Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
She heard the sounds of little feet running up the mostly obscured stairs, a line of them at the base still fully exposed. Oh God, run! The moonlight man had moved quickly toward them and was now the only obstruction in the front of those children pushing and clamoring for cover.
“Get out of my way,” the man with the gun gritted out.
“No,” the man with the white hair grated back. His voice was hoarse, guttural, deeper than she remembered it, no longer that of a boy.
The face of the man with the gun morphed from cold resolve to indecision as the sound of sirens rose in the distance. The gunman glanced toward the place where the stairwell was enclosed by an outside wall, that coldness blossoming again but now overlaid with what Autumn could only call violent yearning. Bloodlust. He raised his weapon toward the still-exposed children at the base, and the man with the moonlight hair spread his arms wide, acting as a human shield. The gunman fired repeatedly, the blast of gunfire mixing with the piercing screams. Her moonlight boy jerked back, righting himself and then jerking again and again—performing a horrifying dance—as the bullets ripped into his flesh. The children pushed forward, the last one finally making it around the concrete barrier and into the covered stairwell just as the man who’d shielded them crumpled to the ground.
Autumn, who’d been mute with shock, screamed then—a sound of horror—and the gunman’s head whipped toward her as he raised the gun again. Oh God. Oh no. Brace. Autumn turned her head and clenched her eyes shut, hearing the weapon fire and waiting for the slam of a bullet that didn’t come.
With another terror-filled cry, she opened her eyes to see the gunman lying still on the ground, a spray of blood surrounding him, blood trickling from the gunshot wound at his head.
Autumn brought her hands to her mouth, giving herself three breaths to get hold of herself before springing into action. She ran from one wounded teacher to the second, tears trickling down her cheeks as she put two shaking fingers to their still pulses. A wail rose inside her, and she tried desperately to hold it back, or she’d lose it completely.
Save the ones you can, Autumn.
If there was anyone to save.
She moved to a third teacher. She was gone as well. No children were shot. Not out here at least. Autumn’s shoulders shook as she moved past the dead gunman, kicking his weapon aside irrationally. He was no danger anymore. She then ran to the man with the moonlight hair. The sirens were drawing closer. How far away? Fifteen blocks? Ten? Hurry. Please hurry. She knelt beside the man she’d followed here and looked at his face. It was him, there was no doubt. She brought her fingers to the scars at his temple, the place where she’d once seen the bolt-like object embedded in his skin.
She looked up and around, searching for what, she wasn’t sure. Someone else who might help? Someone to call to? But there was no one. Only her. All the others were safely hidden inside, waiting for the cavalry to arrive. They’re coming. Hold tight. They’re coming. Her gaze darted to the still form of the gunman again, as if he might rise from the dead at any moment and continue on some form of weaponless killing spree. Autumn looked back at the man, once her moonlight boy. There was blood soaking his shirt and more on the thighs of his black jeans. He’d been shot in the chest at least twice, maybe three times, and in the legs as well. Horror coursed through her, making her feel heavy and numb.
A sound came from his throat. A moan.
Autumn jolted. You’re alive.
She brought her trembling fingers to his throat, feeling the fluttery pump of his pulse. Yes, he was alive, but likely not for long.
“Help me,” he said, and her eyes flew to his face. “Please,” he breathed. “Please. Get me out of here.”
Autumn blinked. “Get you out of here? I… You’re very, very hurt. You’ll be okay. Help is coming.”
He grabbed her sweater, giving a small yank, and Autumn let out a yelp. His grip loosened. “They won’t help me,” he said. His eyes met hers, so beseeching, so filled with fathomless pain. His head dropped back to the pavement. “They’ll hurt me.”
The words moved through her, or rather the feeling, the deep despair with which he’d uttered them, rattled her bones. They’ll hurt me. Her gaze moved from the scars on his face to the beginning of the one at his throat that she knew sliced all the way to his navel. Yes, someone had hurt him, again and again, and though she didn’t know who or how or why, she did know that once upon a time, he had saved her. He was inexorably woven into her past and maybe even her soul.