“I’ll get it.” I have to pee from all the water I drank anyway. It’ll give me a good excuse to go alone.

I head out of the classroom and down the hall toward the bathroom. Just before the ladies’ room I notice our tracks, three sets of shoe prints in the dust on the floor. We’ve been all over this school and it shows. Then something draws my attention: the large boot prints running along the far wall, fresh in the layer of dust. They’re too big to be any of ours and they weren’t there a few hours ago.

We aren’t alone.

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

I run back to our classroom and slam the door. I stand against it, panting, wide-eyed. Clay and Ethan were sorting through a deck of cards they found in the kitchen. They stare up at me.

“What’s going on?” Clay asks, standing up.

Ethan stands, too, still holding a six of clubs in his hand.

“Footprints,” I pant. “Not ours. In the hall.”

Clay glances out the little window in our classroom door. “Maybe they’re old.”

I shake my head. “They’re fresh.”

Clay pulls out one of his revolvers. His eyes get that look they always do when that silver revolver is cupped in his palm. “I’ll check it out. You stay with Ethan.”

I don’t protest. Something about stalking through the quiet halls to meet some unknown predator doesn’t seem fun to me. As he’s opening the door, I put my hand on the door jam. “Be careful,” I say as I look into his blue eyes, the color of a summer sky.

He lets a little smile dance across his face. “Sounds like you’re getting used to having me around.”

And he ruined it. “Never mind,” I say, waving him out the door. “Go be as reckless as you want. We’re totally fine without you.”

“Liar,” he says, his smile growing. “You need me.”

I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.

He chuckles and then disappears out the door.

I sit with Ethan against the far wall with a revolver in my hand. The minutes tick by slowly. I listen, but hear little else but a few birdcalls from the window and my heart beat in my ears. Footsteps sound, heavy and coming this way. I rise, the gun leveled. It’s Clay. He bursts back in our room.

“Anything?” I ask.

He shakes his head, holsters his gun and picks up the jug of water. He lifts it to his lips. I watch his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallows. Then he drops the jug, panting. “Ahh,” he sighs.

“What?” I say, impatient. “What did you find?”