Angela shrieks as I grab her shirt and flatten us to the ground. A bullet whizzes past the locker and another slams into the open door with a sick ring.

  I scootch behind the locker door while Angela covers her head with her arms and screams. Does she think her noise will deafen the shooter?

  The rapid burst of gunfire halt and the old-school bleep of a walkie-talkie sounds.

  “Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” Crackle. Bleep. “But Stevens is here with her.”

  Another crackle, I can barely make out Griffin in James’ garbled panic. I slide out of the locker and grab Angela, holding my hands over her whimpering mouth. She shrieks, spitting into my palms.

  “Sh!’ I hiss. The shooter is still bickering with James. I glance at Angela then the library “Count of three.”

  The gunman swears and something in my gut tells me we don’t have time. I shove Angela forward. “Three!’

  She scrambles across the hall in a screaming mass and I charge behind her.

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  “Hey!’ The gunman turns out to be Lance Pulgard. That explains a lot but I don’t have time to consider everything. The library windows shatter and lockers fill with bullet holes as Lance unleashes round after round.

  Angela freezes midstep and I slam into her back.

  “Move!” I push her and Angela flies the extra seven feet, stumbling over the librarian’s desk. She howls in pain but I don’t give her time to whine.

  “Up!’ I grab her arm and haul her into the first aisle, between encyclopedias and fantasy.

  “You’re hur–” Angela’s words are cut short when I slap my spare hand over her mouth. I hold a single finger over my lips, peeking through the shelves over the tops of The Hobbit and Blackbringer.

  Lance whistles like he’s calling a lost puppy. The eerie sound caresses each shelf and spine, elongating before it reaches us. Angela shakes so hard her teeth chatter against my palm. A single tear leaks from her eyes before traversing over my knuckles and she whimpers. It takes everything in me not to slam into the bookcase, just to shut her up.

  I’m not sure why I’m so calm. Everything just slows, like we’re moving through water. Lance slinks between horror and manga, only two aisles away. It’s hard to track his movements, through the shelves, his shaggy blond hair slowly bobbing in and out of view. As he nears the end of his aisle, I grab Angela’s sweaty hand, yanking her behind me.

  Her pained wheeze reminds me to be more gentle. I’m not used to all this adrenaline. And this isn’t a great learning environment.