𝑾𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 ➸𝑨𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑨𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒕 ꟾ𝟏ꟾ

We Survived, Dude

I

We make our way up the stairs and spill out into the second floor and start yanking on classroom doors but they're all locked. Lydia finds an open one and we hurtle into the Chemistry room, quickly and quietly shutting the door as Scott places a chair under the doorknob.

Everyone backs to the wall where they can't be seen from the window of the door. I hold my breath as footsteps sound. Lydia covers her mouth with her hands, trying not to shriek as a shadow passes by the window of the door. And then, just when I think we're dead, it moves on. After a moment, I start to breathe again.

"Jackson, how many people can fit in your car?"

"Five if somebody squeezes onto someone's lap."

Allison's brows knit together. "Five? I barely fit into the back."

"Plus, there's six of us," I add.

"It doesn't matter. There's no getting out without drawing attention."

"What about this?" Scott leads us to a steel door. "It leads to the roof. We could go down the fire escape to the parking lot in, like, seconds."

"Yeah, but the door needs a key," I point out as Allison, Jackson, and Lydia back into the room with long faces. "and everyone that would have one is at home."

Scott lifts his head up, "Not everyone."

"Wait do you—no, Scott. How are you even going to find Mr. Mitchell? I'm pretty sure he got torn apart."

"I can get it." Scott lowers his voice to a whisper. "I can find him by scent, by blood."

"Well, gee, that sounds like an incredibly terrible idea." Stiles disregards. "What else you got?"

"I'm getting the key." He announces to the group.

"Are you serious?" Allison asks.

"Well, it's the best plan. Someone has to get the key if we want to get out of here."

"You can't go out there unarmed." She retorts.

Scott grabs the teacher's pointer from the chalkboard, gripping it like a baseball bat.

"Really, Scott?"

"It's better than nothing, Wes."

Stiles shakes his head. "There's got to be something else."

"There is." Lydia nods to the cabinet full of chemicals.

"What are we gonna do, throw acid at him?"

"No, like a firebomb. In there is everything you need to make a self-igniting Molotov Cocktail."

"What?" Lydia asks, noticing all the looks she was getting. "I read it somewhere."

"Well, we don't have the key to that either—" Stiles starts but Jackson sends his elbow smashing through the glass. Lydia steps closer, moving carefully not to step on glass, examines each chemical before placing them onto a table, and begins mixing their contents into a glass beaker.

"Jackson, hand me the sulfuric acid." He turns each bottle, looking for the right one, then carefully hands it to Lydia.

"No. No, this is insane, you can't do this. You can't go out there." Allison pleads.

"We can't sit here waiting for Stiles' dad to check his messages."

"You could die. Do you get that? He's killed three people."

"And we're next. Someone has to do something." He moves for the door, but she steps between them.

"Scott, just stop." Tears stream down her face and she gazes up at him. "Do you remember when you told me that you knew whether or not I was lying? That I had a tell? So do you. You're a horrible liar. And you've been lying all night."