Page 122 of Sexting the Pakhan

Miss Elena shouts, “Everyone into the classrooms. Away from the glass.”

Mila screams, “Mama!”

I see her yellow dress for half a second near the side hallway. Then she disappears.

“Nadia!” I shout.

A teacher moves past me with three children clinging to her skirt. Behind them, I catch a glimpse of Nadia’s dark cardigan near the classroom door.

Karina sees her too. “Nadia’s going in with Miss Elena.”

“Mila went that way,” I say, pointing toward the side hall.

Karina tightens her grip on my wrist. “I’ll get Nadia.”

“No, stay with me,” I say.

“Zoya, listen to me,” Karina says, voice shaking but firm. “Nadia is with the class. I’ll make sure she stays there. You find Mila.”

Another shot rings out. Children scream again.

I look at Karina, and for one awful second we are not two women at a school event anymore. We are back in survival mode. We’re choosing too quickly because there is no good choice.

“Bring Nadia to Miss Elena,” I say.

Karina nods. “I will.”

“Don’t let her leave the room,” I say.

“I won’t.”

I run toward the side hallway.

The library attack comes back in pieces. The smell of paper. The sharp panic in my throat. Ruslan’s hand pulling me down before I understood why. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, willing that image away.

“Mila!” I shout.

A paper crown lies near the wall, bent and glittering under the emergency light.

Her crown.

My chest locks. “Mila!” I shout again.

A little boy crawls out from under an art table, sobbing. For one terrible second, relief hits me because he’s not mine, and then guilt follows so quickly I almost choke on it.

A teacher scoops him up. “I’ve got him,” she says. “Go.”

I keep moving.

The side hallway is dimmer, quieter in the worst way. The chaos from the front becomes muffled behind classroom doors, but every sound inside the corridor feels too clear. A door banging somewhere near the back. A child crying from another room. My own breath coming too fast.

Then I hear a low groan.

Not a child. A man.

I stop outside the nap room. Blood is smeared on the floor near the door.

My hand goes cold on the handle. “Mila?” I whisper.