Kevin ran for his car across the street. “Down Willow. Follow me.”
He slid behind the wheel, fired the engine, and squealed away from the curb. Eleven minutes. Could they reach the library in eleven minutes? Depended on traffic. But could they find a bomb in eleven minutes?
A horrifying thought strung through his mind. Even if they did reach the library, they would have no time to search without risking being caught inside when the bomb blew. There was this matter of seconds again. They could be forty seconds off and not know it.
A car was one thing. A bus was worse. But the library—God forbid that they were wrong. “You sick coward!”
They roared down Willow, horns blaring, ignoring the lights completely. This was becoming a bad habit. He swerved out of the path of a blue Corvette and swung onto a smaller surface street to avoid the sea of traffic. Jennifer followed in the big black car. At each intersection the street dips pounded his suspension. He would make Anaheim Street and cut east.
Seven minutes. They were going to make it. He considered the gun in the trunk. Running into the library waving a gun would accomplish nothing but the confiscation of his hard-earned prize. He only had three bullets left. One for Slater’s gut, one for his heart, and one for his head. Pow, pow, pow. I’m gonna put a slug in your filthy heart, you lying sack of maggot meat. Two can play this game, baby. You picked the wrong kid to tick off. I bloodied your nose once; this time I’m gonna put you down. Six feet under, where the worms live. You make me sick, sick . . .
Kevin saw the white sedan in the intersection ahead at the last possible moment. He threw his weight back into the seat and shoved the brake pedal to the floor. Tires screeching, his car slid sideways, barely missed the taillight of an ancient Chevy, and miraculously straightened. Hands white on the wheel, he punched the accelerator and sped on. Jennifer followed.
Focus! There was nothing he could do about Slater now. He had to get to the library in one piece. Interesting how bitter he’d become toward the man in the space of three days. I’m gonna put a slug in your filthy heart, you lying sack of maggot meat?What was that?
The moment Kevin saw the arched, glass face of Augustine Memorial Library, he knew that Jennifer’s attempts to clear the place had failed. An Asian student ambled by the double doors, lost in thought. They had between three and four minutes. Maybe.
Kevin crammed the gearshift into park while the car was still rolling. The car bucked and stopped. He burst out and tore for the front doors. Jennifer was already on his heels.
“No panic, Kevin! We have time. Just get them out as quickly as possible. You hear?”
He slowed to a jog. She pulled up beside him, then took the lead.
“How many study rooms are there?” she asked.
“A few upstairs. There’s a basement.”
“PA system?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, point the way to the office. I’ll make an announcement; you clear the basement.”
Kevin pointed out the office, ran for the stairs, and took them in twos. How long? Three minutes? “Get out! Everyone out!” He ran down the hall, spun into the first room. “Out! Get out now!”
“What’s up, partner?” a middle-aged man asked lazily.
He couldn’t think of a nonpanicky way to tell the man. “There’s a bomb in the building.”
The man stared for a second, then bolted to his feet.
“Clear the hall!” Kevin shouted, breaking for the next room. “Get everyone out!”
Jennifer’s voice came over the PA, edgy. “This is the FBI. We have reason to suspect that there may be a bomb in the library. Evacuate the building calmly and immediately.” She began to repeat the message, but yells echoed through the basement, drowning out her voice.
Feet pounded; voices cried out; panic set in. Maybe it was just as well. They didn’t have enough time for order.
It took a full minute, at least, for Kevin to satisfy himself that the basement was clear. He was putting himself in danger, he realized, but this was his library, his school, his fault. He gritted his teeth, ran for the stairs, and was halfway up when he remembered the supply room. Unlikely anyone would be in there. Unless . . .
He stopped four paces from the top. Carl. The janitor liked to listen to his Discman while he worked. He liked to joke about how there was more than one way to fill the mind. Books were fine, he said, but music was the higher culture. He took his breaks in the supply room.
You’re cutting it close, Kevin.
He whirled and ran back down. The supply closet was to his right, in the back. The building lay in silence now except for the urgent padding of his feet. What was it like to be caught in an explosion? And where would Slater have planted the charges?
He threw the door open. “Carl!”
The janitor stood by a stack of boxes with the words New Bookswritten on pink sheets of paper.
“Carl! Thank God!”
Carl smiled at him and nodded his head to whatever music pumped into his ears. Kevin ran over to him and pulled the headphones off. “Get out of here! They’ve evacuated the building. Hurry, man! Hurry!”
The man’s eyes widened.
Kevin grabbed his hand and shoved him toward the door. “Run! Everyone else is out.”
“What is it?”
“Just run!”
Carl ran.
Two minutes. There was a second, smaller closet to his right— overflow supplies for administration, Carl had once told him. Mostly empty. Kevin leapt for the closet and pulled the door open.
How much explosive did it take to blow a building this size? Kevin was staring at the answer. Black wires protruded from five shoe-boxes and met in a contraption that looked like the inside of a transistor radio. Slater’s bomb.
“Jennifer!” he yelled. He twisted for the door and yelled again, at the top of his lungs. “Jennifer!”
His voice echoed back. The building was empty. Kevin ran his hands through his hair. Could he carry this thing outside? It’ll blow there. That’s where the people are. You have to stop it! But how? He reached for the wires, paused, and pulled back.
Pulling the wires would probably set it off, wouldn’t it?
You’re going to die, Kevin.Any split second it could go. He could set it off early.
“Kevin!” Jennifer’s scream carried down the stairs. “Kevin, for God’s sake, answer me! Get out!”
He fled the supply room in a full sprint. He’d seen the movies a hundred times—the explosion behind, the billows of fire, the diving hero rolling to freedom just out of the blast’s reach.
But this wasn’t a movie. This was real and this was now and this was him.
“Kevin—”
“Get out!” he yelled. “The bomb’s in here!” He cleared the first four steps, and his momentum carried him to the top in two more bounds.
Jennifer was at the door, holding it open, face white. “What are you thinking?” she snapped at him. “It could go early. You’ll get us both killed!”
He ran out and tore for the parking lot. Jennifer kept pace.
A huge arc of onlookers stood a hundred yards off, watching them run. “Get back!” she yelled, sprinting for them. “Farther back! Get—”
A deep, dull whompcut her off. Then a louder, sharp blast and the crash of shattering glass. The ground shook.
Jennifer grabbed Kevin by the waist and pulled him down. They landed together and rolled. She threw her arms over his head. “Stay down!”
He lay smothered by her for a few long seconds. Screams rolled across the lawn. Jennifer pushed herself halfway up and looked back. Her leg was over the backs of his legs and her hand pressed into his back for support. Kevin twisted and followed her gaze.
Half of the Divinity School of the Pacific’s crown jewel lay in a heap of smoking rubble. The other half jutted to the sky, stripped of glass, naked.
“My God, my God, help us all,” Jennifer said. “He blew it early, didn’t he? I could kill Milton.”