The Elite, page 18
There's something none of them have noticed. Carter's still in his chair in front of the desk, and still tied up, only he's made significant progress with that belt around his wrists. He's weakened it some by wiggling it when the others were distracted—usually when they were busy talking amongst themselves, as they are now. The knot wiggles, loosens, and then he stops. He looks at his captors, fearing he might have been found out, but they're too busy listening to Devon. His words eventually course their way into his ears, but he could give a shit.
“Marshall—cover us only so long—gotta move.”
Carter feels the knot come undone. He clasps it with his hand, holding it in place so that no one can SEE that he's loose. That's his little secret.
“Are you sure?” Annie asked.
Devon was paler than a white sand beach on a sunny day, but he nodded anyway. “Yeah, as sure as I can be.”
“Devon, you know these bastards won't just back down. Fuck, man, they can do anything! We got no chance. Let's do like Marshall said--”
Devon slapped the back of his hand to Trey's chest. It quieted him up nice and quick. “Trey, listen to me. They're not stupid. Even if Marshall makes the announcement, they're not going to buy it.”
“But--”
Carter dropped the belt that bound him, let out a roar, and charged at Devon.
Devon turned but took a sudden blow to the face. The world spun, his head was full of stars. He felt the back of his head hitting the hard carpet on the floor. He wanted to shout, to scream, to do anything but mumble a few weak what-the-fuck's. But that's all he could do. He'd been blindsided.
Carter was on his feet and looked like a linebacker about to charge. He'd put Devon on the ground and focused on Trey next.
“Probably should have killed me while you had the chance, huh?” Carter said, licking his lips with his serpent's tongue. “Cuz I'm still here.”
Devon was sprawled out on the floor, a single drop of blood coursing its way down his face. Trey stood ready. If Carter lunged at him he was ready with the knife. Instead, Carter looked at Annie. Annie ran to the office door. Carter beat her to it, slapping his hand against it to keep it shut.
“Goin somewhere?” his bloodied, almost demonic face said.
She ran back, nearly tripping over Devon. Seeing him there, she dropped beside him and put her arms around him.
“Devon?” she said, cradling his head like a mother might hold a newborn, “Devon? Can you hear me?”
Trey saw all of this through periphery vision. His eyes stayed locked on Carter, who bobbed and weaved like a professional heavyweight. First right, then left. Watch out, here it comes. Carter lunged forward but Trey strafed to the right. That put him not far from the table he'd been sitting on as Marshall listened to their tale. He still had the knife, and was still ready to use it. One thrust and it would be over.
Carter came at him, arms raised. If Trey had to guess, his goal was to tackle the both of them out of the large picture window behind the desk. Trey didn't allow it. He spun just as Carter made contact, dropping Carter to the floor.
“Fuckin stay down,” Trey said. Even as he said this, though, he raised that sharp, fisherman's knife.
“Trey!”
Trey looked back at Devon, then wished he'd said nothing at all. Why couldn't he have kept his mouth shut a little longer? Just a few seconds. Anything would have helped. Because that was when Carter made his move. He kicked up his legs and landed on his feet. Trey tried to fight him off, but instead Carter landed a fist to his chin.
It hit hard. Real hard. Trey fell back stumbled over Devon and fell to the carpet.
Carter licked that serpent's tongue against its lower lip, stepped forward, and looked down at his prey. Trey's legs were over Devon's, the two of them intersecting each other on the carpet. He'd kill Trey, and then maybe Devon. Hell, why not? Sage never told him he couldn't.
“Give me that knife,” Carter said. His eyes were locked on it, and it was then that Trey realized he still held it. It was locked in his hand with a death grip. When he realized he still had it he almost jumped. He wanted to throw it, to bury it deep in Carter's throat.
Never had the chance.
Devon kicked hard. His foot struck Carter in the knee. Carter fell forward, toppling over the two of them. The blade that Trey so carefully held in his hand pierced Carter's stomach, sliced through the left side of his spine, and popped out his back.
“Fuck,” Trey said. He let go of the knife and pushed Carter's body off of him. When Trey stood, he found his shirt soaked through with blood.
Annie had been standing against the wall. Now she had her hands clasped over her mouth, holding back a scream. Her eyes were locked on Devon. Devon's eyes were locked on Carter. Carter's eyes had rolled over white. Whatever he might have seen with those eyes would have been inside his own head.
Devon stood. He practically leapt to his feet, hands scrambling for something to do, something to occupy them. He wiped them on his shirt, again and again, but they weren't even dirty. The only one with blood on their hands now was Trey. And he didn't seem to mind.
“Now we hide him,” Trey said.
Devon could tell Annie was in shock, and probably would be for a long time.
“Hide him where?”
Trey had an idea. “Get his legs.”
Dragging a dead body isn't exactly the easiest thing in the world. For one thing, a human being is a lot heavier than a living one thanks to the dead weight. Devon and Trey, while dragging Carter down the hall, opted to carry him. Devon held his ankles, while Trey had the unpleasant task of holding him by his armpits. Unpleasant not only for the mildewy sweat that had accumulated there, but also because it meant Carter's eyes were staring up at him the whole time. They had since rolled back to their natural position and had seemed to freeze there. Staring at him from beyond the grave with a clear look of accusation.
“Over here,” Trey said, then grunted. They had moved Carter approximately one hundred feet from the office to the elevator.
“Get in,” Trey said.
Devon let go of Carter's ankles and his legs fell. “What? Where are we taking him?”
“Not him, just you. Get in.”
The doors opened and Devon entered. Confused, he looked back at Trey.
“Hit four,” he said.
Devon did. As the doors started to slide shut Trey wedged the blade of the knife underneath the door of the left, locking it in place. The inner doors to the elevator itself slid shut. The elevator started up with Devon inside, leaving behind an empty elevator shaft. Trey stepped back, startled by the emergency lighting that revealed the depth of the shaft. It looked to go down even below the basement. With a grunt he pulled Carter's dead weight towards the open doors. He put him down on his back, so that his shoulders hung over the side. Somewhere behind him a door opened. It was Devon. He had dashed back down the stairs and was coming to meet him.
“What're you--” but when Devon saw where Carter lie, and that look in Trey's eyes, he knew exactly what he was going to do. Trey walked back to Carter's feet. The elevator doors tried to close but again hit the knife. Every few seconds or so it would try again, striking the knife with a thump and opening again. Thump—thump—thump, but the doors stayed open long enough for Trey to do the deed.
He pushed Carter's feet forward, his dead legs staying perfect straight like a gymnast making a 10.0 landing, and over the edge. Carter's body tumbled end over end, striking one side of the elevator shaft and then the other, before finally hitting bottom somewhere in a sub-basement with a bone-shattering thud.
Trey grabbed the knife, freeing the doors. They slid shut.
“Should be a few days before they find him,” Trey said.
His words were cold, Devon noted, like the voice of someone he didn't know. Someone he wouldn't want to know.
And it's all your fault, Devon thought to himself.
Before Devon could actually speak, Trey had turned and was walking by him. “We gotta go.”
Downstairs, the three of them gathered at the locked door leading to the lobby. This time their situation was quickly rectified. There would be no waiting for the security guard to show up. They had to leave now. If Carter had gotten a message out, then Sage and Co. were surely on their way.
Trey grabbed the fire extinguisher from the floor, took aim, and sent it straight through the glass door. It shattered instantly, spider-webbing from ceiling to floor before raining down little shards of razor sharp glass. The last few pieces fell, and when there was nothing left but a frame, they moved through. The door to the outside opened, and they ran off into the early light of dawn.
FIFTEEN
The morning air was cold enough to take your breath away. Devon, Trey, and Annie had breathed plenty of it as they ran across campus, and their lungs burned because of it. Their footfalls bounced off every building they passed, making them as loud as a parade through an abandoned city. They didn't dare slow down. Every shadow they passed felt like it was watching them. It felt like every window in every building had several sets of eyes peering through.
Near the outskirts of the campus they found grass, wet with morning dew and mercifully quieter than the pavement. Here was the faculty housing. They went further down, Annie making sure not look in the direction of Professor Murphy's house—doing so would only rekindle the thoughts of what happened there—and on to the house of Joseph Marshall. His last name was etched in white lettering on his mailbox. They stopped on the front porch, winded. Trey and Annie bent over, hands on their knees, and tried to catch their breath.
Devon took a few deep breaths and knocked on the door. He'd expected a long wait as Marshall first waked himself, then as he dragged his ass to the door—but no, it opened almost instantly. Marshall stood just inside wrapping a robe around silk pajamas, his face going pale when he saw them.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he said. He stepped outside to have a look around, making sure they were alone.
“Please,” Devon said, “Can we come in?”
“Yes, yes of course.” He stepped aside and rushed them in. Once in, he shut the door. “I thought I told you to stay in the--”
“They know I'm alive,” Trey said.
“Please,” Marshall said with a glance to the stairs, “Lower your voice. I don't need my wife getting involved in this.”
Trey lowered his voice. “They know I'm alive. They saw us. Carter was waiting at your office. He tried to kill us.”
“Carter?” Marshall said, his hand instinctively going to his jaw as though to wipe something that wasn't even there, “At my office? There's no way. I didn't see him in the lobby on my way out, and the only way to get in would be--”
“These guys own the fucking school. You think they can't get into one damn building?”
Marshall put a hand to his forehead and nodded. “All right, fine. That doesn't explain how they knew you were there.”
“They didn't,” Annie said. “They were looking and Carter found us. He may or may not have told the others, we don't know. But it doesn't really matter. They know we're alive. Telling them that Trey is dead won't help.”
“That's why,” Devon said, “We have to go right now. But we need a car. Please, will you still help us?”
Marshall wiped his hand all the way down his face, stretching it like rubber. “Of course,” he said, albeit with noticeable reluctance. “I need to change.”
“If you give us the keys, we'll make sure to--”
Marshall raised a hand to stop Devon in mid-sentence. “Son, what happens when you get to the bridge and they're waiting for you? Are you going to just drive right by, smile, and wave?”
He hadn't thought of that. None of them had. In fact, none of them had even thought about what they would do once they were off campus. What was Devon going to do, drive a thousand miles back home? Would they stay on the run, always checking over their shoulders for guys in black coats?
“I've got an Escalade parked outside. You three get in the back, cover yourselves, and I'll roll right past them. They won't question me.”
Trey asked, “How do you know?”
“I know the dean. And so do they. I'm off limits to their bullshit. They want to play their little game, they stay the fuck out of our way.”
“You sound pretty sure of that.”
“Not sure of anything, but right now you kids don't have another choice. Now wait here.”
Marshall was back within fifteen minutes. Outside, the morning sun cast everything in a shiny glare, and the sky was a clear, uncorrupted blue. Marshall, now fully dressed, brought the Escalade as far back down the driveway as he could. The idea was to get them inside with as few people as possible seeing.
It was a Saturday, so things should be quiet. A few students went walking by, but none bothered to look or wave. The ones in groups talked amongst themselves and the solos kept their heads down. All of them seemed to have those white iPod headphones dangling from their ears. Marshall had to chuckle at how much they looked like tampons sticking out of their heads. But of course, now was no time for humor.
“Come on,” he said, waving the three of them on. Devon and Annie came out first, holding hands, and went down the stairs and right into the open hatchback of the Escalade. Trey came next, his head down and his hand to his forehead. He was hiding his face like the paparazzi were waiting, but to anyone else it looked like he was merely shielding his eyes from the sun.
They were in. Marshall slammed the door shut, whistled to himself, walked around, and climbed in behind the wheel.
The inside of the Escalade was spacious, but being in the back was a bit like being in a large hearse. Marshall had laid out several covers and paint covered sheets he'd had in the house. He instructed them to get under and stay down. The jumbled mass of sheets made it difficult to see exactly what lay beneath: paint cans? Cleaning supplies? Dead body? Hard to tell.
“Keep your heads down and don't move, ya got me?” he said.
Under the blankets, Devon had a strange sense of deja-vu. He was a kid again, staying up past his bedtime, camped out under the sheets and reading a comic book with a flashlight. Only this time there was no comic, no flashlight, and the punishment for getting caught was a lot worse than being grounded.
“We ain't movin,” Devon said, which Marshall seemed pleased with. Devon could hear the engine sputter and then start up.
Marshall put the car in gear and took to the road.
They couldn't see each other, but being under the blankets was like being in their own world. Occasionally the blanket would move and Devon would catch a glimpse of Trey or Annie. They lie there the way The Three Stooges might share a bed; with Curly facing the opposite direction in the middle. In this case, Curly was Devon. To his right and left were Trey and Annie's sneakers.
When they spoke they kept their voices down, and could not be heard by Marshall over his radio. He was tuned to an NPR talk program, but was not laughing at the funny bits. His mind was way too preoccupied.
“Sorry I lost my cool back there,” Trey said. “I know this isn't your fault.”
Devon felt a chill run up his spine. It wasn't fear, or worry, but shame. Thing was, Devon did think it was his fault. He knew it was his fault. This whole mess. He almost wished Trey had slugged him for it, or kept on hating him, because that's what he deserved. Pity? Remorse? Save them for someone that doesn't make a deal with the Devil.
“You were right,” Devon said. “I thought if I didn't fit in here that--shit I dunno. I can't believe I let them sucker me into everything. Christ, they had me believing...” he trailed off, could say no more, not without tears stinging his eyes.
As though sensing this, Annie changed the subject. “Where will go once we're off campus?”
Devon moved his arm and the blanket lifted up, giving him a glimpse of Annie's eyes. The blanket then stole the image away as it feathered back down, like a small version of the parachute game he'd played in kindergarten.
Devon answered, but it was far from a prepared response. His answers were whatever popped into his head a second before he spoke them. “We get outta town, head north maybe. Get far away from these bastards and start making calls.”
“Who would you call?” Trey asked, “No offense, but your mom's not exactly going to be able to help us here, man.”
“They might have connections,” Devon said, “but they don't own the damn country. We'll find someone that can help us and bring the whole school down.”
“We better,” Annie said, sounding a thousand miles away under this dark blanket, “I'm not spending my life looking over my shoulder everywhere I go.”
Devon figured they would all do just that regardless of how it all turned out, but would not say it. The Escalade began to shake and rattle. They had left the paved roads of the campus and were on the dirt one that would lead them far, far away. Devon breathed a sigh of relief and even poked his head out.
“Are we clear?” he said, sounding more like a military man than a college student.
Marshall checked his rear view, “Still a few miles to go, but nothing between here and there but open land.”
Trey popped his head out from under the blanket, “Thank Christ.”
Annie did the same.
“Looks like you're having a goddamn sleepover party back there,” Marshall said as levity returned to him.
Devon pushed the blanket down a bit more and sat up. His eyes adjusted to the light with a sharp sting. Behind them the campus and all of its buildings and students grew smaller and smaller. He had the sensation of a ship leaving port. Nothing ahead but open, grassy land. Nothing until the bridge—and who knew what then.
“How long have you known about these bastards?” Devon asked.
Marshall cocked his head, “Since a few months after I started. The dean pulled me aside one day, said if I was going to be working with him there were a few things I needed to know.”
