The man came over to her and laughed as he put a boot on her chest. “Adios,” he said. He took aim with his gun.
Her next move was pure reflex. Ellie latched onto the man’s ankle and gave it a hard yank. His surprised eyes widened until the whites became the size of cue balls. As he fell backward, Ellie reached for her gun. The man quickly rolled on top of her and moved his arm to get the gun in front of her face. Ellie seized his right wrist with her left hand and applied counterforce. She pushed across her body while her right hand continued to search for her weapon.
Her attacker was at least six feet tall and outweighed her by fifty pounds. His square face was frozen in an expression of rage. He pushed hard against Ellie’s arm and gained an inch. Another few inches would put the barrel of his gun in front of her face.
Ellie’s fingers brushed against something metal. She stretched them until it felt like her knuckles would separate from the joints. The man snarled and pushed even harder, his gun inching ever closer to her face. With one final stretch, Ellie’s fingers grazed her gun once more. At that very moment, her attacker put a hand around her throat and began to squeeze. Bile raced up Ellie’s esophagus, collecting there and choking her more. Ellie kicked frantically as her right hand finally got a good grip on her gun.
With one final effort, as her world turned dark, Ellie lifted the gun off the ground and moved it under the man’s body. She fired several shots in rapid succession into his gut and chest.
The intense pressure on her throat released as the man tumbled back and off her body. His legs kicked spastically; then they went still.
Ellie rolled over onto her stomach, coughing, spitting, fighting the burn in her throat, her legs, her body. She started to crawl toward her car. She had bitten her tongue in the struggle and spat gobs of blood onto the grass. Her stomach and chest felt as if they had been torn apart by some animal, but she knew it was just bruising from the gunshots.
Ellie reached for her radio during her crawl. She had just pulled it off her belt, when the basement door flew open again. She cocked her head once more in that direction and saw a man charging at an angle that didn’t give her a clear shot. He came fast. No letup in his stride. He dove on top of her, tackling her while she was already on the ground. Ellie tried to fend him off, but he was wiry and far stronger. He had little trouble wrenching the radio and gun from her hands.
He stood and used his boot to flip Ellie onto her back. “You just killed my friends, bitch.” He pointed what appeared to be a miniature cannon at Ellie’s head.
Kibo’s barks echoed like gunshots.
CHAPTER 44
Everyone was in the pit. It was crowded, and Jake almost landed on one of the kids. It was too dark to see which one. Whoever it was scurried off into a corner like a terrified animal.
The blackness had to go. Jake flicked on his headlamp and whirled in the direction of the mewling teens. All the color had drained from their faces. David and Rafa put fingers in their ears, as if that could fix their damaged hearing. Their uniforms were in shambles-dirty, torn, stained. They stared vacantly, each one looking utterly lost and wholly terrified. They huddled together in a corner of the pit as far from the three corpses as possible.
“Through the door,” Jake said. “It’s unlocked. Hurry!”
Nobody moved, paralyzed possibly by hearing loss, but more likely by fear.
Jake lunged at the door and pulled it open with force. He grabbed the closest person to him, David, and stuffed him through the compact opening.
“Go and run!”
One by one, the kids stooped to get low enough. Like Alice crawling through the small door to enter Wonderland, they vanished into the dark tunnel beyond. As they departed, Jake stood below the pit opening and fired round after round from his AK-47 into the air. Shell casings plunked down like metallic raindrops. Bullets fired from his gun hit the ceiling and probably nothing else. Jake’s only goal was to deter the others from trying to follow. Eventually somebody would, though. It was the only way out of the auditorium, unless they somehow managed to break down one of the exit doors.
Jake went through two more magazines while keeping anybody from attempting to enter the pit. He was down to just two magazines of ammo. Sixty more shots, plus his pistols.
Jake looked back in time to see the last kid enter the tunnel. It was Andy, and Jake wasn’t at all surprised that his son waited for the others.
Jake stopped shooting, secured his weapon, and dove through the door to the tunnel like a base runner sliding headfirst into second. From a pocket on his chest rig, Jake retrieved the key and spent precious seconds getting the tunnel entrance locked.
The kids had not ventured far. They huddled together for comfort, for contact. They were safe, but that could change in a heartbeat. Jake heard footsteps descend the metal stairs. Death was coming.
Jake said, “Go. Go. Hurry!”
Jake’s headlamp fell on Andy. He could see his son’s puzzled and awed expression.
“Dad?” Andy said.
“No time,” Jake answered.
More footsteps bounded down the stairs. How many sets Jake couldn’t say. He had made a body count in his head: one in the bathroom, three down in the pit, and five confirmed kills in the auditorium mêlée. How many did that leave? He would find out from Andy later, but not now. Now they had to run.
“Go! Go! Go!” Jake yelled to the pack of teens.
“It’s dark down there,” Hilary said.
“Start running!” Jake ordered.
A gunshot blast came from behind the closed metal door. They were going to shoot it open. Handguns would be underpowered. But these men had high-caliber weapons at their disposal that could blow the hinges off the door. Jake had killed a guy with a shotgun, and that was an ideal weapon for the task.
The gunshot sent Rafa running like a starter pistol had gone off. Smart kid. He squeezed past the others and, soon enough, Hilary fell into step behind him. The pack became a line. But it was dark, as Hilary noted, and there were pipes and wires and other things to trip over.
Jake heard a smack that sounded like bone on concrete. David cried out in the darkness. Jake heard another loud bang; this time, it was Pixie who yelled. These kids were literally running blind, Jake realized.
Rather than waste time fishing a flashlight from his backpack, Jake took out one of the flares he’d stored in a pocket on his chest rig. He undid the top and it became a torch. He passed it up to Andy, who passed it along to Hilary, who got it to Rafa. Then Jake sent another flare up the human chain. All this happened as they ran.
The tunnel glowed ruby red and sparkled like a mobile fireworks display. Smoke from the burning flares fanned back and filled Jake’s mouth with the metallic taste of potassium and magnesium. Smoke began to fill the tunnel as well, ironically making it more difficult to see. But no one wanted to abandon the light for the alternative.
There were grunts but no words spoken, and footfalls, and lots of heavy breathing, but nothing close to conversation. This was all about escape. They were a line of seven people hunched over, weaving down the Stygian tunnel.
Behind them, Jake heard another blast. If they got the door open now, they’d be dead. Just like that. This place offered no cover. They would fire high-capacity weapons blindly down the tunnel and hit something. Guaranteed. Jake could return fire, but he was last in line, so he’d be shot first. Then what? One by one, they would gun down these kids. Simple as that.
Another blast hit the door.
Up ahead, Rafa was first to reach the branch off the main tunnel. He stopped there and yelled back, “Which way?”
Jake paused to think. They could take that branch to the staircase, then spill out into the janitor’s closet. From there, it would be a trek up to the first floor; if they crossed The Quad without getting shot, maybe they could reach the forest. Jake processed that scenario in a flash. There would be congestion getting up the stairs and through the closet. Delays.