Chapter Eight
ANGEL SINCLAIR
One week later, I waited nervously on the couch inside my apartment with two small suitcases, my laptop bag, Mr. Toodles, and my mom.
“I feel like you’re forgetting something,” my mom said, jumping up for the hundredth time and looking around the apartment.
“We’ve had this same conversation a dozen times in the past hour, Mom. They said they’re providing pretty much everything for us. They are even sending a driver for me. Look, I promise I’m not forgetting anything. I’ve got everything I need.”
“What about your phone charger? Extra batteries? Your gloves?”
“I’ve got all those things. Besides, if I did forget anything, you can bring them to me. I’m only going to be two hours away, remember?”
“But they said it will be at least four weeks before I can visit.”
My heart skipped a beat nervously. In four weeks I’d know whether I was in or out. If I failed, my mom wouldn’t have to visit. I’d be coming home on my own. “They just want us to get acclimated. It will be fine. I can survive four weeks without whatever I forgot.”
She sighed, pulling me in close for a hug. “I’m not ready for an empty nest. It’s all happening so fast.”
“I promise I’ll call and text as often as I can, okay?”
“You’d better.”
“I will.”
The doorbell rang and Mr. Toodles barked like the fierce dog he is, with tiny little yaps and yips. My mom scooped him up as I opened the door.
A man in a white dress shirt, dark slacks, and sunglasses stood there. “Good morning. Ms. Sinclair, are you ready?” he asked.
I never once imagined that I would be escorted to college by a US government driver. It was both super cool and super weird. Still, I tried to act like it was no big deal. “Yes, I’m ready. Thank you for coming.”
He nodded, then tipped his head toward my mother. “Good morning, ma’am. I’m here to escort your daughter to the academy.”
“Oh, it’s so nice to make your acquaintance. Would you like to come in? Do you have time for some coffee?”
He smiled slightly. “Thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got two other students waiting in the car.” He pointed to my suitcases. “Are these yours?”
“They are,” I confirmed.
He nodded once more at my mom and rolled my suitcases out the door. I slipped my laptop bag and purse over my shoulder and gave Mom and Mr. Toodles one last hug. My mom looked dangerously close to tears.
I headed for the door but hesitated, suddenly not sure what to say, or if I could say anything to make my decision to leave any easier. Was I suddenly having doubts?
“I’ll text you when I get to the campus and get settled in, okay? I promise.”
My mom suddenly straightened, giving me a smile. “Of course you will. You’re so smart and strong—you’ll do great. I love you, Angel.”
“I love you, too, Mom.”
It was harder than I thought it would be to walk out the door. I had to swallow hard a few times to keep my composure. Luckily, I was distracted when I saw the limo and Wally and Frankie in the back, practically bouncing off the seats.
“Angel, will you look at this?” Wally said as I climbed in with them. “We’re riding to school in style. It even has a refrigerator and free snacks.” He opened the door, pulled out a Coke, and shoved one at me. “Drink up.”
“I’ve never been in a limo before,” Frankie said, pushing some buttons. “There’s a television here.”
“No alcohol, though,” Wally said. “Dang.”
“We’re all underage,” I pointed out.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” He pouted, but Frankie and I just laughed.
The trip was supposed to be about two hours, but it took at least forty minutes longer, mostly because the traffic on I-95 south was a killer, even on a Monday morning. It didn’t bother us at all. Sitting in a luxurious limo with every comfort (except a bathroom) was not a hardship. We drank soda and ate potato chips, Cracker Jacks, and gummi bears while we traveled.
Finally, our driver pulled off at an exit and drove for a while longer before turning onto a rural road. The only sign of life was a small gas station that looked closed. As we went deeper down the road, the area became increasingly wooded. Finally we came to a stop in front of a white stone arch that hung above an enormous, black, wrought-iron fence. A brick wall, about fifteen feet high, connected to the gate and disappeared into the forest. I’m not sure who the wall was intended to keep out in the middle of nowhere, but it did seem kind of ominous. Our driver pulled to a stop in front of the fence and typed some numbers on a small keyboard on the dashboard. Curious, we pressed our faces to the windows to get a look at the words carved into the arch.
“Si vis pacem, para bellum,” I murmured.
“What does that mean?” Frankie asked.
Since I was the only one in the car who’d taken Latin, I translated. “If you wish for peace, prepare for war.”
“Oh, that’s not scary at all,” Frankie whispered, leaning back in the seat.
The driver spoke to us through a microphone. “We’re here. Welcome to UTOP, kids.”
The gate began to open slowly, and we drove into the compound. We all strained to get a look at the campus, then I turned around and watched as the heavy gate closed behind us.
Wally whistled softly and pointed ahead. “Get a load of that.”
He pointed toward a series of precisely arranged colonial-style brick buildings arranged around a large courtyard and shaded by several towering trees. An impressive array of antennas covered the roofs.
I could imagine students sitting on the benches that dotted the landscape or on the grassy areas, studying or working on their laptops. It would have been an idyllic setting, except for one thing—it was a Monday morning and the place was deserted. It looked like a ghost town.
“That’s odd,” I heard the driver say. I’m not sure he realized his microphone was still on.
“What’s odd?” Wally asked, alarm crossing his face as he leaned forward and pressed the microphone button to the front of the limo. “Where is everybody?”
“I’m not sure. Something isn’t right.” The driver pulled into a parking place in front of a large courtyard, the sides of which were occupied by several small buildings, and pulled out a cell phone. He tapped on the phone and waited. We could hear ringing, but no one picked up.
He punched the phone off. “Well, that’s not good.”
“What’s not good?” Wally said, his voice squeaking. “What’s going on?”
The driver opened his door, his hand reaching under his jacket. “You kids stay here. I’ll be right back.” He slammed the door and walked cautiously toward the courtyard.
Frankie gripped my arm. “Where’s he going?”
“I don’t know,” I said, pressing my face to the window.
The driver was halfway across the quad when a sound like a firecracker went off. He fell to the brick walkway and didn’t get up.
For a moment, all three of us stared in horror, our mouths open.
“What the what?” Wally shouted. “Did someone just shoot him?”
“OMG!” Frankie gasped, squeezing my arm so tightly I was sure I’d have bruises. “We have to help him.”
“Help him? Are you crazy?” Wally slid to the floor, grabbing me and Frankie and trying to pull us down. “There’s someone with a gun out there. Maybe he won’t see us.”
Frankie and I immediately joined him on the floor in a jumble of limbs. I snapped the door lock on, then snatched my cell out of my purse to dial 911. I had no bars. Wally and Frankie both checked their phones.
“Where the heck are we that we have no cell signal?” Wally said. “This is crazy.”
“What are we going to do?” Frankie whispered.
I tried to stay calm, despite the rapid pounding of my heart. “I don’t know. We can’t just sit here.”
“Why not? The driver told us to stay in the car,” Frankie said, her breath catching. “We should listen to him.”
“Yeah, but what if whoever shot him comes after us?” Wally argued. “We’ll be sitting ducks in here.”
“Maybe the limo is bulletproof,” Frankie said.
“Maybe it isn’t. You want to stick around and find out?”
Frankie’s face was turning purple from breathing too fast. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would someone want to shoot us? We didn’t do anything.”
“These days, no one needs a reason to shoot someone,” Wally said. “We’re all targets.”
I didn’t like what he’d said, but I didn’t disagree with it, either. I lifted my head to peek out the window. A figure dressed in all black and wearing a ski mask emerged from behind one of the buildings and was cautiously making his way toward our downed driver.
My heart lodged in my throat. “I see the shooter. He’s dressed in black and holding a handgun. He’s headed toward our driver, who’s still on the ground and not moving. That’s not a good development.”
“You think?” Wally said. “It’s time to get the heck out of here.”
“What about our driver?” Frankie asked. “We can’t just leave him there. He was so nice.”
“We can’t do anything for him at this point,” I said. “But maybe we can find help.”
“We have to get out of the car,” Wally said. “If we stay here any longer, we won’t have a choice.” He flipped the door lock open and cautiously cracked the door on the side opposite of where the dark figure was still bent over our driver. Pushing it open just enough to exit, he slid out of the car and motioned vigorously for us to follow.
I wasn’t crazy about the plan, but I agreed action was better than inertia. Frankie wiggled across the limo floor and slid out of the car next to Wally. Seconds later, I joined them. We partially closed the door and crouched there, our backs against the car, our hearts beating hard.
“What now?” Frankie whispered.
I pointed to an area between the buildings and kept my voice low. “That way. Maybe one of the doors are open and we can get inside and find help or a weapon.”
“What if the bad guys are already inside?” Wally said. “I say go for the woods.”
“Three geeks in the woods,” I said. “That would not end well. We’d be easier to target than a herd of elephants.”
“Good point,” Wally said. “Okay. To the buildings, it is. On the count of three. Zigzag as you run, and keep low.”
“How do you know zigzag works?” Angel asked.
“I play a lot of first-person shooter games. Trust me, okay?”
There was no more time for discussion. We nodded, and Wally started the countdown.
“One, two…three.”
Fueled by adrenaline, we burst out from behind the car toward the buildings, nearly tripping each other as we zigzagged. I quickly pulled to the front, my legs pumping harder than they ever had before. Something pinged off the brick sidewalk near my left foot as I hurtled between the buildings with the others on my heels.
OMG! He’s shooting at us!
I took a hard left the first chance I could, Frankie and Wally right behind me. We tore around another corner, a second ping hitting the wall just above my head. The second I turned the corner, I saw an old-fashioned wooden door with a small iron window and a latch handle. I slammed into it, pressing down on the handle, but it was locked. We ran on, taking the first turn we could. Another door was there, and I pushed on it. To my relief, this one opened, and the three of us tumbled in, nearly taking each other down. I slammed it shut behind me, but there was no lock.
“Hurry,” I gasped, tearing off down a hallway, not knowing or caring where I was going, so long as it was away from the guy with the gun.
Wally and Frankie followed me. Our harsh breathing and tennis shoes hitting the tile floor echoed in the empty hallways. To my dismay, no security guard, military escort, or adults of any kind to help us appeared.
My heart was pounding so frantically, I thought I might have a heart attack. I took a hard left down another corridor and tried the first door on my right. It opened, and I pushed Wally and Frankie inside. There was no lock on this door, either, so I grabbed a chair and jammed it under the door handle to keep it from being opened. Slowly, I backed up, holding a finger to my lips.
A quick glance around indicated we were in a staff break room with a few round tables and a vending machine. Wally was already looking through the drawers for a weapon or anything that might offer protection. He held up a metal cake cutter and a couple of plastic forks. Frankie pulled out a bottle of bleach. I did my own quiet search, finally pouring a handful of salt into both hands. It wasn’t much, but it was either that or trying to brain the attacker with a paper plate.
The three of us huddled together in a corner, hoping the attacker would pass us by. Moments later we could hear the handle on the door being jiggled. It was silent, and then a loud crash sounded.
Frankie screamed as the door flung open and the shooter, dressed in black, stepped over the chair I’d jammed beneath the handle.
To my utter shock, Wally acted first, shouting a battle cry and hurtling the cake cutter like a knife, right at the guy’s head. To my astonishment, the guy caught it one-handed just before it reached his head. Before I could react, Frankie jumped toward him, throwing the open bottle of bleach at his head. While he was busy swatting the bottle away, I launched myself forward, latching onto his arm with the gun and tossing the salt directly into his face.
I must have gotten some in his eyes, at least partially, because he cursed and stumbled. I struggled with his arm, trying to get him to release the gun. I leaned over to bite his arm, using the only weapon I had left at my disposal, when he snaked an arm around my neck, holding me tight against him and rendering me immobile. If I struggled, he tightened his hold on my neck, cutting off my breath. For a moment, we all stilled, looking at each other. The acrid smell of bleach permeated the air, making me gag. Wally and Frankie, out of weapons and options, froze and watched me with frightened eyes.
Slowly, the guy lifted his gun and pointed it at them. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the shots.
They never came.
“Bang,” he said. “You’re all dead.”