Chapter 9 - THE BOY IN THE LIBRARY
I let Pike go.
That decision haunted me for exactly half a second.
Then I ran toward the child.
“Noah!”
“I’m here!”
“Don’t move!”
“I can’t see it!”
That was worse.
The library was dim because the lights had been shut off during lockdown.
I opened the door slowly.
Bookshelves.
Tables.
Beanbags.
Noah stood on top of a desk.
Eight years old.
Maybe nine.
His face was wet with tears.
“Officer!”
“Stay there.”
“I heard it.”
“So did I.”
I scanned the floor.
Nothing.
Then a rattle came from underneath a bookshelf.
I stopped.
Noah whispered, “Is it gonna bite me?”
“Not if we’re smart.”
“My mom hates snakes.”
“Your mom sounds reasonable.”
He almost laughed.
Good.
Keep him breathing.
Keep him listening.
I grabbed a rolling book cart and slowly pushed it between Noah and the sound.
“Okay, buddy. When I tell you, step from the desk onto the cart.”
“What?”
“I’m going to roll you out.”
“That sounds stupid.”
“It’s extremely stupid.”
He stared at me.
“But it might work.”
He nodded.
I moved closer.
The snake appeared.
Thick.
Dark pattern.
Head lifted.
My heart accelerated.
“Now.”
Noah stepped onto the cart.
The snake coiled.
I pushed.
Fast.
The snake struck.
Its fangs hit the metal frame.
Noah screamed.
I shoved the cart through the doorway and slammed the door behind us.
A teacher grabbed him.
I leaned against the wall.
My radio crackled.
“Harris to Mercer.”
“Go.”
“Pike’s heading toward athletic field.”
“I’m coming.”
“No. Stay inside.”
“Why?”
“Animal control found four containers.”
I stopped.
“How many snakes?”
“We don’t know.”
Then gunfire cracked outside.
One shot.
Not ours.
I ran.
By the time I reached the athletic field, Harris was behind a concrete wall.
“You hit?”
“No.”
“Pike armed?”
“Small handgun.”
Great.
Venomous snakes and a shooter.
Pike ran toward the parking lot.
I moved around the other side.
“Evan Pike!”
He turned.
Raised the gun.
I dropped behind a parked vehicle.
“Don’t do it!”
“You people ruined everything!”
“You did this yourself!”
“They took my business!”
“So you release snakes around kids?”
“I wanted people scared!”
“You nearly killed a seven-year-old!”
He laughed.
“That dog ruined the whole thing.”
My jaw tightened.
“What was the plan?”
Pike looked at me.
“Fear sells.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he ran again.
Harris circled wide.
We almost had him.
Then Pike reached the outer fence.
A dark pickup truck screeched to a stop on the other side.
Passenger door opened.
Pike climbed in.
The truck vanished.
Harris stared after it.
May you like
“He’s not working alone.”
And suddenly, what we thought was one angry reptile dealer became something much bigger.
