Away We Go - Emil Ostrovski Page 0,49
await incoming security personnel,” the mechanical voice intoned.
“Marty!” I yelled up at him.
He turned, peered down at me. I knew he was considering whether to stay or to go.
The siren was closer. The security carts revved in the distance, and Marty made his decision.
He descended the steps, jumped to the ground.
Zach had drawn up by now. The three of us ran for the shed, the ladder slippery in our gloved hands. I was in the lead. I kicked open the shed door, took a step, but the ladder hit on something.
Stuck.
“Noah,” Zach said desperately.
“Trying,” I said. “Take a step back.”
We managed to unpry the ladder. Something tumbled to the ground with a terrible clatter, and I had to step over it, but finally we had the ladder inside the shed, finally Marty shut the door.
We heard the security carts.
I shuffled toward a dark corner, bent over, crouched, Marty and Zach following. Hit my head on something hard and saw flecks of light. Someone bumped into me from behind and I nearly fell. We threw ourselves behind some cardboard boxes just as the door squealed open.
Steps scraped against the floor. A flashlight flared.
“They’re here,” a man said, and for a moment I thought he meant us, until his flashlight settled on the ladders. “Kind of them to pick up after themselves.”
The steps came closer. A second flashlight beam illuminated a pair of rakes and garden shears five feet from where we sat hunched together.
One of the guards cleared his throat, spit.
“Stupid fucking kids,” a second voice said.
“Ah, they don’t know what they’re doing,” the first man said. “Prob’ly a prank. ’Member the dumb shit we got into as kids?”
“Stupid fucking kids,” the second voice said. “Didn’t even get a good shot of them, all this dark and snow.”
“Nope,” the first man affirmed. Then, “Hey, Jim, you’re a poet.”
“Shut the fuck up, Langdon,” Jim said. His voice even closer now, his flashlight drifting over my head. Zach and Marty trembled into me, and I trembled into them. I held someone’s hand.
“Let’s go back,” Langdon said, and his steps receded. “I want to finish my coffee ’fore it gets too cold.”
Jim let out a sigh, and turned to follow. The door squealed shut, but I held my breath until the security cart engine started up again, before fading into the winter quiet.
I stayed hunched in that corner for a long time.
I stayed hunched in that corner until a pair of hands encircled me. I jumped at the touch, but relaxed into Zach’s embrace. He pulled me back, until I was sitting between his legs, his arms wrapped around me.
He set his chin on my shoulder.
He whispered warm breath into my ear: “Thank you for staying.”
A few feet away, Marty sat huddled into himself.
I reached out a hand, and he took it.
“What did you see up there, Martin dear?” I asked, because I didn’t want him to feel alone.
Zach’s body tensed beneath me.
“Oh,” Marty said. “Just snow.”
This was Polo Club’s last night together.
AWAY WE-MAIL
From: Donovan, Deidre
Date: Wed, Jan 17, at 9:27 AM
Subject: Crime Alert - North Wall Vandalism
Dear Students,
On Wednesday, January 17, at approximately 2:35 a.m., a group of six Westing students were caught on camera attempting to vandalize a section of the north-side wall. The students involved in the incident are wanted for questioning. If you have any information about their identity, please contact the undersigned or call Officer Skorzewski at 802-08-20.
If you observe anyone acting in a suspicious or threatening manner, call the Emergency Response Service by dialing 000 immediately. Remember that security measures are in place for the safety of all students.
Deidre Donovan
Director of Investigations
Department of Campus Safety
Westing Academy
Galloway Hall, 117
*802-08-11
SIX MONTHS BEFORE THE CATACLYSMIC, FIERY, KIND OF CLICHÉD END OF ALL THINGS (OR NOT)
TO DIE WILL BE AN AWFULLY GREAT ADVENTURE
The snow melted, and Zach officially changed his AwayWeGo relationship status to “In a relationship with Addie Myers.”
The campus matched my mood. The flowers hadn’t bloomed yet, leaving rolling grounds full of grays and browns, bare-limbed trees and dead leaves preserved by the cold, a perfect setting for the wave of suicides that broke out in early March, eight in one week. The last of them had been Morgan, president of the Believers. Somehow she’d gotten hold of a bottle of sleeping pills.
So much for The End Time Is Your Time.
That didn’t stop the Believers, though.
They had a new president now, and more members. They waited in the academic quad, by the library, the cafeteria, ambushing students with flyers,