The Long Way Home Read Free Page B

say? I was sure they would do it. Who knew how many innocent people they would kill if I didn’t go with them? For a moment, I hesitated, silent, desperately listening. Desperately hoping to hear sirens approaching. The cops might catch me, might take me to prison, but at least they wouldn’t kill me. Where were they? Where were the sirens?
    There was nothing. Not a sound. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the librarian hadn’t called the police after all.
    “You will please turn around now,” said Mustache-Man quietly.
    I turned around—and there, standing right in front of me, was the blond killer from the bathroom. He’d wiped his face, but I could still see blood on his upper lip. I could see the rage in his eyes too. He couldn’t wait to get me outside and get his revenge.
    He reached out and lifted my fleece, exposing the knife in my belt—his knife. Quickly, he yanked the knife free and slipped it into his windbreaker.
    “You will please to move to the stairs,” said Mustache-Man.
    “Don’t try anything, West,” said the blond killer with fiery eyes.
    I hesitated one more second. Listening for those police sirens. Nothing.
    “To the stairs,” said Mustache-Man. “Now.”
    What could I do?
    They surrounded me, Blockhead on one side, Mustache-Man on the other, Blond Killer at my back. They marched me across the room.
    A sense of helplessness rose in me. Helplessness and growing panic. I couldn’t fight them or innocent people would get shot. But once they got me out of the library, once they got me out on the street in the gathering darkness, it would be over. All those shadows—all those thugs out there—they’d have me bundled into a car in a second. They would take me away and that would be the end of it, the end of me. No one would even know what had happened.
    The three thugs herded me steadily across the room, keeping me hemmed in. They crossed in front of the information desk, heading for the staircase on the right.
    I turned to glance at the desk. The sweet-faced librarian was just now coming out of her office. She stopped in her tracks and stared at me as I went walking past with the three men. Had she called the police to tell them she had spotted a fugitive? Were they coming? There was no way I could know for sure.
    The men hustled me past her quickly. She watched us go by. She didn’t try to stop me. She didn’t say anything. Neither did I.
    Then we were at the stairs. The thugs escorted me down. It was all happening very fast. There was no time to resist, no time even to think. Another moment and we were on the ground floor. There was the checkout desk right ahead of us, a small line of people with books moving slowly past two more librarians. Beyond that, there was a set of glass doors, the front doors leading to the street.
    Beyond those, the Homelanders were waiting.
    Mustache-Man’s hand tightened on my arm. He knew this was the time, this was my last chance to make a break for it. He wasn’t going to let it happen.
    My eyes went this way and that, frantically. Still no sirens, still no sign of the police.
    There were only a few steps left before we were outside, lost in the twilight. Mustache-Man kept his grip on me while, with his other hand, he reached out to push the library door open.
    I didn’t try to run. I didn’t have the nerve. I didn’t want to get shot and I didn’t want anyone else to get shot either. I had to wait, had to hope the librarian had called the cops, that they were on their way, that they would get here on time.
    Mustache-Man opened the door. He went out first, drawing me after him into the cold night air. The blockhead and the blond killer were right behind us.
    Now we were outside, standing on the library’s top step with three more steps leading down from the door to the street. I had a sense that the shadows all around me— the Homelanders who had been waiting for us—were even now converging on us, closing in to make sure I didn’t get away.
    The blond