Infiltration (8 page)
He spun around in the chair. His eyes were red, and his cheeks were wet with tears.
Kieran looked at me and closed his eyes. “Just leave me alone.”
“Let me help you, man. What's going on?” I took a step toward him.
“Get back!” Kieran said. He'd gone from crying to yelling in a split second. “You shouldn't have followed me. You screwed up the plan.”
“Take it easy. What plan, Kieran?” I said. Kieran shook his head, staring off into space.
I wanted to get over to him, try and talk him down. We needed to get out of here before we were busted. I kept thinking about the security cameras I'd seen in the hallway. We didn't have much time. Maybe I was imagining it, but I thought I could hear the wail of distant sirens.
“What was the plan?” I repeated. There were five desks between us. I'd have to keep him talking while I got closer.
“I needed you to get me into the warehouse,” said Kieran. “Then I'd leave you behind and get into my dad's office.”
“And then what?” I said. As I crossed the room toward him, I wrinkled my nose. There was a weird smell in the air, a harsh chemical tang. I saw the four steel water bottles Kieran had brought, empty and lying on the desk. It looked like there was liquid all over the desk. Even some on Kieran's clothes. From the smell, I was pretty sure he hadn't brought any energy drink in those bottles. More like lighter fluid or something.
“And then,” Kieran continued, “I'd prove to him that all his work didn't matter so much. The big head of security, beaten by his own son. Look at his desk. Not even a picture of Mom. No sign of a family.”
Keep talking, I thought to myself. Only two desks apart now.
“I just wanted to get in here and start a little fire. Leave my mark. Just to get his attention.”
“Like at your last school?” I said, suddenly remembering the rumors about Kieran when he'd first arrived at school.
There was one desk left between me and Kieran.
“Yeah, but that one didn't work. Why didn't it work?” said Kieran. He was mumbling now, staring unfocused at the soaked desk in front of him. “Then he thought he fixed me with those pills. But this fire will be different.”
There were tears running down his face as he pulled out a lighter from a jacket pocket.
“This time the fire takes me with it,” he said.
The lighter shined bright and silver in the glare of the overhead lights.
“Don'tâ,” I said. I scrambled over the last desk, flying at Kieran.
He sparked the lighter and dropped his arm to the desk. There was a white flash of flame, and a wall of heat and noise crashed over me. The explosion knocked us both backward. The room was instantly filled with smoke and heat. Over the roar of the flames I could hear an alarm wailing in the distance.
I pulled myself off the ground, coughing so hard I felt like I was going to throw up. My hands were covered in dirt. One arm was bleeding from a cut near my wrist. But I was alive.
Kieran. I found him half covered by bits of wood and twisted metal. Unconscious. The sleeve of his jacket was on fire. Trying not to burn myself, I struggled with his jacket. Finally I yanked it off and kicked it away. Kneeling, I quickly checked him out. His face and arms were pretty badly burned, his long hair singed. But he was breathing steadily.
There was a sudden whoosh from behind us. Turning around, I saw that the fire was spreading fast despite the over-head sprinklers kicking in. The water just seemed to make the oily fire spread faster across the room. Other desks and furniture were catching fire. I pulled my shirt over my mouth and nose, trying to keep out the acrid smell of burning plastic.
I grabbed Kieran under his arms and hauled him back the way we had come in. I hunched lower as the smoke kept thickening. My legs felt rubbery and shaky. I couldn't do this. I wasn't strong enough.
But we couldn't wait for help to get to us. We had to get out of here. Now.
I kept dragging, thinking, trying to figure out a plan. I remembered the building plans I'd looked over, where the exits were. Tried to think of something to save us.
The thick black smoke kept following us, covering everything.
Then I had it. That waiting room I'd seen, opposite the door to this office. It had a big floor-to-ceiling window.
It seemed to take forever just to crawl there. Finally, I let Kieran slump to the floor. It took everything I had to pick up one of the metal chairs in the waiting room. I heaved it at the window. The glass shattered into a million tiny pieces, exploding out into the darkness.
Two security guards found us outside, all cut up from crawling over the broken glass. I don't remember much of what happened next. There were red and blue lights everywhere. Cops yelling questions at me. Firefighters in yellow suits pouring water onto the warehouse fire. Then a medic taking me away from it all, shutting me into an ambulance.
I must have passed out on the ride. When I woke up, there was bright daylight streaming through the window of my hospital room. A nurse was pulling open the curtains. She told me that my burns weren't bad but that I'd inhaled a lot of chemicals and smoke. The doctor wanted to keep an eye on me. And she said the cops didn't want me going anywhere.
After that there was a steady stream of visitors. First, my parents. That went pretty much the way you'd expect. Equal parts worried and pissed off. In the end, I felt pretty bad about how much I'd shaken them up. But I didn't know how to make them feel better. Didn't know if I ever would.
Later the detectives came in. Two guys in business suits, short haircuts, hard stares. They made me tell the whole story several times and asked for a lot of details. I didn't lie about a thing. I wasn't sure what they would do to me. I did know that it was time to just come clean. I wanted to set things right, change for the better.
But that night, I realized I needed to break the rules one more time. After the lights went out on the ward, I quietly got up from my bed and crept down the white tiled hall. I looked in each room until I found Kieran. But I didn't go in.
From the door I saw him sleeping, his bandaged hands looking like big white paws. His face was red and raw. Painful to look at.
Asleep in a chair next to him was his dad. One arm was stretched out, lying protectively across Kieran. I wondered if they would ever figure each other out. Kieran needed help. I hoped that his dad knew how to help him. I quietly turned away.
The next morning, I woke up to see Asha standing in the doorway. She looked scared and pale. I'd never seen her like this.
“You came,” I croaked. My throat still hurt when I spoke.
“I wanted to visit you sooner,” she said, “but my parents wouldn't let me. It took forever to convince them.” There was an awkward pause. She finally came toward the bed, then reached out to touch the bandages on my arm.
“Bex, what have you done?” she said quietly.
“I'm so sorry,” I said. “I just wanted to fix things between us.”
Tears started tracking down Asha's face. She took my hand. It felt warm and soft.
“Jake told me all about your plan. About the money.”
“He thought it was a stupid plan.”
“He still does. And he was right. You shouldn't have lied to him about going in with Kieran.”
“I didn't want Jake to get hurt,” I said. Now I was the one who was crying. “I didn't want you to go away. I just wanted to keep everything the way it was.”
“Bex, listen to me,” said Asha. She sat down on the stool next to the bed, her face close to mine. Her eyes were deep and brown and beautiful. “As long as I've known you, you've always wanted to call the shots. Figure out the angles. Control the situation.”
She kissed me gently on the fore-head. “But sometimes you need to let go. Let other people make the plan. And trust that everything will be okay.”
She kissed me again, this time on the lips. And I knew that she was right. Everything would be okay.
Sean Rodman is the child of two anthropologists who gave him a keen eye for observation and a bad case of wander-lust. His interest in writing for teenagers came out of working at some interesting schools around the world. In the Snowy Mountains of Australia, he taught ancient history to future Olympic athletes. Closer to home, he lived and worked with students from over 100 countries at a nonprofit international school. He currently works at the Royal BC Museum. Sean lives and writes in Victoria, British Columbia. More information is available at
www.srodman.com
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