I see Carly, Dee, and Kelley on the far side of the room, near the exit. I can’t focus on them for long. I’m just grateful they’re getting out.
I scan the crowd, looking for Luka. I spot him after a few anxious seconds, and catch his eye as he turns.
He works upstream, against the crowd, until he’s next to me. I hop down from the table, grab his hand, and we move, sticking close to the wall, avoiding the main flow of bodies that stream toward us.
“Jackson?” Luka asks, his voice pitched to carry over the noise.
“He’ll find us. He knows where we’re heading.”
“Which is?”
“Wherever the Drau are heading,” I yell back.
“What about Tyrone?”
We pass a set of back doors just as a couple of kids shove them open and run outside. More follow, and there’s a mass exodus. No way anyone’s getting in through those doors. If we’d been one step slower, we’d have been carried out with the flow.
I gesture at the next set and Luka gets the message. We push through the crowd faster now, trying to get the doors open and get the rest of our team inside. Someone slams my shoulder and I hit the wall, my breath forced out in a whoosh. I stagger, get my balance, still holding tight to Luka’s hand.
We keep going. Too late. By the time we get there, the doors are open and kids are pushing their way outside. Tyrone and Lien and Kendra aren’t getting in this way.
I get pushed and shoved. My hand tears from Luka’s. I can’t see him. I’m being dragged toward the doors by the sheer momentum of the group. It’s all I can do to stay on my feet and not get dragged under. As I near the door, I grab the metal bar and hold on as tight as I can. Inch by inch I drag myself from the swarm toward the edge. My arms scream. My hands slip on the metal.
One hand slides free.
I tighten my grip with the other, struggling to hang on. If I get dragged out, I don’t know how I’ll get back in. I can’t leave Jackson and Luka in there, alone against an army.
My knuckles ache as my fingers are pulled . . . pulled . . . I can’t hang on.
I cry out as my hand tears free.
Luka grabs my wrist and hauls me to the side.
“Close,” he says.
“Too close,” I say, panting like I’ve run ten miles.
Luka turns his head and meets my gaze and by silent agreement, we push on, aiming for the spot I last saw the Drau. We grasp each other’s wrists to decrease the chance that we’ll be pulled apart again.
People are screaming, pushing. The orderly evacuation has devolved to a mob, spurred by flashes of light that erupt in different spots. The Drau, creating mass pandemonium on purpose.
I think of the girl caught in the spray of light, her chest scored open, her hands bloody. I know what it feels like to be hit by a Drau weapon. Is she okay? Did she make it out? Have the Drau killed anyone yet, sucked their energy out through their eyes, leaving them a dried-out husk?
Please let Carly be safe. And Kelley and Dee and Maylene. Everyone.
There’s Ms. Smith trying to keep people calm. And Mr. Shomper, shuffling along, directing students. I’m afraid for him. He’s so old and fragile. But despite his rumpled, stooped form, he maintains an air of calm, and kids listen when he points them to the exits. He’s like an island in a storm.
A blare of sound joins the general cacophony. Someone’s pulled a fire alarm. Great.
Flashes of light catch my eye. I turn, only to have another flash appear. I turn again and realize the Drau are running circles around us at impossible speeds. Like we’re cattle and they’re herding us.
Horror claws at me. I can’t let it slow me down.
Luka and I slam through the double doors on the far side of the auditorium.
With a clang, they shut behind us.
We pause, breathing hard. The doors bang open. Jackson strides through, favoring his right leg.
“Are you hit?” I ask.
“No. Luka, give me a hand,” he says, and reaches for his fly. I get it then. My sword is hampering his gait.
“What the hell, bro?” Luka asks as Jackson drops his pants, then he sees my sword and gets with the plan, helping Jackson get it unbuckled. Luka and I settle the sheath between my shoulder blades while Jackson rebuttons his pants.
“Weapons,” Jackson says, knife in one hand, weapon cylinder in the other.
I grasp my weapon cylinder, feeling it warp and shape itself to my hand, but leave the sword in its sheath for now.
“What about Tyrone?” Luka asks.
Jackson checks his con. It shows three triangles—us—and another three triangles somewhere southwest of us, moving along the edge of the building.
“They’re looking for a way in. Any thoughts on how we can connect with him?” Jackson asks, not sarcastic—serious.
Luka shakes his head. “In that pandemonium? Not hardly. What do we do?”
“We can’t wait,” I say, the Drau’s presence squirming inside me, almost painful in its intensity.
“Agreed,” Jackson says.
Luka takes a breath. “I’ll miss having Tyrone at my back, but I’m not sure going in without Kendra and Lien is a loss. I don’t trust them. Well, one of them. Kendra. She’s a griefer.”
Gaming term. Luka explained it to me before. A griefer steals points, lets other players wear down the target, then takes the kill. I shake my head. It’s hard to believe that of Kendra. But her score . . . I remember thinking that it was freakishly high. And I remember other things. Fleeting expressions I caught on Luka’s face or Tyrone’s. And Tyrone saying something to Jackson right before he took Kendra and Lien outside. They must have suspected this for a while.
Luka glances at me. “I think Lien’s helping her.” He pauses. “Out of love. I think she wants Kendra out of the game before one of her freak-outs gets her—or someone else—killed. I’ve noticed that she’s giving Kendra her kills, not just helping her steal ours.”
“It’s a problem we’ll have to deal with after we deal with the Drau,” Jackson says. “If they do catch up with us, watch your backs. A griefer on the team’s bad news.”
He and Luka exchange a look, and I know it’s because they’ve dealt with a griefer before—the boy I replaced.
“Let’s go.” Jackson heads down the hall, through the double doors at the far end, then through a second set of doors to the stairs. Luka and I follow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MY SENSES ARE HEIGHTENED, THE FEEL OF THE BANNISTER under my palm sharp and clear, the sensation of my feet pounding the stairs jarring and stark. My heart rate’s amped. My breathing’s fast and shallow. Adrenaline rush.
Deep inside me the writhing awareness of the Drau ramps up, like a nest of snakes. They’re somewhere ahead of us. I can’t see them, but they’re here. I feel it in every cell of my body.
And it’s me, Luka, and Jackson against an army. I’m not liking the odds.
We follow Jackson to a door, then down more stairs to the basement. I’ve been down here once before, last year, when the drama teacher had me and Carly help go through some boxes to find costumes.
The walls on either side are painted white, the stairs here narrow and steep. At the bottom is a long corridor, dim, empty, shadowy doorways marking the walls.
The Drau could be anywhere, in any one of these basement rooms.
“Trap?” I whisper.
“Maybe,” Luka answers.
“What do we do?”
“We go in,” Jackson says.
I open my mouth, then close it. I already know what he’ll say: What makes you think you get a choice?
He’s right. My gut’s telling me this is a bad idea, that the Drau are playing us, leading us into a trap. Why run through the dance like that? Why create pandemonium only to hide here?