Page 85 of Good Half Gone

“Marshal… I heard his voice for sure. You know how he snaps his fingers when he speaks.”

We nod.

“Did you call for help?”

She shook her head. “The phone lines are down and so is the Wi-Fi. By the time I realized what was happening, I made a go for it. I ran for the door, but one of them got me.” She moved to touch the side of her head but thought better of it. “Got pistol-whipped by one of them. I dropped and played dead. I think they thought they killed me.” She looked down the dark hallway, toward the offices.

“How many?”

She shrugged. “I saw three of them, heard maybe five when I was lying there, but I can’t be sure.”

“We need to get out of here,” I tell them. “Hide until help comes. Alma,” I call up the stairs. “Let’s go…”

Alma appears a moment later, making a happy sound when she sees Agnes. They clutch each other as I start toward the dorms, motioning them to follow. I watch as Ruthie picks up a lamp, testing its weight. She’s looking for a weapon.

The portico from the entry to the hallway that leads to the staff living area is deserted, and the emergency lights are flashing red. The rain is coming down hard, slapping at the glass and making it hard to hear. Jackie and I take the lead, Alma and Agnes at our center, and Ruthie following behind. “Alice is probably fine,” I say reassuringly. “She probably got out with everyone else.”

We reach the end of the portico and are faced with the decision to go either left or right; I choose the left, heading for the dorms and the small staff kitchen.

The doors to the dorms are shut. I don’t test them; I go toward the staff kitchen with the others close behind. The door is half-open, but I don’t have any light to offer the room, so I stand for a minute letting my eyes adjust to the dark. From behind us—coming from the portico—I hear men’s voices: whooping, laughing, then the shattering of glass.

“Oh my god, they’re coming…” Ruthie pushes Alma and Agnes farther into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. We are plunged into complete darkness. I hold a hand out in front of me as I step forward.

“Grab my shoulder,” I say to Jackie, “Alma, grab hers.” I feel them shuffling behind me. The kitchen is dark but I move to the pantry, flinging open the first door and pushing on the back shelf like I’ve seen Benni do. It swings inward, revealing the hidden pantry. Alma is making mewling sounds in the back of her throat.“Hush, now,” I hear Jackie say. “We’re all with you. Don’t be afraid.”

“Step as far as you can, until you’re touching the shelves,” I tell them. I hear them moving to obey to me. The men must’ve gone right toward the cafeteria, because their voices sound farther away.

When we’re all in, I pull the swinging shelf closed behind us. Lifting an arm around Alma’s shoulders, I pull her against me, and she quiets down. We wait, our breath mingling together in the small space, my heart beating so fast it hurts. Outside the staff kitchen I hear two distinct male voices. It’s completely dark, but I close my eyes anyway like it’ll make me hear better. At first I think they’re arguing, but then I hear the barking of orders: “Go! Get in there!” And then—“Sit against the wall.” We all jump when we hear the gunshot.

Without warning, Alma wails, her hands clawing at my chest. “Shut up,” Ruthie says. “They’re going to hear us.” I strain to hear what’s happening outside. Footsteps. Then—

“I heard something. There’s someone in here.”

“I checked already.” The voice is high, tinny…

Their shoes clonk around the room, checking the corners. The beam of a flashlight shines through a crack in the cabinetry. I’m certain they’re going to find us. We are collectively breathing too loudly. Someone is in the pantry. I hold my breath. “Hey, look at this…”

They stand crowded in the doorway of the pantry.

“Fuck, all they give us is cheap-ass granola bars.” I hear something slide off a shelf directly in front of my face. “Don’t mind if I do.” They take whatever it is and leave.

“What happened back there?” Ruthie whispers. I can’t see her, but I can hear the tremble in her voice.

I whisper, with a hand on Alma’s arm to keep her settled. “I was shadowing Grayson’s conference with Alma. He left in the middle of it. Then the explosion happened.”

Voices start up again outside, and I press my lips together, my breath jagged and scared. Ruthie tenses up beside me. They walk past the pantry, but no one comes in this time. I try to reach my phone, but we’re crammed so tight it’s hard to move. I ask Jackie to get it out.

She slips it into my hand. “None of us have service,” she whispers. She’s not lying—I don’t have a single bar.

It’s 4:30 p.m. In winter the sun sets at four, so it must be completely dark outside. There’s a stack of text messages that came through before we lost service. Three from Cal, one from Mary-Ann, and a very long paragraph from Poley. I don’t read any of them for fear someone will see the light. I type a quick message to Poley and hit Send. On the slim chance that service comes back, the network will send it out.

“What are we going to do?” Ruthie whispers.

“I don’t know,” I say. Now that my adrenaline’s gone, my hand aches. Agnes opens a box of Zebra Cakes and passes them around. I don’t have an appetite, but the sugar will help. I eat both cakes and feel slightly better. There are bottles of water on the lowest shelf. It’s not until I’m gulping it down that I realize how thirsty I am. When I check my phone again, it’s five o’clock. I can’t hear the men anymore, only us rustling around in the closet. If we can make it out of the staff kitchen and into the hallway, we can run for the emergency exit. The gun, I remind myself.

“I’m going to go check if it’s clear,” I whisper.

But before I can Ruthie says, “Oh my god, I smell smoke.”

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