool, the touch of his skin warmed her like the fire in a glowing hearth. “A long time ago, a little boy’s life was in our hands. Together we won against much worse odds. Do you trust me, Ethan?”
“I—I…” So confident and indomitable until now, it was Ethan’s turn to stammer.
She hooked her pinky finger into the curve of his, and a faint buzzing sensation flowed from his skin to hers. “We can save them, Ethan.”
“Okay,” he agreed hoarsely and swallowed. “Go.”
Elated by a dizzying wave of fear and wonder, Davey turned to her little brother. “I’m going to need your clothes.”
4
With one hand positioned just above the doorknob, Davey paused outside of the biology lab and steadied her nerves. If Ethan was right, on the other side of this door was a rogue agent and a room full of teenage hostages. Turning back was not an option. By her watch, less than two minutes remained before someone—this time a child—lost his or her life. Davey couldn’t let that happen, even it meant putting her own ass on the line.
She only had to stall Drekker until reinforcements arrived. A cold day in hell would pass before she let that maniac lay a finger on her brother, but her life had been valuable to Drekker once before. Maybe her presence now would be enough to stop him from doing anything awful to these innocent kids. It was a long shot, but Davey was willing to risk it. She couldn’t see another way.
Tucking an errant strand of pink hair behind her ear and out of sight, Davey gave one last tug on the hood of the sweatshirt she’d borrowed from Hogan and knocked on the door.
The same eerie voice from the PA system answered. “Please, come in.”
Careful to keep her head low, she stepped inside. The door softly clicked shut behind her, but to Davey the sound echoed like the final seal of a coffin.
“Well, well,” Drekker said, sounding surprised. “I didn’t think the mighty Ethan Remington would actually give you up. That must have been one helluva algorithm he used to compute this move. I find it sickening how much of a square Remington is, but he can’t help it I guess,” he rambled on affably. “Those buffoons have unlimited access to his mushy bits.” Drekker laughed. “I won’t hurt you, boy. Come closer.”
Davey wanted to look at this man and put a face to the name she’d come to hate in the past hour, but didn’t want to tip him off too soon. Drekker would realize her trickery soon enough.
She took her time moving between two rows of desks and the students seated in them. They were absolutely terrified. Some were shaking or sobbing quietly. A few wore vacant expressions—it didn’t seem as if those kids had even noticed she was there. But even under such extreme duress, there were still one or two who manifested the sort of defiance Davey had struggled to tame in high school. Ironically, it was usually the defiant ones who were the most afraid.
Noticing a stretch of afternoon light cross the linoleum floor, Davey stopped. If Ethan was in position, standing in front of a window would give him a clear view of what was happening. If she could somehow get Drekker to join her, maybe she could shift the balance of power. A bead of sweat trickled down her back.
I’m too nervous to pull this off. Maybe I can just throw the hood off, get on my knees, and beg for my life before he figures out I’m not Hogan, gets pissed off, and kills me. If this piece of shit really has no intention of hurting Hogan, then maybe he won’t shoot if I just turn around and run. He probably can’t catch me. Maybe—
Spotting an empty desk to her left, Davey made a snap decision. She took a seat.
“Alright, boy, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. I’ve been kind enough to not harm any of your classmates up until now, and after I get what I need from you, everyone will be free to go.”
Liar.
Drekker had murdered an innocent woman just to make a point. Then he was willing to take over two dozen teenagers hostage as insurance, and as soon as he realized Davey wasn’t Hogan, they’d be back to square one or worse. This wasn’t about stalling Drekker. To Davey, it never had been.
Drekker sighed. “Except for maybe that guy,” he said, pointing to a squirmy teenage boy in corner of the classroom. “After five minutes of being in the same room with him, even I realized he was a total douche. With one bullet, I can do this entire school a favor. Hey douche, how long does it take you to do your hair like that anyway?”
Davey gritted her teeth. She wondered if Drekker had always been so twisted or if Global Cures had done some terrible experiment and warped a once sane mind. Without raising her head, she did her best to survey the closest desktops. Finding what she needed, Davey reached across the aisle and snagged the ink pen. Wordlessly, she used the tip of the pen to carve into the desk. She still really had no idea what the hell Drekker could need from her brother. Back when he had pretended to be Ethan, Drekker had said something about Hogan developing new abilities that Global Cures wanted to get their hands on. But Drekker could have been lying about that. The only unusual thing about Hogan—beyond the episodic displays of uncanny insight—were the progressively terrifying dreams he’d been having.
Unless his ability has something to do with those dreams.
Mentally shelving that hypothesis, Davey refocused on the marks being made beneath her pen and hoped to convince Drekker that she was giving him something he wanted.
“That’s more like it,” Drekker whispered, and she could feel his hunger bore into her.
Intuitively, Davey had sketched one huge circle and two more within. Inside of that, she layered a hexagon, a fourth circle, and tria
ngle. Drekker’s heavy footsteps came closer as she drew the alchemic symbols of Mercury, for the spirit; Sulphur for the soul; and lastly, Salt for the body. It was a rudimentary representation of the tattoo on Ethan’s shoulder—a human transmutation circle.
“Yes, clever child. You do know what I want. Finish it,” Drekker urged.
A pair of black boots paused just beside the desk, and Davey risked following the long lines of the grey poly-blended coveralls up to the waist. Praying that since Drekker was controlling human bodies, he was also capable of feeling human pain, she snapped her arm up and outwards, jabbing him in the dick with her elbow as hard as she could. Drekker’s eyes just about bulged out of his head as he grunted and doubled over, cradling his crotch in one hand but retaining possession of the gun in the other. Swaying on his feet, he leaned against the desk as a high-pitched noise wheezed from between his lips. Springing to her feet, Davey screamed for the kids to get out. There wouldn’t be a second chance. As they all stampeded toward the door, Davey looked down at the pen in her hand and wondered why Ethan hadn’t taken this asshole out. With Drekker in front of the window, he should have had a clear shot, especially with his advanced capabilities.
Drekker slowly began to straighten, giving Davey her first full look at his newest vessel. The wizened face—mapped by leathery creases and weathered by many decades—was morphed by agony that slowly evolved to murderous rage. Bright blue eyes that retained the look of youth and the spark of laughter, now burned with hatred. There was a name badge clipped to the front of the man’s uniform: Mr. Wiggins. Mr. Wiggins had probably been a very kind old man and a tireless worker. But for his last act in life, he would be the conduit for evil.
Davey looked over her shoulder. With thirty panicked bodies trying to escape one three-foot entryway all at once, congestion had slowed the evacuation, leaving ten or so kids still inside. Making the only move she had left, Davey clenched the pen in her fist, lunged toward Drekker, and buried the utensil deep into the side of his wrinkled old neck.
