The Release

Spencer was waiting for them. He had changed out of his trademark suit coats, and even from afar Lucy could see that he had replaced his button-shirt with an oversized athletic pullover. He had a gun trained on them. It was a long-barreled rifle and he kept the butt of it flush against his shoulder.

“Hands up!” Spencer called to them. In unison, they each raised their hands in the air.

He didn’t move as they reached him. They stood regarding each other with his narrowed eyes never leaving Lucy and barely acknowledging Grant and Salem.

“So. My trespassers,” Spencer finally said after a beat. “A little predicament…what to do with the two of you who have not been mentioned by name or desired.”

Lucy cringed. If her friend’s jealousies over Ethan’s survival were already fragile, Spencer’s blatant a

“We’re not leaving Lucy,” Salem called out. She sounded strong and brave. Lucy felt a swell of admiration for her friend. Whenever her relationship with Salem became tenuous, she did have a way of making it all better with a single declaration of friendship and support.

Spencer shook his head, barely, and cocked the rifle. “You will do exactly as I say.”

He nodded over to the front doors.

“The doors are unlocked. Go. You two…the non-Lucys…go.”

Grant hesitated. His bag slipped from his shoulder a bit and he moved to grab it. Spencer pivoted the rifle straight at him.

“Hands back up or I shoot! I have a huge cement pool down the hall filled with the bodies of your former friends, enemies and teachers. I will not hesitate to add one more to the pile.”

Lucy shuddered. So, her dream had been true.

“Toss your backpack to me.”

She balked at his request. “I’m not doing anything you say unless you let my friends stay.”

“Slide it over.” He repeated. “I am not negotiating.”

“I want my friends—”

Spencer raised the rifle and fired a warning shot into the ceiling. Tiny bits of sheetrock and plaster fell to the floor. Then he fired again, this time aiming at the window that led to the athletic office. The window burst and glass shot out in every direction. Tiny shards made their way to where Lucy was standing and she looked at her bare feet.

She shed the backpack and put it on the floor, then gave it a gentle toss in his direction, it hit the ground and the sound of it echoed back down the hall.

“Lucy,” Spencer said her name again, quietly drawing out the syllables. “Tell your friends to go.”

Lucy turned to Grant and Salem and when she registered the fear in their faces, she started to cry.

“Where’s my brother? I want to see Ethan!”

She recognized the glimmer of confusion as Spencer tried to process her request. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know your brother.”

“You said that someone bought my freedom. That I’m free to go! Right? Right?” She began to feel panicky and weak and her head was spi

Spencer fired the rifle a third time and this time he shot at a display case a mere foot away from where Salem was standing. Salem shrieked and covered her ears and shut her eyes tight as the glass fell around pe

Grant took a breath. “I can’t.” He nodded toward the gun. “He’ll kill me before I can reach it.”

“We’ll go,” Salem said loudly. Then she turned to Lucy, her eyes wet. “We’re going.”

“No!” Lucy cried out. “No!” She turned to Spencer, raising her hands out toward him in supplication. “There has to be another way!”

Spencer took two long strides forward. “There is no other way,” he replied. “They have ten seconds or you can pick which one I shoot first.”

Letting out a gulping sob, Lucy spun back to her friends. “Find Ethan!” she cried out. “Stay safe and hidden. And don’t—”

“Five…four…”

Grant and Salem began to run. When they reached the front doors, they grabbed the metal door handle and pushed the door swung open, a gust of spring air blew into the foyer of the school. It was the first breath of fresh air, full of moisture and wet earth, that they had experienced in days. Grant pushed Salem forward over the threshold and then turned to look back at Lucy.

“Three…two…”

Grant opened his mouth to say something, but then watched as Spencer moved the gun on him. And before he could even wave goodbye, Grant was out the door. The heavy door closed quickly with a bang. And Lucy was alone.

Spencer reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He tossed them over to Lucy and nodded. “Put one end around your wrist.”

“Why?” Lucy asked, her voice shaking. “My friends are gone. When do I get to leave too? I thought you said—”

He aimed the gun at her and took a step forward. Lucy trembled. “Handcuffs. One wrist.”

Breathless, Lucy obeyed. The unattached end of the handcuff dangled at her side. Then Spencer lowered the gun, his finger dropping off the trigger. He marched over to her and wrapped his hand around her upper-arm.

He tugged her over with him to the door, where he inserted a key into a plastic covered security box, lifted the lid, and then entered a seven-digit code. Metal bars and locks slid back into place over the front doors of the school; the high-tech automated system, which cost taxpayers millions of dollars, had not gone to protect the students from any real threat. The locks and bars and bulletproof glass had not kept the virus out. Instead all the bells and whistles continued to facilitate the supreme rule of a maniacal madman.

“Tell me what’s going on. Why are you keeping me?” Lucy asked as Spencer began pulling her toward the office. Terror rose in her throat like bile and she wondered if she screamed if he would shoot her or if he would ignore her. He pushed her to the floor and then hooked the other end of the handcuffs to the underbelly of a table in the middle of the room. Gravity pulled her hand and arm toward the floor, and her wrist went limp against the metal.

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Lucy yanked her hand and rattled the handcuff. “You said. You said! Why am I here? Let me go!”

Spencer placed the rifle flat on a desk in the corner. He walked over to a filing cabinet and poured himself a drink out of a tall clear bottle with a brown label. Tipping his head back, he downed the drink in one gulp.

“You…Lucy…are a commodity to me.” Raising his drink in a toast, he took another sip and then took a step forward. “I will not let you go.”

“A commodity. What the hell does that mean?” Lucy adjusted her body. She slumped against the table leg. He turned his back and walked back over to the cabinet; he took a new glass and poured another, then he walked it over to her and tried to hand it to her, but Lucy turned her head away.

“Drink,” he instructed.

“I don’t want to drink anything you give me.” Lucy pushed the drink away. But he shoved the glass closer to her face and leaned down, his rancid breath spilling over her face. She inhaled deeply and then held her breath.

“Drink,” he said again, slower, his mouth leaning closer.

Taking the glass in her hand, Lucy noticed the liquid sloshing against the sides, dangerously close to spilling over. She shook her head and tried to set the drink down on the floor, but Spencer pushed her hand to her face. Then he pinched her cheeks and took the glass back and poured the burning alcohol into her mouth. She tried to let as much dribble down her chin and to her shirt as she could before she spit the rest on the floor. It burned her tongue.