Escaping Elysia

Chapter 1 - Easy

"Okay," she says, her voice unchanged. I've turned down similar offers from her before. "Just thought I'd ask."

Back at my table, the coffee scalds my tongue and as the caffeine hits my system my concentration returns. On my screen, I scroll back to the beginning of the document. Midterm Notes - March 17, 2107 - 11AM. The time on my phone - still unfolded on the table - blinks 10:37. Not long. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my churning stomach, and reread a few more pages, mouthing the familiar words silently.

A few minutes later, Claudine and the others get up to leave the quad and I drain the rest of the coffee. I fold my phone, clicking the many panels into place, toss it into my purse, and throw away the coffee cup.

When I pitch it toward the composting slot it misses and bounces along the ground. I scramble to pick it up before it can blow away, not wanting to be sentenced to a week of community service hours cleaning up the campus.

As I return to the table for my purse and screen, I accidentally bump into a woman, knocking her against some chairs.

"Excuse me," I mumble, but she's already gone. I gather my things and walk quickly to class. When I turn the corner, I see him.

A boy, who looks to be a little older than me, maybe 18. He has warm, taupe brown skin but the color has drained from his face. He carries a large, black bag. I turn around to watch him as he passes me, and that's when I notice the flash of metal. He has a gun.

The gears in my brain - previously spinning with facts for my exam - come to a clanking halt.

He presses the gun tightly to his side, pointing it at the ground. Swinging wildly around, he scans the crowd of students. Others begin to notice him, and as they do the awareness spreads outward in a wave, affecting everyone it touches. When his eyes pass over me I unfreeze and duck behind a bench. My breath comes fast and I hear screaming. People run past.

We saw pictures of guns in my history classes, learned how easily they can be used to be to kill someone, but I've never seen one in person before. I peek through the slats in the bench. The man stands a few feet away, looking at the faces of those running past him. He points the gun, now level with his chest, at each face before moving to the next. Veins in his upper arms bulge, and sweat drips into the dark hair above his upper lip. I can see him clearly through the slats - my hiding place is too open. I'll be an easy target when he starts shooting. At the thought my heart pounds, and white noise fills my ears. I have to call the police.

I touch the place where my phone docks to my wrist, but it's empty. I want to smack myself in the face. It will take forever to find the tiny phone in the abyss that is my purse. I dig and my hand brushes something metal. My phone?

But no, I'm not that lucky.

I wrap my fingers around the object, too big to be my phone. Confused, I pull it out of my purse.

A gun.

I drop the gun back in my purse, stunned. Guilt floods my body, even though I didn't put it there. Guns are strictly forbidden, and they have been ever since the rebuilding. If the police caught me with one, it could mean going to jail for the rest of my life, not to mention losing any chance at getting a job at the EIA.

I peek through the bench again. The man has dropped the duffel bag at his feet. It's open and filled with more guns. He stands a few feet from the bag and peers around the corner into the cafe area I just left. He raises the gun, and hunches forward to look into the eyepiece. He's going to shoot them. I think of the heavy, metal weight in my purse.

I could stop him. He isn't very far, maybe ten or twenty feet. But I've never used a gun before, and I'm not sure I want to. I take it out of my purse, gripping it gingerly, and turn it over to examine the gleaming metal. It feels cold and lifeless beneath my fingers. I flash back to the pictures in our textbook, of weeping families and bloody scenes of mass murder. But this is different. Isn't it? This man is going to kill innocent people, and I have the power to stop him. I know the basics of a gun. Point, pull the trigger. Easy. I wish.

There's another problem. If I shoot him, people will wonder where I got the gun. They might even suggest that I was involved in some way. They certainly won't believe it just appeared in my purse.

I'm considering dropping the gun and running when he turns. He's still looking at each face in the crowd, and when he gets to me he spots the gun in my hands. His eyes widen in surprise and his entire body swings to face me. But instead of pointing his gun at me he motions for me to put the one I'm holding down.

My brow furrows. He takes a few steps toward me and fear seizes my chest. He motions again now, and it seems like he's saying something but I can't hear over the panicked screams around me. I squint, but can't make out the words. He motions for me to lower the gun. I don't even consider it. I can't trust that he won't hurt me.

I point. I pull the trigger.

Easy.

***

Author's note: Hello, thank you for reading chapter 1! What do you think of Evita and her world so far? Comment and tell me what you think -- things you loved, constructive criticism, even typos! And please don't forget to vote if you liked this chapter :). 

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