Page 146 of Anarchy at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 4)
I’m going to miss that bitch.
My brain is locked into survival mode at this point. Get myself out, get one of the stashed guns, come back and save the boys. That’s not just it, Bernadette, I realize as I keep my footsteps light, moving as fast as I can without letting my soles squeak against the linoleum. You’re just like Hael. You’ve always wanted to be the good guy.
There’s a part of me that I can’t crush that wants to save Ms. Keating and our gay blond math teacher Miss Addie and even stupid ass Billie because I feel sorry for her kid.
And that’s why I couldn’t kill Kali.
Because it hurt me to look into her eyes with my hands wrapped around her throat. Not because of her. Me. I didn’t want to see someone who used to be my best friend dying underneath me in the dark woods.
I start running when I hear a door open, and then I just dive to the floor on instinct. Bullets pepper the front entryway of the school as I roll to one side and end up pressed against the door to the security office, a bank of lockers on my left protecting me from the gunman temporarily.
This is Vic’s locker, I think, glancing over at it. The same fucking locker he was standing in front of when I called out Havoc. The feeling that gives me is surreal as I shove myself up to my feet, knowing that no help is coming from the dark and empty office.
For the first time today, I managed to sneak a small switchblade on campus, right past the metal detectors and the cops and the drug dogs. Asking Cal to teach me a few tricks might’ve just saved my life. Thank fuck, because that’s the only weapon I have. That, and the pencil I accidentally took with me when Mr. Darkwood banished me from the classroom.
His body isn’t too far away from where I’m crouched, a pool of crimson spreading out beneath him. There’s a possibility that he’s still alive since his fingers keep twitching. Stacey, on the other hand … well, I just won’t look at Stacey’s body.
In a few seconds, the gunman will come into view and that’ll be my one and only chance to make a stand. I slip the knife from my back pocket, hunker down, and ready myself to lunge at this motherfucker the first chance I get.
The man appears a second later. He’s anticipating me being here, but he doesn’t expect me to throw myself forward and stab the blade into his upper thigh. He stumbles backward in a sea of blooming red as I rise up and then throw myself into his stomach. We hit the floor together as I whip the pencil from my pocket, slamming it down as hard as I can into the man’s eye.
As much as I hesitated with Kali, I can’t hesitate here.
I stand up as he bleeds and scrabbles around, reaching for the gun that got knocked away when he fell. I could’ve grabbed it, too, if another shooter hadn’t appeared from the direction of the cafeteria. Instead, I drop down, crawling for another one of the alcoves that lines this hallway. Every door is inset, with rows of lockers on either side, giving me just enough space to hide in.
The man I just stabbed is already dead, shot by his comrade in arms in his rabid attempt to shoot me.
I lean against the door, still breathing hard, knowing that even if I were to knock or scream, nobody would let me in. They don’t want a wolf inside their sheep pen. Biting my lip, I feel all of that fear and confusion just bleed out of me. They already know where you are, Bernie, so what do you have to lose?
I cup my hands around my mouth and let out a howl. It’s wordless, but I’m clearly crying Havoc here. Where are my dogs of war? That’s what I’m asking in a simple, primal sound.
My new attacker, the one who’s so fucking loyal to the GMP that he shot his injured friend in order to get to me, takes fire at me before he’s even rounded the corner enough to see where I’m at. Bullets bury themselves in the wall and the metal fronts of the lockers as I crouch down, readying myself to attempt the same trick twice.
I can hear the sound of a door opening, the faintest cry of someone howling in response to me, and then the noise of it slamming shut again. The ruckus causes the gunman to pause briefly, head whipping around to take in the new threat. I don’t wait, not even for a heartbeat’s worth of time, standing up and whipping around the corner fast enough that I’m able to get an arm around the guy’s throat before he can fire his weapon.
