entrance.
And that’s when I saw it.
A cry ripped from my throat as I rushed forward.
The large metal trashcan that I kept behind the tall circular-shaped wooden information desk was now in front of the double glass doors.
And it was bursting with flames.
I have no idea how the flames got so high, so fast, but they were growing by the second. If I didn’t do something, this entire building would go up like a bone-dry forest in California. All the books would be toast in minutes.
I tried not to shriek when I realized the flames were taller than me, and I cringed as the metal can began to distort and twist from the too-intense heat. I rushed past it, over to the wall where the fire extinguisher hung, and reached out to grab it.
But it was gone.
That meant two things:
One, I had to find another one and fast.
And, two, whoever started this fire was still in the building.
As much as I wanted to let fear and paranoia overtake me, I knew I couldn’t. I had to put out this fire. And so I did something I always yelled at the TV for when dumb, big-chested idiots ran up the stairs when a killer was after them.
I ran toward the back of the library.
I knew where the other extinguisher was. It was the closest and I felt I could get it the fastest. I lugged the book as I ran, not willing to let go of my impromptu weapon just yet.
When the extinguisher came into view, I cried out in relief, thankful it was still there. With just a few feet between me and the red can, I lurched forward to grab it, and at the same time a very tall, very heavy shelf of books began to tip…
Everything that came next happened in excruciating slow motion.
I screamed, holding the giant book up above my head as if it would protect me, and turned back, trying to jump out of the way of the falling shelf. Books of all shapes and sizes began tumbling off the shelves, raining paper and hardbacks. I deflected them as best I could, lunging away and using the book like a baseball bat to fend off the biggest that fell.
And then I tripped.
The bookshelf plunged after me.
11
I lurched forward, pitching myself to the side, and as I hit the ground, so did the shelf. It landed mere centimeters from my head.
Books piled on top of me, half covering my body. The silence that followed the crash was the quietest sound I ever heard.
Seconds ticked by and I began to move, to test my arms and legs, to take stock of my body and see if I was injured. I didn’t think I was. My wrapped wrists were screaming in agony and I looked up, noting that one of the bandages was torn and my seared flesh was exposed.
I knocked away the books that covered me, pushing up to my hands and knees.
A pair of shoes stepped into my vision.
They appeared to be brand new, or at least rarely worn. They were a common brand, a man’s shoe, but the feet were not nearly as large as the man’s feet I’d become accustomed to seeing.
I lifted my head to look up, to see the face of the man trying to kill me, but before I could see anything, he kicked me.
The toe of his sneaker slammed into my already aching wrist. It buckled instantly, and I fell onto the ground with a sharp cry.
I cradled the injury to my chest as I rolled, nausea grabbing hold of my body and taking me for a spin. I shut my eyes tight, trying to swallow back the worst of the pain.
Get up!
Run!
Fight!
My brain demanded so much more than I wanted to give, but I knew I couldn’t just lie here and let him kill me. And there was still the fire…
The man lifted his foot again and I prepared to fend off another blow, but then a shout from the front of the room caused us both to lose focus.
“Katie!” Holt roared. Just the sound of his voice made my body sing with joy.
“Back here!” I screamed as I rolled, picking up the giant book and throwing it at my stalker. He made a
And that’s when I saw it.
A cry ripped from my throat as I rushed forward.
The large metal trashcan that I kept behind the tall circular-shaped wooden information desk was now in front of the double glass doors.
And it was bursting with flames.
I have no idea how the flames got so high, so fast, but they were growing by the second. If I didn’t do something, this entire building would go up like a bone-dry forest in California. All the books would be toast in minutes.
I tried not to shriek when I realized the flames were taller than me, and I cringed as the metal can began to distort and twist from the too-intense heat. I rushed past it, over to the wall where the fire extinguisher hung, and reached out to grab it.
But it was gone.
That meant two things:
One, I had to find another one and fast.
And, two, whoever started this fire was still in the building.
As much as I wanted to let fear and paranoia overtake me, I knew I couldn’t. I had to put out this fire. And so I did something I always yelled at the TV for when dumb, big-chested idiots ran up the stairs when a killer was after them.
I ran toward the back of the library.
I knew where the other extinguisher was. It was the closest and I felt I could get it the fastest. I lugged the book as I ran, not willing to let go of my impromptu weapon just yet.
When the extinguisher came into view, I cried out in relief, thankful it was still there. With just a few feet between me and the red can, I lurched forward to grab it, and at the same time a very tall, very heavy shelf of books began to tip…
Everything that came next happened in excruciating slow motion.
I screamed, holding the giant book up above my head as if it would protect me, and turned back, trying to jump out of the way of the falling shelf. Books of all shapes and sizes began tumbling off the shelves, raining paper and hardbacks. I deflected them as best I could, lunging away and using the book like a baseball bat to fend off the biggest that fell.
And then I tripped.
The bookshelf plunged after me.
11
I lurched forward, pitching myself to the side, and as I hit the ground, so did the shelf. It landed mere centimeters from my head.
Books piled on top of me, half covering my body. The silence that followed the crash was the quietest sound I ever heard.
Seconds ticked by and I began to move, to test my arms and legs, to take stock of my body and see if I was injured. I didn’t think I was. My wrapped wrists were screaming in agony and I looked up, noting that one of the bandages was torn and my seared flesh was exposed.
I knocked away the books that covered me, pushing up to my hands and knees.
A pair of shoes stepped into my vision.
They appeared to be brand new, or at least rarely worn. They were a common brand, a man’s shoe, but the feet were not nearly as large as the man’s feet I’d become accustomed to seeing.
I lifted my head to look up, to see the face of the man trying to kill me, but before I could see anything, he kicked me.
The toe of his sneaker slammed into my already aching wrist. It buckled instantly, and I fell onto the ground with a sharp cry.
I cradled the injury to my chest as I rolled, nausea grabbing hold of my body and taking me for a spin. I shut my eyes tight, trying to swallow back the worst of the pain.
Get up!
Run!
Fight!
My brain demanded so much more than I wanted to give, but I knew I couldn’t just lie here and let him kill me. And there was still the fire…
The man lifted his foot again and I prepared to fend off another blow, but then a shout from the front of the room caused us both to lose focus.
“Katie!” Holt roared. Just the sound of his voice made my body sing with joy.
“Back here!” I screamed as I rolled, picking up the giant book and throwing it at my stalker. He made a
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