The Survivor by Sean Slater Read Free Book Online Page B

all – the wounded, the dying – and to his credit, his actions might have saved a few lives. He understood that. Deep in his heart, he understood that. But more of the wounded had died than been saved.
    A lot more.
    Felicia’s earlier words now haunted him: ‘We should go back.’
    And he wondered if she had been right. After all, what had they gained by pursuing Red Mask?
    The horrors of the cafeteria still filled his mind. The heat of the gun as it kicked in his hands; the hot smell of gunsmoke; the shrill cries of the teenagers.
    They would be with him forever.
    It made him think of Courtney. Again. Word had come in through the student grapevine. She’d been seen by friends at the mall, but it was Metrotown, not Oakridge. She was safe and unhurt, and by the sounds of things completely unaware of the school shootings.
    It didn’t make him feel any better.
    With trembling hands, he reached down and snatched the BlackBerry from his belt. The screen was smeared with sticky redness. He wiped it on his trousers. During the past half-hour, he had called her ten times, but she had yet to return his call. And he was getting mad . He dialled her number yet again, and this time it rang through to voicemail:
    ‘Hey there, you’ve reached the Court! Don’t get toxic on me ’cause I can’t take your call right now – I’m out getting ready for the concert. Just two more days til BRIIITNEEEY!’
    The concert . . .
    The Britney Spears concert.
    What else could matter in the life of a fifteen-year-old girl? Were it not for the hell around him Striker could have laughed.
    The greeting ended with a loud beep. Striker tried to leave a message, but couldn’t. The message box was full. He hung up, called home, and got no answer there either. Just Courtney’s small voice on the answering service. It made him feel sick.
    ‘For Christ’s sake!’ He slammed the cell down on the sink.
    ‘She’ll call, Jacob.’
    The sound alerted him. He looked up at the reflection in the mirror and watched Felicia as she entered the boys’ changing room. Unlike him, her clothes were almost blood-free. She wore blue latex gloves and held a bundle of rumpled clothes and some brown paper bags. He hadn’t heard her open the door, much less sneak into the room. She was like a goddam fox sometimes. But a tired one now. Despite the sharpness of her Spanish eyes, everything else about her appearance looked haggard. Her shirt was sloppily half-tucked into her trousers, and her face looked older than it had this morning.
    Almost as old as he felt.
    ‘First I can’t get through at all,’ he explained. ‘Now her message box is full.’
    Felicia closed the door, came nearer. ‘Well, she wasn’t here when the shooting started, twenty people have testified to that. She’s out with her friends at Metrotown. Skipping school. Safe and sound. So don’t freak on me.’
    ‘I don’t freak .’
    The BlackBerry screen was sitting on the lip of the sink. The bloodied screen stuck out amidst the white porcelain. Striker willed the phone to ring. It didn’t, so he stood there silently.
    Felicia came right up beside him, touched his arm. ‘Look, you gonna be okay?’
    ‘I’m fine.’
    ‘You’re shaking.’
    ‘You excite me.’
    She frowned. ‘You know, Jacob, if it’s too soon for you after your wife’s—’
    ‘It’s not.’
    ‘I’m just saying, it wasn’t all that long ago that Amanda died, and—’
    ‘Jesus Christ, Felicia, we were just in a shootout this morning, and now we’re back where it all happened. It’s got nothing to do with Amanda! You sure as hell never thought it was too soon when we were dating.’ He gave her a challenging look, then felt the wind go out of his sails. He closed his eyes. ‘Let it go, okay? For just once, listen to what I say and let–it–go.’
    ‘ Fine .’
    Striker turned on the hot-water tap. The trickling was loud in the boys’ changing room – amplifying the fact that no boys were there, getting