129
The door behind us creaked again, splintering wood, a groaning frame, Alaric’s men were almost through.
We ran.
The door led to a narrow, dimly lit hallway, the kind that reeked of waxy floors and stale air. It was one of those back corridors meant for staff, lined with gray lockers dented from years of abuse, a few with peeling name tags still clinging to their surface. The walls were a dull beige, scuffed with the evidence of children running their grubby hands along them. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, buzzing with an irritating hum that added to the suffocating sense of urgency.
Tina didn’t hesitate—she jammed the door shut behind us, slamming her shoulder into it before fumbling with the rusted lock. A useless endeavor. “Merda!” she hissed under her breath, then kicked the door for good measure. “That won’t hold.”
We took off down the hallway, our feet pounding against the tiles. Dominic was struggling now, falling behind as he carried Adam, his breaths coming in ragged, labored pulls. Sweat soaked through his shirt, darkening the fabric, and his face was drawn tight with pain. His grip on Adam remained firm, but his steps were slowing, his body trembling beneath the strain of his injury.
The school was now eerily silent, the classrooms dark with doors left ajar. Chairs sat stacked on desks inside, forgotten art projects hung limply on walls, and an abandoned backpack lay in the middle of the hall like its owner had fled in a hurry. It felt haunted. It felt wrong.
We rounded a corner, and just as we did, a janitor stepped into our path, dragging a mop across the floor. He was old, with thick, sun-spotted skin and a wiry mustache. His uniform was faded blue, stained at the sleeves, and he smelled of cigarette smoke and ammonia. He barely had time to register us before Dominic almost crashed straight into him, skidding at the last second and barely keeping his footing.
“What the hell—?” the janitor started, but we didn’t slow down. Tina had taken the lead now, her platinum blonde hair clinging to her damp forehead, her chest heaving from the exertion. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand before she shot a look over her shoulder. “Anyone got a fucking plan?”
Silence.
No one answered. We just ran, propelled forward by fear, by the sound of our own frantic footsteps echoing through the halls.
Tina groaned in frustration, her accent thickening with irritation. “No fucking plan? Really? You—” she jerked her chin at Dominic, “—you look like a dead man walking. Why the hell did you show up if you had no plan? That is stupid. You are stupid.”
Dominic barely glanced at her, his jaw tightening as he adjusted his hold on Adam. His voice was strangled in pain when he shot back, “If you weren’t so fucking loud and grating, I might actually remember the plan.”
We were nearing what looked like a back door, a heavy metal exit with a red push bar. My heart leapt at the sight of it, relief almost sinking into my bones—until we heard it.
Footsteps.
Loud, pounding, coming fast.
“Shit,” Tina hissed. Dominic cursed under his breath.
We moved faster. My legs burned, my lungs clawing for air, but I reached the door first. I slammed into it, my fingers curling around the handle, and then I saw it.
The fist.
Too quick. Too hard.
It collided with my nose before I could react, pain exploding through my skull, white-hot and blinding. I stumbled back with a strangled gasp, my balance thrown off as blood rushed down my face, warm and thick. My back hit the hallway wall with a dull thud, my vision swimming. My ears rang, drowning out everything except for the one deafening realization—
We were out of time.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
