Chapter 24 #2
“I will, thank you.” Except there was no one to tell.
Modular 224 was empty but for a bunch of tables and chairs, the teacher’s desk, various bins of supplies, and two large wooden storage things.
She wasn’t sure what they were called. She wasn’t surprised that Rick and Nika weren’t here yet—she hadn’t seen the Beast outside—but Zara should be there. It was her party, after all.
Camryn slipped past her, poking around the room. “She probably just stepped out for a second. We could text her.”
Martina had already whipped out her phone and was angrily typing. “Oh, I’m going to text her. Do you think ‘inconsiderate hag’ is too harsh?”
“Yes,” Camryn drawled. “But you do you.”
Martina hit send…and heard a muffled ping.
They looked at each other.
“Maybe she left her phone here?” Camryn asked, moving toward where she heard the sound.
“What kind of psychopath leaves their ringer on?” Martina asked, but there was concern in her tone. She suddenly didn’t like the entire situation, for new and terrifying reasons.
“Text her again,” Camryn said, her gaze scanning the empty room.
Martina did and they both heard the answering ping. It was coming from one of the storage lockers.
Camryn ripped open the storage door.
Inside, nestled between stacks of printer paper and some kind of cloth, sat Zara Moxley. Her eyes were closed, her wrists and ankles wrapped in duct tape. Another wide strip was across her mouth.
“Oh no,” Martina said in a strangled whisper. “Is she…?”
“No.” Camryn dropped onto her haunches, grabbed the edge of the tape across Zara’s face, and tore it off. “Ooh, she’s going to hate me for that. Grab some scissors or something. She’s still breathing. We got to get her out of here.”
“We should—”
“Now,” Camryn barked. “I can’t carry her like this, and we need to get her out.”
Martina ran for the scissors. “My phone—”
“We can call from outside,” Camryn said, dragging Zara’s unresponsive form out of the storage locker. “It’s a trap. She’s the bait. We got to get out—”
“Right.” Martina grabbed the scissors, dashing to Camryn’s side. The entire time, she could hear her abuelita’s voice in her head telling her not to run with scissors. Sorry, Abuelita, but this time I’m making an exception.
Using the scissors, they cut the binding to her hands and feet, neither of them bothering to remove the tape yet.
Camryn wrapped one of Zara’s arms around her shoulder. “Help me. You get the other one.”
Together they were able to get Zara standing and drag her to the modular’s only door. Martina tightened her arm around Zara’s waist and let go of her hand to open the door.
The knob wouldn’t turn. Martina tried harder, jerking it to each side, but it wouldn’t budge. It was locked. Someone had locked them in.
“Oh, shit,” Camryn said. “What are we going to do?”
“Set her down against the wall,” Martina said, helping her guide Zara to the floor. “Make sure she’s sitting in a way so she can breathe.”
Camryn tried to prop Zara up, leaning her head against the wall so her airway was open.
Martina faced the door, leaned back on one foot, and kicked it. Nothing happened. So she did it again. And again, the force of her kick reverberating up her leg as she connected with the wood.
“Hey,” Camryn said. “There’s something in her mouth.”
“What?” Martina kicked a fourth time, knowing it was useless, but she didn’t know what else to do.
“It’s paper.” Camryn carefully pulled a wad of something out from between Zara’s lips.
“Gross,” Martina said, kicking the door again. “That’s covered in spit.”
“I’ve been in 4-H since I was six,” Camryn said, her attention focused on unfolding the paper. “We’ve got horses, a miniature donkey, and a few rescued alpacas. I’m pretty over spit. It don’t bother me none.”
Martina dropped her foot. “Okay, why is that kind of hot?”
“You like a take-charge kind of gal?” Camryn turned the page over, reading the soggy print.
“I guess I do.” She peered over Camryn’s shoulder. “What is it?”
“A copy of the school paper.” She frowned. “It’s from last year.” The color drained out of her face. “Her article about grade tampering.”
Martina froze, a heavy feeling settling in her limbs. “Is that why we’re here?”
“It was me,” Camryn blurted. “I was the anonymous source. I told Zara—” She clamped her mouth shut. Then she let out a shuddering breath. “Later. We can talk about this later. The important thing is that Zara has her own byline. Everyone who read the article knew she wrote it.”
“Most likely to choke on her own words.” Martina turned back to the door. She threw her shoulder against it this time. “But this doesn’t make any sense. Neither of us are supposed to die here.”
“Maybe they’re planning on killing us here and moving the bodies,” Camryn said. “Or maybe they decided to improvise.”
“I don’t want them to improvise,” Martina said. She was about to make another run at the door when something caught her attention. She stilled. “Do you smell something?”
Camryn’s nostrils flared. “Gasoline.”
They both turned to the door, right as the night outside the windows lit up, flames whooshing toward the sky.