Dead Girls' Dance

Not so fu

He lunged over the bed, reaching for Eve’s wrist—Claire was too fuzzy to know why he was doing it. Maybe he was hoping to use her as some kind of shield against Sam. But whatever he meant, it was a bad decision.

Sam moved in a flicker, and when Claire blinked, Coffee Bar Jerk was up against the wall, eyes wide, staring at Sam’s face from a distance of about three inches.

“I said,’” Sam whispered, “nobody was going to touch her. Are you deaf?’”

Claire didn’t see it, but she imagined he probably flashed some fang right about then, because Coffee Bar Jerk whimpered like a sick dog.

The other boys moved out of Eve’s way without even trying to stop her.

“Monica,’” Claire said. “I think it was Monica. She got Ian to ask me.’”

“What?’”

“Monica got him to ask me. Told them to do this.’”

“Bitch! Okay, I take it all back. She needs a good blowtorching.’”

“No,’” Claire said faintly. “Nobody deserves that. Nobody.’”

“Great. Saint Claire, the patron saint of the kick-me sign. Look, keep it together, okay? We need to get out of here. Sam! Come on! Leave them!’”

Sam didn’t seem inclined to listen. “Ma

“Hey, man—’” Ian was holding out his hands in surrender. “Seriously. Just having fun. We weren’t going to hurt her. No need to go all Charles Bronson. We didn’t even really touch her. Look. Clothes still on.’”

“Don’t even try.’” Sam continued to stare at Coffee Bar Jerk, who was looking less like a predator, and more and more like a scared kid faced with the big, bad wolf. “I like these girls. I don’t like you. Do the math. Consider yourself subtracted.’”

“Sam!’” Eve’s voice was loud and flat. “Enough with the macho hero stuff. We came to find you. Let’s get out of here and talk.’”

“I’m not leaving,’” Sam said, his eyes fixed on the boy he was holding. “Not until Disney Princess here apologizes, or his head comes off, one of the two.’”

“Sam! What we need to talk about is important, and Disney Princess is not!’”

For a second Claire thought nothing Eve could say would get through, but then she saw Sam smile—it wasn’t a nice smile—and he let Coffee Bar Jerk slide back to the floor. “Fine,’” he said. “Consider yourself horribly tortured. Make sure you think about all the ways I could have hurt you, because if I hear about anything like this happening again, I want you to know what’s coming.’”

Coffee Bar Jerk nodded shakily, and kept his back to the wall as he slid over to join his posse.

Sam turned toward the girls, and came forward to touch Claire lightly on the shoulder. “Are you all right?’”

Claire nodded, a loose flop of her head. That was a mistake; she nearly pitched over, and it took all of Eve’s strength to keep her on her feet.

When she was able to open her eyes and focus again, Sam had moved away, to the door.

“What?’” Eve asked. “And by the way, you’re blocking the escape hatch.’”

“Hush,’” Sam said softly, barely loud enough to be heard over the pounding, relentless beat of the music.

And then Claire heard the screaming.

In a blink, Sam was gone from the doorway. Eve moved out into the hallway, craning her head to look over the rail, and Claire looked, too.

It was chaos down there, and not the happy chaos of a dance. Knots of screaming, pushing people, desperately jamming up the exits from the big open room, all in black clothes, white faces, some splashes of red here and there…

Blood. There was blood.

Sam grabbed both her and Eve by the shoulders, swung them around, and pushed them back inside the room. He looked at Ian, who was still cowering against the wall. “You. O Positive. How many exits?’”

“What?…Oh shit, did you just call me by my blood type?’”

“How many exits?’”

“The stairs! You have to take the stairs!’”

Sam cursed under his breath, went to the closet, and yanked it open. It was a walk-in, pretty large, filled with junk. He shoved Claire and Eve inside and held the door open. “You,’” he said to the four boys. “If you want to live, get in. Touch these girls and I’ll kill you myself. You know I’m serious, yeah?’”

“Yeah,’” Ian said faintly. “Not a finger on ’em. What’s happening? Is it, like, one of those shooting things?’”

“Yes,’” Sam said. “It’s like that. Get in.’”

The boys piled into the closet. Eve dragged Claire to the farthest corner, shoving piles of rank-smelling athletic shoes out of the way, and sat her down. Eve crouched next to her, ready for action, and glared at the guys. They kept their distance.

Sam slammed the door.

Darkness.

“What the hell is going on?’” Coffee Bar Jerk demanded. His voice was shaking.

“People are getting hurt,’” Eve said tightly. “Could be you if you don’t shut up.’”

“But—’”

“Just shut the hell up!’”

Silence. The music was still pounding downstairs, but over it Claire could hear the screaming. She started to go into that fu

“I was doing okay,’” Claire said. Surprised, actually, that it was true. “Thanks for saving me.’”

“I didn’t do anything but find Sam. He found you.’” Eve stopped. “All right, who’s touching me?’”

A high-pitched male voice out of the darkness. “Oh shit! Sorry!’”

“Better be.’”

There was a tense silence in the dark.

And then Claire heard heavy footsteps coming down the hallway.

“Quiet,’” Eve whispered. She didn’t need to say it. Claire felt it, and she knew everybody else did, too. There was something bad out there, something worse than four horny, stupid, cruel boys.

She felt something brush against her. A hand. One of the boys, she didn’t know which one—was it Ian who’d slumped against the wall nearest to her?

She took it and squeezed. He squeezed back, silently.

And Claire waited to see if they were going to die.

10

The screaming stopped, and the music cut off in mid-rave. That was worse, somehow. The silence felt…cold. Claire held on grimly to consciousness. The effects seemed to be coming and going. Maybe she was going to be okay.

A floorboard creaked right outside the closet door.

Claire felt a tremor go through the boy whose hand she held, and she pressed herself harder against the wall and stared at the closet door. It was a big black rectangle outlined in warm yellow.

There was a flicker of shadow, and a snarl, and a man’s full-throated yell, and the sound of a body hitting the floor.

Then the boom of a gun going off. Claire jumped, and felt Eve and the boy jump, too. “Oh God,’” he whispered. He was shaking all over. Claire supposed that was one thing that being roofied was good for—it kept your heart rate down in an emergency. She felt pretty calm, all things considered. Or maybe she was just getting used to being scared out of her mind.

Ru

And then the distant, shrill sound of sirens.

“Cops,’” somebody whispered, maybe Coffee Bar Jerk. He sounded a whole lot less arrogant. “We’ll be okay. We’re going to be okay.’”

“Yeah, until these two turn us in,’” muttered another boy. “For, you know. The thing.’”

“You mean for attempted rape?’” Eve whispered fiercely. “Jesus, listen to you. The thing. Call it what it is, you asshole.’”

“Look, it was just—I’m sorry, okay? We didn’t want to hurt her. We just—’”

“She’s sixteen, man.’”

“What?’”

“Sixteen. So you can thank me now for saving you serious jail time, because attempted rape is a hell of a lot better than actual rape. The statutory kind. Did Monica put you up to it?’”