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No one follows me. Pity, I can use the backup.
After passing through the main entrance, I gasp, seeing the guard I spoke to a few days ago lying dead on the floor with a bullet in his skull, blood all around his head.
“Damn it.” I pull out my gun, and considering how the guard fell, I determine he was shot from the direction of the classrooms. I hate that I really don’t care about any other students. I’m not a hero. I just want my wife. I want to find her and get her the hell out of here.
Bloody footprints from this poor guard’s head lead right to… The auditorium!
The doors are closed, but all the lights are on. Did everyone scramble out of here? I take my phone out and call Katya again, but calls are still going to voicemail.
She still has it off. That means she’s in trouble or is hiding. When I was here a few days ago, there were tons of people milling around. Did those pieces of shite just leave her?
I think about the door I snuck in through near the stage. I glance inside and see nothing. I also hear nothing, which is eerie as hell considering the acoustics in this place.
Figuring there’s no way to be quiet,andthat I’m an excellent shot, I throw the door open, loud enough that I hope the fucker who did this is inside and takes a shot at me. Shows himself so I can pick him off.
Nothing.
Fuck!
I hop onto the stage and head to the back hallway toward Katya’s dressing room. A noise behind me turns me around, and I nearly pull the trigger. Gasps from five cops have me lifting my hands. Sure, they come in behind me. Let me be the human shield.
I signal the direction I’m going, and the lead cop nods.
Stage Right’s back entrance is clear, and my memory kicks in from carrying Katya down this corridor. I creep up on the dressing room and stop at the closed door. If students rushed out of here, it would be open.
Why is the door closed?
And where the hell is my Katya? I lean against the door and listen. The sound of unhinged yelling makes my blood run cold. It’s the muffled rant of a guy yelling at someone.
I drop to the floor and squint under the door to find this guy’s position in the dressing room. I see dirty sneakers facing away. This arsehole has his back to the door. Perfect. I get up and jiggle the handle. Too quickly, and too rough, though, not realizing how loose it is. The metal clanging gets his attention.
Motherfucking rookie mistake.
“Who’s out there?” the guy yells at the closed door. “I got two sluts in here.”
Sluts?
“I’ll put bullets in their dick-sucking mouths.”
I eye the pile of cops idling in the hallway. Shaking my head, I wrench the doorknob to open it up and hop back. A flurry of bullets from the open door hits the opposite wall. It’s deafening. But I hear screaming over the blistering hail.
The voice I’d know anywhere: Katya.
I wait for the spray to stop when the unmistakable sound of a cartridge jamming sparks my chest.
“Damn you piece of shit!” the guy yells.
I step into the open doorway, lift my ghost gun, and without saying a word, I prepare to put a beautiful bullet in his head.
Click, click, click.
Fucking fuck, I emptied my clip into the rapist. My gun is out of bullets. I make eye contact with the guy trying to get his AR-15 to work. Roaring, I leap on top of him.
I pummel him with my fists. He brings the gun up and whacks me with it. My bloody nose drips into his face as I laugh at him. He looks terrified, and in that one second break, I get a hold of his shirt and smash his head into the floor. Over and over and over.
“Stop!” a cop at the door yells to me, pointing his gun. “I think he’s dead.”
With my hands full of blood, my thirst for vengeance not quite clenched, I’m ready to ignore the cop when a girl screams. Different from Katya.
