others. Sometimes, it had to be born inside ourselves, nurtured into bloom by conviction.
Still. Forgiveness was nice.
The least I could do was acknowledge it. “Thanks,” I said.
And then we both settled in to hunt.
He sorted through the file cabinet, while I searched through the bottom desk drawer. My leg bumped against a computer component, and I shifted my position. But as I continued to comb through random papers and office supplies, my gaze fell back to the computer. Why would Grassi keep such an old machine?
And then something even bigger hit me. When I’d searched for a local network signal, I hadn’t found one.
I abandoned the desk and turned the monitor back on to confirm. Nope, no bars; nothing to show an internet connection at all.
My heart accelerated with possibility. I moved to the computer, carefully popping off the outer cover. A few seconds later, I confirmed my suspicions. No wireless card, either.
Grassi kept this computer off network on purpose. The information he kept on it was too sensitive to risk a hack.
Too sensitive. Or too incriminating.
I’d already searched the computer and drawn a blank, but there was one more option.
“I think we’re looking for an external hard drive,” I told Hunter. “Probably hidden.”
He shook out the computer manuals on the bookshelves, looking for any hidey-holes. I backtracked to the desk, checking drawers for false bottoms and hidden compartments.
Are you guys out of there yet? Class ends in a minute!
Samuel was right. In all the excitement, I’d stopped paying attention to my internal clock.
Hunter’s lips moved as he read the text on his burn phone. He looked over at me. “What now?”
We’d gone through most every possible hiding spot, but I wanted to make absolutely sure. And to do that, we’d need a few more minutes. Which was a few more than we had.
I made a split-second decision, shooting off a response to Samuel as I rose. “Hang tight,” I told Hunter before poking my head out into the hall. I spotted the familiar red square by the south stairwell. My stomach felt like an entire circus act as I connected with the fire alarm’s signal.
Activate alarm?
I swallowed. Not the most sophisticated tactic, but we couldn’t be picky.
Yes.
A second later, an earsplitting wail flooded the hall.
The reaction was instant. The few teachers who were in their offices scrambled for the stairs, asking one another in strained voices if any drills had been scheduled for the day.
They hurried up while overhead, the ceiling rumbled with the sound of hundreds of feet on wooden floors.
Meanwhile, the siren tore at me like sharp claws, its wail linking me to the past. A scream from a dead girl. Telling me to run while I still could.
Thick, billowing smoke. Red and orange flames licking in every direction. Dad’s hoarse voice. Sarah on the floor . . . the acrid sweet smell of burning flesh . . . my own . . .
I shook off the memories and the fire faded, leaving only the wail of the alarm.
Time to live in the now.
Keep track of Grassi, I texted Samuel before returning to the search. But we were almost out of spots. In desperation, Hunter had resorted to yanking up the chair cushions. I looked for anything we might have missed. The only thing we hadn’t searched in the office was the potted plant.
The wooden platform had potential, so I rushed over and turned it upside down. No hard drive. With barely any hope left, I dug my fingers beneath the fake mulch in the brown ceramic pot.
My fingers struck something foreign. Cool, sleek, and sharp, where the pot was rough and round.
With a shaking hand, I withdrew the external hard drive.
“Got it. Grab that USB cord from the top drawer and let’s get out of here.”
Hunter did as I asked, and we raced out the office door to the stairs. Where there’d once been a thunder of footsteps, now there was unnerving quiet. Except for one lone sound. A cough at the top of the stairwell.
And then the sound of shoes hitting steps. Descending. “Anyone down here needs to evacuate immediately.”
The dean.
I snatched Hunter’s sleeve and pulled him backward. When I knew we were out of sight I turned. “Other stairs. Quick,” I said, and bolted, with him on my heels.
Distance calculations raced through my head. The distance from us to the other stairs; the distance and length of time it would take the dean to get to the bottom.
We couldn’t be linked to that busted