Killshot (Icarus Series Book 1)

by Aria Michaels

  “I know, right,” Riley said. Sweat ran down her face. She swiped at it absently as she stood and gestured to the first pile. “Okay, so this is all meds here, Tylenol, Mydol, Aleve, and a few cough drops. I think I even saw some Prozac and some nicotine gum, in there.”

  “Nice,” I said, nodding my approval.

  “This pile here,” she gestured to a small mound of fabric, “is mostly smelly gym clothes. The guys separated out the clean ones and folded up the towels.”

  Mike and Andy stood side by side, each of them holding armloads of folded clothes and scratchy old gym towels. Their eyes were sunken and they shifted nervously on the balls of their feet. Micah cleared his throat and looked at me intently before darting his eyes towards the twins. He wanted me to get rid of them.

  “Thanks for all your help. Why don’t you guys go on ahead and make your way down to the weight room,” I said. “We’re right behind you.”

  “’Kay,” Mike said, nudging his brother. The two tromped off, lugging the fabric as they headed toward the stairs.

  “What's going on?” I turned back to my friends.

  “We found something I thought you should see,” Riley said, pointed to shoe-box at end of the bench.

  I moved over to it and flipped open the lid. It was full to bursting with a random assortment of maxi pads, tampons, and panty-liners. A few spilled out onto the floor, as I removed the lid.

  “Um, Okay?” I said, confused. “Why do I need a box of feminine products? It’s not my—”

  “Stop,” Micah said, his face turning red. “Let me just stop you right there. You might want to take a closer look, just be careful.”

  I pushed the top layer of pads around carefully, unsure of what I would find. Nestled beneath a couple inches of cotton and plastic, was a knife.

  Correction— this was not just a knife, it was the knife; an MX8 Tactical Hunting and Assault Blade. My dad had one just like it and I had been drooling over it and begging for one of my own since I was Beans’ age. This one was a little brash for my taste. The handle was matte black with red skulls and flames scattered all over it, but aside from tacky design, it looked to be in perfect condition. I couldn’t wait to hold it.

  I reached in, carefully palming the weapon as I slowly released the eight-inch folding blade from its track. The knife was weighted perfectly, balanced just right, and felt as if it had been molded to fit my palm. The polished black stainless steel blade was serrated at the base and razor smooth to the point. Its textured handle housed a belt clip, as well as the flip point release. At the end of the handle, was a carbide breaker point and a concave belt cutter (perfect for escaping a car trapped under water, my dad had explained).

  Knives like this were originally designed for the U.S. Military, but eventually they became popular with survivalists and big game hunters. In other words, this knife was a hard-core, fight to the death, ultimate survival kind of weapon. I could think of no logical reason for it to be stashed in a high school gym locker. I stared down at it, in awe.

  “We thought, maybe, you should hold on to that,” Riley said, her hand on my shoulder. “I remember one time you told me that you used to do all that camping and outdoorsy stuff with your, umm. Whatever, I just thought it would be safest with you, you know?”

  “Yeah,” I said, unable to take my eyes off the knife.

  “I didn't want anyone to freak out about there being weapons, so we didn't say anything to the twins. Those two should pretty much never be allowed around sharp objects.” She laughed, nervously.

  “No doubt,” I snorted, still fixated on the knife as if it were the ghost of my father. “Thanks, Ry. I will hold onto this, you know, for safe keeping.”

  I pressed the clip release in the housing slot, folded the knife in on itself, and slid it into my pocket. It felt heavy, but not uncomfortable against my hip. Somehow, this knife belonged there.

  I cleared the lump from my throat and scooped the medicine bottles from the bench into the tampon box. The girl’s locker room was now almost unbearably hot and it was becoming difficult to breath. I was not sure how much longer we would be able to stand being above ground.

  Chapter 9

  Uncommon Commonality

  With some assistance from a metal folding chair, Zack was able to smash open the plexiglass fronts of the vending machines. The bag was now crammed full of bottles of soda, small jugs of fruit juice, bottled water, and a few containers of chocolate drink. Zack trudged past me, lugging the big mesh sack over his shoulder like Santa Claus.

  Falisha and Tara confiscated a recycling bin from the hallway and used it to haul back the snacks they had pilfered. The blue plastic bin was stacked high with pop tarts, potato chips, and other salty snacks. They carried the bin between them and entered at Zack’s heels.

  “There’s a few granola bars in here and maybe some crackers, but basically it’s all junk,” Tara said, smoothing her ponytail back into place. “Whatever, it’s not like we are moving in right? I mean, this should be more than enough for a few hours.”

  “It’s getting pretty nasty up here, guys. We should probably head down,” I suggested.

  Those of us who had remained upstairs grabbed what we could carry and headed toward the door. Micah pounded the plastic lid onto the water jug with his fist, and then looked around.

  “Where did Z run off to?” he asked, looking worried.

  “I don’t know, Micah,” I said, guilt tugging at my stomach. “He left because I—”

  “Talking about me, again,” Zander laughed, cutting short my confession as he slid through darkness beyond the locker room door. “Check it out. I come bearing gifts.”

  Draped over his forearm, just above his injured hand, was my backpack. I had completely forgotten about it after the melee on the roof. I wasn’t even sure at what point I had dropped it. In his other hand, he held an old white laptop.

  “What the hell, Zander? You can’t just take off like that.” I grabbed my bag from him, careful not to jar his injured hand. I could feel Riley and Micah’s eyes trained in on me, so I softened my tone. “I mean, thank you for my backpack, but you can’t just take off like that. I was…we were getting worried.”

  “You said you needed information. I got you information,” Zander smiled and placed the laptop in my hands. I smiled back at him, in spite of myself and stuffed the computer under my arm.

  “Where did you get this old thing?” The laptop was larger and much heavier than the laptops we normally had access too.

  “I may or may not have liberated it from the admissions booth in the lobby,” his eyes twinkled at me in the dark.

  “Of course you did,” I said, shaking my head at him. “Okay, double-oh-seven, we should go.”

  “Ladies first,” Zander smiled, ushering Riley and I toward the stairwell. “Mics and I will bring up the rear.”

  Micah and Zander lugged the tub of steaming water between them and we all descended the stairwell. The rest of the group had already made their way down to the weight room and were settling in. The distant echoes of hushed conversations lingered in the concrete stair well. The four of us inched carefully along, holding our phones high above us so we could see as we navigated the narrow corridor to the basement. Riley and I kept our arms linked tightly together, determined not to miss a step.

  The weight room smelled even worse than I remember. A heavy cloud of old sweat, mildew, and stale latex hung in the air like a curtain. Most of the strength training gear had been purchased sometime in the seventies. It was covered in rust and years of lazy spray painting. Their vinyl cushions were more duct tape than anything else.

  The longest wall was lined with every manner of torturous weight lifting equipment imaginable. The largest of the machines were the five combination apparatuses. They took up a significant amount of space, but there were still smaller individual machines crammed into the open spaces between them. It was a chaotic tangle of antique equipment.

  The entire floor was covered
with puzzle grid rubber workout mats. Barbells and hand weights were strewn haphazardly across the floor. A mismatched collection of free weights and old leather belts had been left lying about, for lack of an appropriate home. The red and black metal disks had been painted and repainted so many times they probably weighed more than their labels indicated. The entire facility was more in need of replacement than it was updating, but it was overlooked every year. Ironically, this year, the school board had voted against making any changes down there, in favor of laying new blacktop in the parking lot.

  Thanks to last year’s budget allocation, most of the school’s electrical systems now operated on a timer system, ensuring no power was wasted when the building was not in use. The weight room, along with its adjoining storage room and unisex bathroom, had not been included in those upgrades. It was dimly lit by a single row of industrial-style florescent lights that ran the length of the room.

  Falisha and Zack were huddled together on a stack of yoga mats in the far corner. He cradled her against his side, affectionately stroking her hair. She barely seemed to register the contact. She just stared blankly at the floor in front of her, her jaw clenched tight. Tara sat on a bench a few feet away a frustrated look on her face as she messed with her cell phone.

  Jake was hunched over on a metal folding chair, his camera bag clutched protectively to his chest. His eyes shot back and forth rapidly, as if he were lost in a sea of dark thoughts. Mike and Andy hovered over their phones on the weight bench closest to the door, but shot to their feet as soon as we walked past them.

  “What’s going on?” Mike screeched, waving his phone at me. “What are we supposed to do?”

  “Yeah, what now, oh great and powerful Oz?” Tara scowled. “How long do you expect us to hide out in this armpit? I can’t even get a stupid signal down here. How, exactly, are we supposed to get help if we can’t even make a freaking call?”

  “No signal, here, either.” Zack held up his cell phone and shrugged.

  I slid my phone from my pocket, and looked down at my screen—only one bar. I turned it off and slid it into my bag. No sense wasting the battery.

  “Guess this won’t be much use then,” I said, holding out the laptop.

  “Actually, it could,” Jake said, taking it from my hands and looking it over. “Dells are pretty easy to modify. If we can get a hard line, like directly splice into an outgoing connection, I might be able to get us online.”

  “Check the televisions down by the treadmill,” Zack said. “Coach Germann paid to have cable installed down here during the football season.”

  “Need a hand?” Zander asked Jake.

  “Sure. We will need some copper wire, a USB, oh, and some cable wire would be good. If I could just—” Jake trailed off, walking away with Zander close at his heels.

  I could not stop myself from watching Zander as walked away. There was a sureness to his stride that fascinated me. If I was being honest, I also appreciated the view. I spun away from him, shaking my hair loose as I released my ponytail in hopes of relieving the headache I could already feel brewing. I raked my fingers through the ends which had somehow knotted themselves together, and blew my bangs away from my face.

  I suppose if I had a tell, this would be it. I had a nasty habit of messing with my hair when I was upset, or simply felt out of control. Until a few months ago, I had always been a bit of a control freak; I never did anything until I had prepared for any potential outcome.

  Be proactive, not RE-active, dad had always said.

  At the moment, I didn’t seem to have control over much of anything, including my unruly hair, and I could not stand how oppressive it felt laying against my back. It made the room feel smaller, somehow. I quickly tossed wayward tangles back into a messy bun on top of my head, and wiped the sweat from my brow. With the throbbing in my temples back in full effect, I crammed the last wavy tendril into my hair tie and made my way over to Micah and Riley.

  Riley’s slender arms were wrapped tightly around Micah’s waist. Her face was buried in his chest as she clutched at his ratty t-shirt. Micah shrugged, shooting me an apologetic half smile.

  I’ll be back, I mouthed, and quietly walked away.

  The twins were on the other side of the room, moving about in a daze. Mike sat on the bench they had claimed, fussing anxiously over his phone. Andy busied himself by digging through pile of locker-room fashions they had toted down. I was headed their direction, when Tara stepped in front of me. She didn’t say a word, just stared me down, with her hands on her hips.

  “Excuse me,” I said flatly, stepping to the side. She moved with me, refusing to budge from my path. “I said, excuse me.”

  “There shall be false prophets among you, that shall bring damnable heresies,” she said, lifting her chin.

  “Seriously,” I said, incredulous. “Do we really have to do this right now, Tara?”

  “You are in no position to offer counsel, let alone leadership, heathen.” Tara glared at me, disgusted.

  “You’re kidding, right,” I shook my head in disbelief. “I mean, really?”

  Her mouth flattened into a grim line as she stared down her nose at me. I stepped to the side again, but she shifted in front of me once more, cocking her head to the side in a challenge.

  “You know what?” I rolled my eyes and shook my head as I took a step back. “Whatever, Tara.”

  Mike and Andy seemed fine and I was not in the mood for a throw down, so I turned on my heel and walked away. If I hadn’t, I would have only proven her point about me being a savage.

  “That’s what I thought,” she yelled after me, when I was back across the room. “Don’t worry, Liv. I’ll still pray for you.”

  “Hey Zack,” I said, doing my best to ignore the holier-than-thou heckling at my back.

  “Hey, Liv,” he said. He smoothed Falisha’s hair back and frowned down at her as he stood to talk with me.

  “You guys okay?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I am not really sure what to feel, right now.”

  “What do you mean,” I asked.

  “I have never known anyone who died before, Liv. I mean, even my grandparents are still alive,” he said, looking almost embarrassed. “I really only knew Sara through Falisha, you know, but Blake is…was pretty a cool guy. We were not best friends or whatever, but he always had my back on the field. I can’t really process that he is gone.”

  “Everyone handles this kind of thing in their own way,” I said, rubbing at the back of my neck.

  “See, that’s the thing, Liv.” He looked over his shoulder at his girlfriend, sitting limp on the stack of mats, and then leaned in to whisper to me. “Falisha is a mess about this and I don’t know what to do. Nothing I say seems to be helping. In fact, I’m pretty sure I am just making it worse. Maybe you could…I mean, Sara and Blake were like her people, you know?”

  I nodded and told Zack I would try. I may not know exactly how she felt, but I did understand the punch to the gut that accompanied that kind of loss. He quietly thanked me and walked away to give us some privacy. Tara grabbed him by the arm and dragged him behind her to the opposite side of the room. I stepped to Falisha’s side, but she didn’t acknowledge my presence.

  “Hey.” I sat down next to her, cautiously avoiding the puddle of sweat Zack had left behind.

  Falisha kept her eyes fixed on the floor as if suddenly fascinated with her cheer shoes. She tapped her toes together, with a thwap, then separated them and tapped them together again. Tears welled in her eyes, but she sniffed them away, refusing to let them fall.

  Thwap…thwap.

  She didn’t want to talk and that was okay. All she needed to do was listen. I was not big on sharing and talking about my feelings, but she needed to hear what I had to say so I got straight to the point. I spoke from a place of experience, of pain and loss. She glared at me from the corner of her eye but didn’t meet my gaze.

  “You don’t have to say anything, oka
y?” I said as she continued to watch her shoes bang together.

  Thwap…thwap…thwap.

  “And, I am not going to get all philosophical on you either.” I took a deep breath, pressing my own grief back down into that dark pit in my stomach, where it belonged. “Sara and Blake are gone. One second they were there, and then they just weren’t. I didn’t know them like you did, but I do understand what it feels like to lose someone.”

  Thwap…thwap.

  “You are confused and angry,” I said, “but at the same time, you feel numb. Like maybe none of this is real?”

  Thwap…thwap…thwap. She sniffled, once again glaring from the corner of her eye.

  “The worst part is, no one else seems to get it,” I said turning to face her. “Time keeps moving like you didn’t just lose a piece of you. Like it doesn’t fucking matter. Like they didn’t matter.”

  She flattened her feet to the floor and shifted her weight forward, resting her elbows on her knees. For a moment, I thought she was going to walk away. When she didn’t, I continued, though I could not seem to hide the bitterness in my own voice. There was no easy way to say what I needed to say, but sugarcoating the truth wouldn’t help.

  “I am sorry that your friends died, Falisha, and it’s just plain messed up that they had to suffer like that,” I rose to my feet and crossed my arms over my chest, trying to contain my own demons before they could escape the tomb I had buried them in months ago. “I wish we had gotten to them sooner and I wish I could bring them back. But we didn’t, and I can’t.”

  Falisha sniffled again and sat up, her lip quivering as she wrapped her arms tightly around herself.

  “I dunno, maybe you just need someone to hold your hand and tell you that Sara and Blake are in a better place. I’m sorry, but I’m not that person and I can’t do that for you,” I squared my shoulders. “I’d love nothing more than to be able to tell you that everything is going to be fine, but I can’t do that either.”

  “What the hell can you do then, huh?” Falisha finally snapped, turning toward me.