CHAPTER 92 CODY HILL

92

Cody Hill

CODY HILL WAS PLEASED.

He stood outside Hollows Bend Middle School near the entrance to the quad in total awe of himself.

Not only were people actually showing up, but they were coming in droves. Many looked relieved at the sight of so many other bodies all moving together, finally doing something with purpose. Others seemed downright giddy about the whole damn thing. Brenda Trendle's mom had set up a table at the entrance to the gym, and together with a handful of cheerleaders (two of whom had even put on their uniforms) was passing out bottles of water and sandwiches. Principal Martinez was standing at the door, shaking hands and ushering people inside with that fake understanding look smeared across her face, the same one she'd worn when Brett Murphy stole Cody's underwear from his gym locker and ran them up the flagpole in front of the school. As if she had any clue what that felt like. As if she had any clue what people were feeling now. Oh man, Cody wished he'd thought to put up cameras so he could record this and watch it all on a loop if he somehow managed to come out alive on the flip slide.

At just the thought of that, the weight of the heavy vest bit into his neck and threatened to pull him to the ground. It didn't weigh as much as the bomb he'd stashed under the bleachers, but it still added at least thirty pounds to his wiry frame. Exercise had never been at the top of his priority list, and he was a little pissed that no one mentioned how much heavy lifting was involved when he combed the various bomb-making blogs. Even the jihad sites he'd read with Google Translate didn't cover that. He had no idea how some of those skinny fuckers managed to tote their cargo from their cave to the market or whatever the hell they did out there.

No matter.

Less than an hour.

He glanced at this watch.

Forty-seven minutes, to be exact.

Cody slipped his hand in the pocket of his hoodie and thumbed the corner of the Talk button on the Motorola radio. It would be so easy to just set off the other bomb from here, watch it go boom, and wander home when the last of the flames fizzled out. He'd hoped to have his endgame figured out by now but was seriously still on the fence. Part of him wanted to watch it all, be here tomorrow when some authority finally swept in and tried to piece it all together. He wanted to see how long he could string those people along, put a spin on it if any of them even managed to figure out he was behind it. He seriously doubted they ever would. But another part of him wanted to walk to the center of the gym, stand right in front of all those fuckers, and watch their faces when the bomb went off. Maybe even detonate his vest about thirty seconds before the big one blew, create a panic, let them trample each other trying to get to the doors. None of them would make it; the second bomb would get them all for sure, but damn … the fear he could create in those thirty seconds. The satisfaction of knowing it would happen was nearly enough for him to end it all. He had nothing to look forward to when this was over. If he managed to walk away, managed to talk his way out of whoever came asking questions tomorrow, if he pulled all that off … then what? Where would he go? What would he do? He'd have a fun day or two, but the party would be over quick. Then what? Foster care? An orphanage? The streets? Maybe juvie. Adulthood. Some minimum-wage job doing some silly bullshit. None of those things sounded particularly worth sticking around for.

"You going in, Cody?"

Cody swung around so fast he nearly hit the button on the Motorola, and wouldn't that just sum up his entire life? He'd go down in the books as not even getting that right.

Marcie Holden was standing there—hot as hell, never said two words to him, high school student—Marcie Holden. She offered him a bottle of water. "Ms. Trendle told me to give you this and tell you it's best to stay hydrated. People forget that when they're under stress."

Cody took the bottle but didn't drink. "Do I look stressed?"

"I'd be concerned if you didn't."

Marcie was wearing jeans and a gray sweater that did a nice job of hugging her frame. Somewhere on his phone, Cody had a photograph of her naked and tied up. He'd bought it for a hundred bucks from some loser named Malcolm-something who dropped out of school a while back to follow his dream of changing oil and cleaning grungy bathrooms at the muffler shop down on Main.

Cody's eyes must have lingered a little longer than permitted on Marcie's breasts, because she crossed her arms over her chest and her cheeks flushed. "Crazy day, huh?"

"I prefer to think of it as lively."

"I suppose. My parents are freaking out."

"My mom, too," Cody told her. He'd dragged her body to the garage and loaded her into the large freezer they kept out there. She was lying comfortably on top of two-year-old packages of ground beef and assorted TV dinners. "She went out this morning, said she was going to talk to a few of her friends to find out what was going on, and she didn't come back. I don't know where she is."

Marcie gave him an understanding look. She was much better at it than Principal Martinez. "I'm sure she's fine. She'll probably show up here when she realizes you're not home."

"Maybe."

"Ms. Trendle said Mr. Peterson is with the sheriff or something. Sounds like they know what's going on. They're all coming together."

Cody nodded toward the black smoke above Main Street. "I love the way they handled all that. Can't wait to hear what they have to say."

Although nobody was near them, Marcie's voice dropped to a whisper. "I heard there's a fence up around town, and whoever put it there isn't letting anyone out or in."

Cody hadn't heard that, but then again, he'd been busy. Even if it were true, it didn't change much.

He didn't expect Marcie to take his hand, so when she did, he flinched, jerked away.

Marcie's cheeks flushed a darker shade of red. "I'm sorry, it's just, you looked alone out here and I thought maybe you'd want to sit with me, at least until your mom gets here."

Cody's eyes darted around. He was only in eighth grade. Marcie was older—a high school girl . Way out of his league. Which meant this wasn't real. Couldn't be real. He looked for Mason Ridler or Brett Murphy; maybe one of them had put her up to this. They'd get him inside and do God-knows-what. But he didn't see them. He only saw people crowding into the gym.

Maybe that was it.

The sign.

A little nudge to help him decide his stay outside, go inside dilemma.

"Sure, I'll sit with you." Cody took Marcie's hand and started for the gym entrance. If he'd never get to see all these people burn, at the very least he could see the expression on their faces when he walked in with Marcie Holden.