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“Maybe.” I pull the door open and take a short step outside. The water is rising, but hasn’t quite reached the door yet. The pounding rain nearly deafens me, but I can just make out sirens in the distance. The phone still doesn’t have a signal, so I step back inside and close the door so I can hear myself think. “No luck.”
“Shit,” Kas mutters under her breath, then swivels her head toward the desk. “Wait! There’s a landline!”
As she turns to head for the phone, a blinding flash of light is followed by the most incredible explosion I’ve ever heard. The lights flicker out, the windows rattle, and I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Kas gasps and looks back at me with shock and fear.
Just like the stories always say, everything happens fast but still feels like slow motion.
Kas switches her gaze from me to the window, and her face goes white. A second explosion, a sharp, cracking noise, and Kas’ expression makes me turn my attention back outside.
With additional splintering sounds and a spray of sparks, the utility pole next to the street begins to fall toward the library’s entrance.
“Cree! Get away from the doors!”
Chapter 2—Kas
Even as I scream, my mind goes numb, and my body becomes paralyzed. The only sensation I register is the ache in my arm where Cree’s fingers dig into it. He’s pulling me backward, away from the spray of glass that flies through the air as the utility pole crashes into the glass door.
This is not how I imagined my evening.
This was supposed to be the usual weeknight—studying at the Backup. This was to be a night of brain research, specifically on the hypothalamus. I have a neurology test on Tuesday, and acing it gets me that much closer to med school.
I was not expecting my high school crush to be here at all, especially not alone with me.
Credence Cord, high school superstar—not. Jock—not. Intellectual—not. Stoner—not. He wasn’t any of those things. He hung out on the fringes of all the groups, which is why I liked him. He didn’t belong, and neither did I.
I’m shocked he didn’t recognize me—not.
Okay, enough with the nots. I sound like my 1980s era mother, and I’m annoying myself. It’s a habit I practice intentionally to keep myself from falling back into old, anxiety-ridden patterns. The more I annoy myself, the more I don’t think about being panic-stricken and anxious.
The important parts of current events are as follows: a combination of my life possibly being in danger and the fact that Credence Cord is touching me.
I might be in shock.
Cree drags me backward, away from the chaos and the noise that my brain doesn’t seem to want to process. I wonder if my hypothalamus, which is supposed to be kicking in right about now with some kind of life-saving fear response, is broken.
I feel frozen, and not just because the broken door and window have let in the cold wind and rain. As I wait for either fight or flight to take over, Cree hauls me behind the front desk and away from the glass that litters the floor.
Emergency lighting kicks in with little trails of red marking the way to the exits. In the corners, slightly brighter, white lights provide just enough illumination to keep from tripping over things but not enough to see well.
We duck down as another crash echoes through the library. In the back of my head, I begin to count slowly. It’s a technique taught to me by a high school therapist.
One…two…three…four…
Focusing on numbers gives the back of my brain something to do other than panicking, and I manage to find my voice again though I can’t
manage to say anything useful.
“Holy shit,” I mumble.
“Holy shit is right,” Cree replies. “That was close.”
Twelve…thirteen…fourteen…
Cree’s still holding onto my arm, and it’s so distracting that counting becomes difficult. I can feel the tension of his entire body through his fingers on my arm. We wait, crouched behind the counter, until the crashing noises stop. Cree releases my arm, but I can still feel the memory of his touch as we peek toward the demolished entrance. I can only barely make out shapes in the darkness.
“It’s still sparking,” I say, pointing toward the broken door and the downed power line.
“Maybe we should go for the back door anyway, pond and all. Might be better to get soaked than to stay here with the sparks.”
