Winter Went | #2 Winter Series

Chapter 33

|| Amelia ||

We have a plan. Here it is:

Similarly to how we got out, we'll raise the fire alarm. That will force the prisoners to evacuate, whatever happens. And so we round them up in a safe place, far and away from an exploding building.

How we'll actually blow up the building, I don't want to think about.

The air conditioning smacks us as soon as we enter the building; I subconsciously wrap my jacket tighter around me. Together, Zach, and I reach the reception; Angie and the Scottish man stayed in the car in case we have to get out quickly.

The front desk is small, and a large man sits on a too-small chair, feet propped up lazily on the desk. A few steps later you can see the muscles through his shirt and you can hear the squelching as gum swirls around his mouth.

"Whachya want?"

Zach places his hands gingerly on the dusty top. In doing so, it lifts his shirt slightly, where I can see the detonator slipped into the waistband of his jeans. "Hello to you too. Weather's nice, isn't it?"

Slowly, I inch my way to the fire alarm. It's on the wall, a blaring red.

"You kids are up to no good."

"But the sun's glorious."

"The sun's gonna be the last thing you see before I have the police here for trespassin', son."

"Careful now," Zach says at the same time as I ram my knuckles against the glass. There's a small crack but nothing much else.

"Oi!" the guard shouts, coming to his feet. "Stop that!"

But Zach's blocked the entrance to the desk. Swinging my whole body, I jam my elbow into the crack, and the alarm gives a wailing shriek.

Sprinklers burst, and soon the place is pissing down.

"Stop it, you twats!" comes the voice again, but Zach, again, is too quick. Down the hallway towards the cells, I hear the slight murmuring of confused prisoners. Then clanking as cell doors are opened.

"Evacuate everyone!" Zach shouts to me. His head turns and he looks me right in the eye. "Tell Angie I love her."

Limp, damp hair flying behind me and trying to forget about those last words, I race through the carpark outside where rows and rows of prisoners are lining up.

"Blooming heck," a guard grumbles to his friend beside me. "That's the second fire alarm we've 'ad in two weeks!"

"Gary can't control the toaster," replies the other, and his friend grunts.

Then the first one notices me speed-walking beside him, and my heart begins to pump. I keep my head straight, eyes locked on the line in front of me.

"Hurry up, missy," he calls. "Don't want to be last, do we? You know what you get."

"And where are your handcuffs?" asks the other one, gesturing to my hands.

I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks. "Lost," I say.

The first one blinks. "Well, you better find them again soon, lass." And they let me go.

Huffing out a sigh of relief, I slip into the line behind a girl who can't be more than ten.

Now I just have to revert to who I was two weeks ago. Sunken cheeks, straight face, placid expression. Don't talk unless you're spoken to and they're expecting a reply.

Guards count us; I bow my head, avoiding all eye contact possible.

Slowly, I swing my head down the line, but I can't see Zach. He must still be in the building with the guard at the front desk.

Only my stomach turns queasy at the thought.

Tell Angie I love her.

No, I think. God, no.

Because now there's another thought in my head. Something that Josh told me on the night we sat on that ledge, legs swinging.

And it probably works with some sort of wired connection. She mentioned something about being in the prison to activate it.

Zach has the detonator.

No.

No.

But I can't think, let alone move, because behind us, the building explodes, and Zach's body is shattered into a million pieces.