Sugar & Squall (15 page)

Logan groaned ahead of me, lifting himself free and up to his feet. I joined him just as a shot of pain ran up to my shoulder. My right foot, too, was starting to sting and throb. Taking that kind of fall on bare feet would have been completely stupid in any other circumstance.

Suck it up,
I told myself.

Logan kicked the remaining debris from the door back up onto the stairs in order to clear some space and open the door in front of us to the dormitory. He heaved it open and we rushed inside, away from the rain and wet. Logan drew the door shut and turned the lock.

“That’ll slow them down,” he said, pain punctuating his words. “That’s if they jump at all.”

If they did, they needed only shoot this lock out and the chase would be back on.

We moved down another set of stairs and found ourselves on the top level of the girls’ dorm. I’d developed a slight limp.

“Your foot,” Logan said, having turned to me at the bottom of the stairs. He was pointing to the area behind me. “You’re bleeding.”

I glanced back and saw an inky blotch on every step we’d come down. I flipped my right foot over in the darkness, leaning against the wall, to find my entire sole wet with blood, a dark cobalt in the darkness.

Logan came up beside me and held my foot in his hand, examining it, turning it over.

“It’s a bad graze, but it should okay.”

“I need shoes. I
can’t leave a trail.”

We went
into the room on our immediate right. The top floor was occupied by the seniors. Their rooms were free of the pinks and pastels that so dominated the lower, freshman and junior levels, the walls instead illegally pinned with pop-art, sketches, Polaroids.

In this particular room the closest bed had been turned over completely and lay stacked against the next like the start of a domino chain. It was a good thing the curtains were open. It was hard enough to see as it was.

Logan threw over a pair of shoes from the far-side of the room. I instantly knew they’d be too big. I shook my head and he continued to rummage. The focus was now on time, not noise, so he made no attempt to keep quiet as he pulled out drawers and felt around the floor.

I found a pair of heels under one of the beds, another set of sneakers. The heels were useless, sneakers too small.

Logan threw me another set. These were slip-ons of some sort. I pulled one onto my right foot. Disturbingly, the blood made it slide on easier. But it did fit – perfectly.

“These are okay,” I said, easing the other onto my left foot.

“It’s going to be cold outside,” he said, flinging a jacket over. It was one of those horrible puffer numbers with the faux-fur linings I so detested.
This isn’t fashion week,
I reminded myself.

Logan was in the darkest part of the room. I could hardly see him at all.

“If there are pants, grab them too.”

There were dance pants, leggings or something near my left foot. There was no time to take the shoes off, so I just pulled the pants over them. They were small, way too small, and they were going on back to front. The bottom of the left leg tore with the effort.

I hadn’t gotten them completely over my hips when the roof vibrated slightly above us. It didn’t matter it was raining. We’d both felt it, because our eyes met in the muted light. Our pursuer had jumped after all.

This was confirmed by a door slamming above us.
They couldn’t have made it across the roof that fast,
I thought to myself, but how long had we been crouched here, looking at each other?

We stood in unison. “Th
ey’ll see the footprints,” I whispered. “We’ve got to hide.”

I moved first, almost tripping
over myself as we came out through the door into the hall. I looked down as I regained balance to see my bloody footprints run right into the room, clear as day.

We ran down the hall. I took us
into another room on our left. The rain was falling hard, but someone was coming down the stairs. The confines of the stairwell amplified each step.

I looked
around frantically, stopping at the wardrobe in the corner. Every dorm room at Carver had one. As space was at a premium, each was claimed by the room’s alpha. I’d succumbed to the fact my clothes would, for at least a while, be living out of a suitcase.

I opened the wardrobe door and pushed
Logan inside first. I heard the clothes already hung there clatter around to accommodate him before I too was stepped in. The problem was the door. There was no way to close it from the inside. We’d be spotted for sure.

The steps stopped. They were in the hall.

I knelt down and reached my fingers under the bottom of the door, drawing it closed and standing at once so the door itself was no less than an inch from my face.

The wardrobe smelled of Tommy Girl and vanilla. Logan was pushed right up against the back wall. I could feel him breathing, again, steady and measured against my frenzied intake of oxygen. If my heart were to beat any faster it would inadvertently open the door.

There was a noise outside. I closed my mouth.

Close to hyperventilation, I was thankful for the soundtrack the rain created, drowning out all the diminutive noises that would have given us away under normal circumstances. Unfortunately, it also meant we could not hear the stranger creeping around the room. We couldn’t place them. Then a shadow skewed under the door and I knew they were standing right there on the other side.

I closed my eyes. One of the floorboards creaked. That much I could hear.

I strained, physically starting to shake and willing myself somewhere else.

I couldn’t be sure of how long we were there, compressed in that space together. When I opened my eyes, the wardrobe door was there. Logan’s body was still pressed up against mine.

Slowly, he tapped the top of the door, swinging it out into the room. They were gone.

He raised his finger to his lips and slowly stepped out to the bedroom door. I held his hips, moving behind him, his shadow.

He leaned around the corner, crouching and then walking back out into the hall. I followed, looking right. There they were, back turned and headed down the
hall, gun in front. I swallowed.

We were close to the stairwell. It couldn’t have been more than ten feet away, but when I started towards it, my back to theirs, I felt naked.

The next thing I knew Logan and I were rushing down the stairs as quietly as we could.

We moved
faster now. We both realized there were a lot of rooms on that floor. How long they’d spend going through them was a different matter.

Logan stopped at junctions, checking everything was clear before moving on. These half-shoes weren’t so perfect after all. My heels didn’t sit right in t
hem, and I could feel the innersole going squishy from the blood in the right.

“Where are we going?” I whispered.

Logan turned his head, still moving. “We have to get to the principal’s office. There’s something there I need.”

All I wanted to do was head out into the open. It seemed a whole lot safer than being boxed up in these corridors, yet I trusted him with everything. If there was something he needed from the office, then it must be important. That was all there was to it.

We came into the foyer. Logan led us up the stairs and through the first door. We walked across the admin office, toward the principal’s quarters at the back.

“Stand by the door,” he said, as he rushed in. “Keep a lookout for anyone coming.
If they do, I don’t know, snap your fingers at me or something.”

“I can’t snap
my fingers.” It might have been funny in a different context.

“Okay, just throw something at me.”

There was certainly no shortage of ammunition. The secretary’s desk was full of productive-looking projectiles.

I stared at the first doorway and the hall beyond. It vanished into pure black. Our pursuer was nowhere to be seen. I stole a glance at Logan.

He was pulling a painting off the wall behind the principal’s desk. There was a large safe behind it.

He placed the painting on the floor and turned the dial on the safe, quickly and surely until the door swung open. He took something out, slung it over his shoulder and started walking back, safe wide open behind him.

He took a blue sport’s jacket off a coat stand in the corner on the way, ‘coach’ written across the right pocket. When he got to the door, I saw it was a backpack over his shoulder, black and modern. He slipped it off, crouching down and facing away from me. I saw him unzip the backpack, take something out and place it in his jacket pocket.

“How did you know the combination to the safe?

He looked up. “I’ll explain later. We have to go.”

Truthfully, I didn’t care whether he’d taken the Crown Jewels. I just wanted to be as far away from the school itself as possible. It seemed every second longer we spent here simply drew us closer to the inevitable.

“Stay with me,” he said, drawing the straps of the bag over his shoulders. “Stick to the walls and shadows.” He darted out into the hall and I followed as close as I could, my right hand extended out in front of me like a blind man’s cane.

We moved quietly and quickly. As before, when we neared a corner or intersection, Logan would stop, peek around the side and motion us on.

Again, for what seemed like the fiftieth time that night, we were back in the dining hall. I knew the rear door to the kitchen led directly out in the open. Of course, there were many other exits placed around the school, but the door coming from the kitchen was the only one hidden away by the tree line.

I hated it here. It was far too open and bright with the windows either side. We ducked down behind chairs in the middle of the room. I assumed Logan was letting me catch my breath. It wasn’t so much the physical pain, but t
he psychological pressure I felt fast developing into something real and tenuous.

Through the long windows lining the walls the rain continued to fall. The idea of going back out there in the cold made me convulse.

The courtyard statues looked monstrous and abstract from here gazing through the glass. They had no faces, no distinguishing features – nothing but blocks of black against the night.

One in particular looked out of place, like it was moving.

I spoke softly into Logan’s ear, pointing out through the window. “I’ve never noticed that one before.”

Logan squinted and looked closer. His expression and composure changed.

“That’s not a statue.”

#

“They haven’t seen us,” Logan said. “Quickly, go.”

Staying low, we moved toward the auditorium doors, the rain our witness. We hadn’t even made it halfway when the door to the left began to creak open. Logan spun on the spot and herded us back toward the kitchen.

We made it through the kitchen door just in time, Logan forcing it back closed against the audible ‘psst’ of the pneumatic tube at its hinge. I prepared to run out the back of the kitchen, but Logan pulled me down behind the bench, a solitary finger to his mouth.

At the front of the kitchen was the serving area. Shutters were drawn down after every meal. There were tiny slits at the base, just enough to squeeze an eye against, giving a partial view of the dining hall.

We both chose a slit and peered through. It was almost completely dark in the kitchen and thus unlikely anyone would be able to spot us from the outside.

The soldier-like figure who had been chasing us came into view. I was sure of it. I held my breath. They were not searching any more, and stopped, bang-smack in the center of the hall. I could see the outline of their body, strong and muscular. Male. 

I heard an auditorium door open, but couldn’t see. It was out of view. More people, more soldiers, were moving towards the center of the hall. I could hear their footsteps. A boot came into view, and then I could see figures, dark blobs.

Something about their manner sent fresh waves of fear washing over me. The way they moved was cold and calculating. Each held a gun like a choirboy might a candle, with the same green
, reflective discs for eyes I’d seen in the window.

Logan laid his hand over mine.

They walked towards the center of the room to where our pursuer was standing. I couldn’t get a good look at them. They hung in the shadows while he stood in a strip of moonlight, looking almost angelic, innocent.

The others gathered around him. They didn’t make any attempt to lower their weapons.

One moved closer to him and started to speak. I couldn’t make out the words. They echoed around the room and lost form. By the time they reached our hiding place they were little more than whispers.

I heard the voice elevate, but I couldn’t place it. The person speaking threw their right arm out wide, making a point. Their voice rose again, angry now.

One of the soldier’s hands went out, arguing his case.

“Why are they arguing?” I whispered to Logan, quiet as I could.