Once she hit Bypass One, there would be a street less than a quarter mile away that had four or five homes on it. These were considered “blue-collar” homes, smaller and older than those in her neighborhood, but Sam didn’t care. There could be meth-dealing felons living on the street, but all that mattered was finding a safe place to hide while she called the police.

Sam’s heart pounded in her chest as she traversed the path, subconsciously aware of every step, the cushioned soles springing her forward. She kept her arms at a ninety-degree angle, pumping up and down to add momentum as she ran. The only variables detracting from her perfect form were the gun in her right hand and her iPhone in the left. She was fairly certain they would disqualify her from competition.

She estimated she had run at least three-quarters of a mile, with another three-quarters to go, having circumnavigated Windy Tree Way and Forest Edge Court. The remaining part of the path was a straight shot with one curve to the left about twenty yards before the road.

She tried not to let her mind wander, but the wind, the dark, and her fears conspired against her. Please, please, please, let Ben be safe. Teenage love or not, she cared deeply for him, felt a physical compulsion to be with him.

The world was a cruel place, and the ugly realities that were broadcast into each home every day through twenty-four–seven global news coverage took a psychological toll, even on kids in high school just beginning to figure out who they were. Add the constant pressure that lingered in the back of each student’s mind about school shootings, and high school was a stressful time.

But Ben made all of it better. Which is why you need to run faster and stop letting your worst fears get the better of you. It was her dad’s voice again, the silent sound of reason. She would tell him everything, every detail, because he would want to know and because he would be proud of his little girl. She allowed herself a small smile at the thought and ran harder.

The wind continued to rush around her, swirling leaves across the path that stuck briefly to her body, as if clinging for life, before being whisked away. She knew the actual front was forecasted to blow through later, during the night, but she couldn’t recall exactly when. When it did, the temperature would plummet by ten to fifteen degrees within a few hours. Sam hoped the hostage situation at the pavilion would be over by then. Otherwise, there were going to be some very angry residents—not that they weren’t already furious, terrified, and praying to survive the madness of the night.