even a poem. It was just words. He’d never even heard of the Sick Buffys.
“I’m sorry to hear about your mom, Evan,” she said, pulling her hand back. “But that has nothing to do with me. You don’t know me at all. And what you did to me was messed up. You realize that, right?”
The air had been drained from his lungs, the life drained from his chest.
“You weren’t helping me,” she said. “You were using me to try to fix yourself. That’s not love.”
Footsteps came sprinting through the door, faster than he could react, and by the time they turned around, a flashlight bobbed into view.
Aiden.
OUTSIDE THE SCHOOL, with all the power offline, you could almost convince yourself that everything was normal.
Aiden sat alone, atop a large rock in the first cut of the forest, behind the maintenance building. He’d watched, safely fifty feet behind, as Yanis had dragged Zaza back into the school, then watched as Yanis went charging back out to the maintenance building to call a sweep. The instructors and security, much less organized than usual, were starting to stumble across the lawn and into the dorms, flashlight beams appearing in random windows around the complex.
From where he sat, their plan had gone off almost without a hitch. The sweep had started just in time to pull everyone from the front gate. The power to the electrical fence was off; Neesha had stopped the sweep from starting too early; Evan and Emma had been given plenty of time to get the picture; now all that remained was the vehicle. At this point, now that everything had played out accordingly, they’d all make it out, safely, together.
Except Zaza. He wouldn’t be escaping. He’d suffer severe punishment, a “literal hell,” as Dr. Richardson described it. He couldn’t get the image of Zaza’s eyes out of his head: stained with blood and bruise, searching in the dark, begging for backup. Aiden couldn’t have done anything, just like he couldn’t do anything now, or anything for the hundreds of other students at the school. But sitting there in the chapel, hopeless and in the dark, he couldn’t help but feel like Zaza’s fate was his fault.
He heard footsteps coming up the path, away from the church. He ducked behind his rock, until he saw it was Peter, staying low and sprinting along the path. “Peter!” he called.
Peter’s head spun wildly. He flew toward Aiden. “Holy shit, buddy!”
“Oh—” Before Aiden could protest, Peter tackled him in a wild embrace. They tumbled backward into the forest. “I guess we’re friends now.”
“Holy shit, buddy,” Peter said again. “I can’t believe it. The kid’s plan worked. We might all actually get outta here.”
Aiden stood up and brushed himself off, not saying anything.
“Shit. What happened?”
Aiden swallowed. “Yanis got into the church and Dr. Richardson escaped. It wasn’t until after two, so everyone else should be fine, but . . . Zaza’s not getting out.”
Peter’s face fell. “Shit.”
“I know,” Aiden said. “But I don’t think there’s anything we can do—”
“It’s not just that.” Peter looked back over his shoulder. “Everybody else was still in the school. Neesha, the kid . . .”
Aiden’s voice broke. “Emma?”
Peter shook his head again.
After a long moment, Peter turned to the maintenance shed. “Alright, well, we’re not doing anything standing here. You ready to go steal a bus or something?”
Aiden ignored him, staring past him at the nearest path back to the school. “No. You get the bus. I’m going back in.”
“What? No, that’s a horrible idea. How are you possibly gonna improve that situation?”
Aiden rocked back, a little confused. “I—I don’t know—”
“Even if you get in there, if Dr. Richardson has them, they’re not getting out. Not tonight, anyway. We’re best off waiting to see who makes it out, then going. Otherwise we might not have a chance.”
Aiden took a deep breath. “I just have to, okay? I can’t . . . just sit out here.”
Peter stared at him for a long moment, then smiled. “Damn,” he said. “Look at you. Not so candy shit anymore, huh?”
Aiden nodded. They clasped hands once more and took off, sprinting in opposite directions.
Neesha.
“OH MY GOD,” she heard Emma exhale as she entered the room.
“Camera, now,” she called, and caught it without breaking stride. She leapt to the machine and started to pull herself up. The only light in the room came from her flashlight, now on the ground, throwing long shadows of the ARC up the wall of screens. She couldn’t turn around;