Page 1 of Severance

Prologue

February 16, 2019

Saturday

They say you hear a pop.

Or at least, that’s what I read online once. But that’s not exactly accurate, because it’s extremely hard to identify a specific sound in the middle of a rock concert when seven hundred people are clapping and singing along with the band. It’s too noisy to distinguish between a pop and a drummer’s new trick.

A distorted guitar riff is what I hear first, and my heart leaps into my throat for all the wrong reasons. Initially, I’m under the impression Dakota messed up his guitar solo. Although the thing is, my boyfriend doesn’t make mistakes like that. He’s number five on Portland’s Guitar Players to Watch Out For in 2019 list.

But when the song goes from a jumbled clutter of unrecognizable notes and offbeat pounding to nothing in less than a second, I realize something’s wrong. Really wrong.

My pulse begins to sprint.

The stage is full of fog and there are silhouettes moving rapidly against the darkness. A wave of screams and booted footsteps roll through the club like thunder.

“Gun!” a voice shouts from the crowd.

People start running and pushing as panic and chaos spread through the room. Bodies crash into each other, sending me down. I fall forward, my palms and knees skidding against the sticky wood floor that’s covered with debris. The satin skirt Jess talked me into buying last weekend rips and twists up around my waist. Only, it’s not the skirt I’m worried about—or the fact that potentially dozens of people could be staring at my naked ass. I’m terrified for Dakota because when I turn my head, I don’t see him anywhere. He was there a moment ago, standing next to the microphone. I see Blaze’s boots—they’re black with studded skulls and hard to miss—charging through the fog and past me toward the side stage exit, and I see the huge sweaty stain on the back of Luke’s t-shirt moving behind the scattering bodies.

Now the gunshots that rumble through the club are loud and clear.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

My ears are ringing. My eyes are full of tears. My blurry gaze examines the stage, nervously darting from one indistinct form to another. I blink repeatedly to try to discern if the dark blobs on the floor are bodies, but there’s too much fog and not enough light.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

More screams and then a sea of footfalls rush through the cluttered backstage area.

“Where’s Alana?” Jess shouts from somewhere above me. “Alana?”

I try to push myself up, but I’m trembling so much that my arms and legs refuse to cooperate.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Oh, God. Please make it stop!

“Get down!” a ragged voice hisses as a body—large, warm, and oddly familiar—collides with my back and forces me to the floor. My cheek slams against the tacky wood and I feel crushed glass stab into my skin.

“Shhh, keep quiet,” he says in my ear, covering my head with his palm. This is when I realize that it’s Mikah. “Stay down! Don’t move.” He’s like a firm blanket, solid and heavy.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I draw a deep, shaky breath and bite the inside of my cheek to suppress the cry that threatens to escape. The taste of my blood on my tongue is weird. It’s not really salty or sharp or metallic, far from the way I’ve heard it described. It’s mostly just bland and a little nauseating.

“We’re going to die,” I whisper in panic, my eyes closed and my body shivering.

“You’re not going to die, Alana,” Mikah says against my cheek. Then his hands cover my ears and I don’t hear or see anything that happens after that.

1. Before

“How about him?” Jess giggles, nudging me on the shoulder.

Her current victim is a bulky guy in a jean jacket and a pair of leather pants that don’t look quite right. He’s part of the ragged or, as my father would say, “bohemian-looking” group to our right that my best friend has been checking out since we arrived at the club.

“You can have him. He’s definitely your type.” I shift my gaze to the empty stage. The main floor is packed, just like it should be, because the last time Black Rose played Portland was four years ago, and tonight, this is definitely the place to be in town. I begged my father to let me go back then, but he wouldn’t budge since I was a minor.

Now that I’m eighteen and in college, things are different, but he still likes to set a curfew and I like to push my luck a bit and be fashionably late.

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