by Cate Morgan
CHAPTER FOUR
It was easy enough to sneak out that night, for no adults, concerned or otherwise, had set watch on their charges. Apparently it never occurred to the school’s faculty that anyone might try to sneak out. Tara was vaguely annoyed by this. She had expected, at the very least, a nun snoring in a chair by the front doors.
Tara might be an indifferent scholar, but she was a natural athlete. This meant her P.E. teachers generally liked her as someone who at least put forth some kind of effort. She was fast, and agile, and her state of constant, low-level anger found satiation in burning off excess energy. While the other girls moseyed about their daily laps at a lackadaisical pace, Tara tore about the track until she knew she might be tired enough to sleep that night. Sometimes it even worked.
This also meant, as a favored student, she was given the dubious pleasure of running the occasional errands for one coach or another. In other words, she knew which door allowed access into the corridor where their offices lay, and how to enter the main school at the other end. Or, conversely, how to get off campus without anyone being the wiser.
Tara and Stephen soft-footed it across the gym, Tara prepared to give the excuse of needing to use the restroom if caught. They made it to the door without incident, though Stephen stopped her when she could have depressed the handle.
“It squeaks something awful,” he explained. “In this quiet, someone will wake up and see us. Put your weight on it, and open it slowly.”
Tara leaned into the door, and settled her weight on the handle to creak it open at a snail’s pace. The door elicited only a brief, muffled protest and creaked open. They slipped through, and Stephen ducked to stick a wadded-up hoodie between the door and the frame. Then they slipped through the hallway, their sneakers silent against the eroded linoleum.
Stephen cursed softly. “How can you see anything in this dark?” he hissed.
“I don’t know—I just can. Or maybe you just need glasses.” They reached the end of the hall, and the door that led to the main school. They gave the door the same treatment as the first, this time using a T-shirt from Tara’s pack, and slipped into the next hallway. “We need to find somewhere away from the gym they won’t hear us talk, but not so far away that we won’t be able to slip back if needed.”
Stephen chewed his bottom lip as he thought. “The library. Come on.”
She followed him to an intersection, then pulled at his sweater to stop him. “We have to wait for the others, or they won’t find us.”
Tara leaned against the wall and poked her head around the corner. After a few minutes, Inhaler Kid and Jason appeared and spotted her. She beckoned.
The other students came in small groups of twos and threes, then, including the big kid that had challenged her leadership earlier in the day. She sent Stephen ahead to get the library open, and sent all but her would-be lieutenant with the breathing problem after him.
“How many kids are we talking about here, anyway?” she asked, as the groups kept coming.
Inhaler Kid shrugged. “A little over twenty, I think. I’m Aaron.”
Well, that was a relief. She couldn’t go on calling him “Inhaler Kid” as though he were an unlikely pro wrestler, or a cowboy. Still…
“Aren’t you taking a risk, breaking out?” Tara asked him, whispering. “What happens if you run out of inhalers, or need medical attention or something? If you have an attack, I’d have no idea what to do.”
“I’m used to it,” he said, shrugging again. “But there’ll be federal and private aid groups out there—Red Cross, Dante Foundation, stuff like that. Either way, leaving’s a better option than sticking around.”
Tara didn’t ask, and didn’t argue. She didn’t have to.
Finally, Aaron indicated that was everyone, the last kids bringing the hoodie and T-shirt along with them. They all hurried to the library, shutting the door behind them.
Inside, the students had gathered at tables. Tara was relieved to see all had brought their back packs, as requested.
Once they all settled down, they looked at her expectantly. Tara found such attention more than a little surreal.
“Okay,” she said. “It looks like our best bet is to make our way to Central Park. According to Stephen,” she nodded at her friend, “refugees from the attacks are flooding in, and no one’s really paying attention to anyone else. It seems to me no one’s going to question a pack of runaways running around. And the park’s a big place. We plan this right, and I don’t think anyone will bother us. Not for a while, at least.”
Stephen spread a map of the city over the largest table and bent over it. “Subway access to and from the Island is pretty much nil at this point. But we should still be able to use the ferry. The local Coast Guard has additional boats out, and I don’t think they’re too worried about who’s coming and going. But we’ll separate in groups and mingle with the crowd, just to be safe.”
“Can we take the subway again, once we get on the other side?” Tara wanted to know. “I’d hate to have to think we’ll have to walk the entire way.”
“I’m hoping the subways are still going,” Stephen admitted. “But we can’t count on it. The good news is, there’s plenty of refugees headed in the same direction. It may take us a couple of days to get there, but we’ll get there.”
“We’ll need supplies,” Aaron pointed out.
Tara nodded her agreement. “Everyone, empty your back packs of anything non-essential.”
There ensued an overly-gleeful rummaging and chucking of textbooks and homework. A flurry of loose papers filled the air, along with cheers. Tara couldn’t help but grin.
“Let’s split into two groups,” she said. “One to raid the kitchen for non-perishables, the other to load up on non-food supplies. Anyone know where they’re keeping the Red Cross stuff?”
Aaron raised his hand. “I saw when I went to ask about spare inhalers. They’re keeping everything in the same room as the gym supplies, so they can be loaded in back.”
Tara tagged the bigger kids to go after the supplies—blankets, first aid stuff, and the like. She and Stephen planned to lead the others in the kitchen raid. “One hour, then we meet back here.”
The route to the cafeteria proved to be another obstacle course, and the damage appeared much worse on this side of the school. After a while, Tara wished she’d pulled a one or two of the larger kids onto her side, but it was too late now to change.
The beam of her flashlight bounced over the floor and walls of the hallways, picking out crumbled walls and shards of desk scattered across the floor. A great sense of relief washed over her when they reached the double doors of the cafeteria, which lasted just about as long as it took her to realize the doors were locked.
“Son of a bitch.” Tara pushed harder on the handle, to no avail.
A giggle sounded behind her. “Nice swearing.”
“Doofus,” someone answered. “Who’s going to care? Our parents?”
“Let me see,” Stephen said, pushing forward and handing his flashlight to the aforementioned Doofus.
Tara pointed her light at the lock. “It can’t be that difficult to open, can it?” she asked hopefully.
He examined it closely. “Should be a run-of-mill lock. Single tumbler, easy enough. I don’t suppose anyone has a screwdriver set for glasses?”
“No one’s as nerdy as you, Mitchell,” someone scoffed. It was the Doofus Monitor. Tara could already tell he was going to be a problem.
“Is anyone?” came a rejoinder from the back of the group.
Tara momentarily shifted her light in their direction. “Shut it or I’ll leave you here for Child Welfare to sort out.”
They shut it. She swung her light back to the lock. “Any other ideas?”
Aaron shuffled closer, holding something out. “Try this. It’s cheap but it may do the trick.”
It was a compass, made of metal. “Thanks.” Stephen’s brow furrowed deeply as he turned it over and over again in his fine
hands. “Anyone got their student ID on them?”
Someone passed theirs up, and Tara handed it over. “Isn’t it supposed to be one or the other?” she asked curiously.
“Normally, yes. But without a rocker, I’m going to have to get creative.”
“It’ll never work,” Doofus Monitor couldn’t help pointing out.
Tara and Stephen ignored them all. After a moment’s fumbling, Stephen got frustrated and handed the card back. “Stick this in the crack between the doors and slide it up until you come up against the bolt.”
Kids shuffled out of the way so Tara could kneel at the door and follow Stephen’s instructions. “Okay, I’m there.”
Stephen bent one point of the compass. “As I turn the tumbler, the bolt’s going to start shifting. See if you can get the card in between the bolt and the door to give it some extra torque.”
It was a painstaking process, and ate up a good fifteen minutes of their allotted time, at least. But it was working—Tara could almost slide the ID behind the bolt. “A little more,” she said, growing excited.
Stephen jiggled the compass around some more, trying to get a better hold of the stubborn tumbler. He leaned to the left, the muscle in his jaw working as he gritted his teeth. “This is either going to work, or the compass is going to break.”
In desperation, Tara jammed the ID card between the bolt and door, standing so she could thread it up. The plastic bit hard into her hand.
Then, with a popping sound that was almost resigned, the bolt slid back and Stephen toppled to one side as it gave way.
Silence rang as Tara opened the door.
“I take it back, Mitchell.” Doofus Monitor sounded awed. “That was amazing.”
Stephen opened the door, looking pleased. “Physics, actually. But thank you.”
