Don't Turn Around (12 page)

At the next corner, Noa turned right again and came face-to-face with a solid wall of massive brick buildings bridged by a wrought-iron gate: the main entrance to Harvard Yard. It stood open.

She bolted across the street and through the gate. Inside, a concrete path veered left through manicured lawns. More brick buildings loomed out of the darkness. Noa could still hear them chasing her. She tore for the nearest gap between buildings.

It opened out on an enormous grassy quad. Quiet, but there were still lights on in a few of the windows high above. Other paths crossed and intersected the one she was on. She darted across the grass. It was hard beneath her feet, the ground frozen solid. Noa headed for the nearest door. Gave it a tug, but it was locked.

She chanced a glance over her shoulder. Six men were entering the quad. As soon as they spotted her, they started to fan out.

Noa fought back a wave of despair and gritted her teeth.
She was not going to end up back on that table
. She raced along the side of the building.

At the end of it, she broke left. The space between the buildings narrowed. She prayed that she wouldn’t end up at a dead end.

Voices up ahead. Noa ran toward them. Emerging in another quad, she saw two people trotting down a long flight of stairs spanning an imposing neoclassical building—the library. Light spilled out of the enormous glass windows lining its facade. Noa made for it. She vaulted up the steps and yanked open the door.

Inside, her boots echoed on marble. She was in a huge lobby, a dome shot up three stories overhead. Slowing, she approached a small round booth with a security guard tucked inside. He was old, white-haired, half-asleep. At the sight of his uniform she initially froze, remembering the guards back at the warehouse complex. But his was dark black, with maroon patches on the upper sleeves. It looked more like a police uniform than anything else. Not that Noa had ever had much luck with cops, either.
But the devil you know …
, she thought to herself.

Beside him was a security gate with a metal detector. He watched blearily as she approached.

“Gotta show your ID,” he muttered.

Noa looked back over her shoulder. Through the glass panes in the copper doors, a cluster of faces peered in at her. She turned back to the guard and swallowed hard, trying to get her breath back. “I forgot it.”

“Can’t let you in without ID,” he said decisively, turning back to a small TV. Tinny voices blared from it, the sound of scattered clapping and cheers.

“Please,” Noa said, desperation in her voice. “It’s important.”

“Midterms,” he grumbled. “You’d think it was life and death. Why you kids can’t just study in your rooms—”

“I think someone’s following me,” she blurted out.

That piqued his interest. The guard looked up again and said, “Yeah? Like a boyfriend or something?”

“Something,” Noa said. She heard the door open behind her and looked back. One of the guys was walking in. Despite his best efforts to look casual, he clearly didn’t belong on a college campus.

The security guard followed her gaze, then slowly got to his feet. “You bothering this girl?”

“No, sir.” The guy held up both hands placatingly. His voice was calm and steady, authoritative. He wasn’t much taller than her but looked muscular, like a bodybuilder. Hair shorn in a crew cut, a scar that seamed his face along the right side. He appeared unarmed, but there was a clear note of menace in his voice as he shifted his gaze to her and held out a hand. “Noa, you need to come with me.”

“You have to let me in,” she pleaded, turning back to the guard. “Please.”

“What’s going on here?” the guard asked, eyes narrowing.

The guy was examining the perimeter of the room—checking for cameras, Noa realized.

That settled it. She dashed past the guard, through the metal detector. It blared in her wake.

“Hey!” the guard called after her.

She ignored him. The alarm faded as Noa turned the corner and found herself facing row after row of books.

She’d never been in a library like this. Before she’d managed to buy her first laptop, she’d used the terminals at the small library a few blocks away from The Center. But that was a tiny facility, just an open room with a few terminals tucked in the corner.

In comparison, this library was overwhelming. She froze momentarily. It wasn’t what she’d expected. The shelves were metal, almost clinical looking. Each row stretched a hundred feet into the distance, and there were at least a dozen of them lined up like dominoes. She trotted down a few rows. Halfway down the aisle, she spotted a small metal staircase that ascended to the next floor.

Noa heard footsteps behind her—more than one person from the sound of it. She darted toward the staircase. Her boots made a hollow clanging sound as she bolted up the stairs, but there was no helping it. They’d probably seen where she was headed, anyway.

The staircase opened onto another long series of stacks. Behind her, another staircase led up, identical to the one she’d just climbed. Without stopping to think about it, she mounted that one, too. She went up two more floors, each time encountering another set of stacks, another staircase. Noa wondered how many floors there were. She couldn’t keep going up forever; at some point she’d have to find a place to hide.

Abruptly, the alarm downstairs fell silent.

Noa stopped on the next floor and made her way through the aisles of books, emerging in a corridor. Dimly lit, carpeted. Dark oil paintings of old white men glowered down at her. At hip level, standing glass display cases held ancient-looking books.

A few doors led off the hall, but they were all dark. Noa tried the handle of the nearest one: locked. She moved along, trying each door. She couldn’t hear anyone behind her, but that didn’t mean anything. Maybe the guard had managed to stop them. Or they figured she was trapped, and were waiting outside for her.

They might be right. She had no idea if there was another way out of the building.

Her messenger bag felt heavy, but she didn’t dare drop it. She wouldn’t survive if she only had the clothes on her back to work with. She needed the laptop.

The knob on the tenth door she tried was unlocked.

Noa opened it and ducked inside. Another long hallway lined with doors. The lighting was brighter, the doors narrower and less official looking. She made her way down the row. All of these were locked, too. The hallway hooked right, revealing another short corridor, more doors. Then it ended. Noa went all the way down to check, but that was it. She’d hit a dead end.

She slumped against the wall. Her breathing was still ragged, and everything hurt. She should have bought sneakers; these boots were killing her feet and she could feel the beginnings of blisters on her heels. Not that any of that would matter if she was captured again.

A familiar sound. Noa tilted her head to the side: Someone close by was tapping away at a keyboard. Halfway down the row, a slit of light crept from beneath the doorframe.

Noa hesitated, but decided she had nothing to lose. She walked over and raised her hand, then lightly rapped on the door.

The typing stopped, then a male voice said, “Tonight’s my night, Caleb. What time is it, anyway …”

“It’s not Caleb,” Noa said, her voice barely above a whisper.

She stepped back as the door snapped open. Standing there was a college kid, tall and thin with longish blond hair, green eyes, and glasses. A scraggly goatee clung to his chin. He wore a T-shirt, jeans, and white socks without shoes. At the sight of her, he looked puzzled. “Uh, hi,” he finally said. “Are you locked out of your carrel?”

“No,” Noa said. “Can I come in?”

“I’m kind of … working in here.” He gestured weakly behind himself. It was a tiny room, roughly the size of a large storage closet. A small wooden desk was built into one side; the opposite wall held a bookcase. There were open books and papers scattered everywhere, including the floor.

Noa quickly stepped forward, backing him into the room. She spoke in a low, urgent voice, saying, “I just need one minute.”

“One minute for what?” He appeared even more confused as she shut the door. “Did Caleb put you—”

“Shh!” Noa said. She’d heard another door opening at the far end of the hall—the one she came in through. She made sure the lock on the study carrel door was pushed in, then reached up and flicked off the light.

“Hey! This is really—”

“Please be quiet!” Noa begged. She found his arm in the dark and squeezed it. He made a small noise, but didn’t say anything else.

Footsteps down the hall. A heavy tread, moving slowly. At the sound of a click, Noa caught her breath: He was doing the same thing she had, trying all the doors. A pause, another click. Then another.

It was a tiny space; they were inches apart. The college guy’s breath reeked of pizza. He seemed to sense the danger, or at least he’d decided to trust her enough to stop talking. They stood in silence as the footsteps came closer.

Noa couldn’t help it; she jumped when their doorknob clicked. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying that the lock worked, that he couldn’t hear them breathing. An eternity seemed to pass before the footsteps moved on to the next door down. Five more, and they stopped entirely.

Noa felt the guy shift beside her. Heard an intake of breath, like he was getting ready to speak. She reached up and found his mouth through the gloom, then clasped her hand over it. His lips felt dry and warm.

The footsteps started up again, the stride more purposeful this time. They passed the door. After they turned the corner, the sound started to fade. The main door squeaked open again, then closed with a bang.

Noa realized she’d been holding her breath. She released it and dropped her hand.

The light flicked on, and the guy glared down at her. “Who the hell are you?”

“Thank you,” Noa managed, suddenly completely spent. She dropped into the chair in front of the desk.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding concerned.

“Fine.” Noa was suddenly extraordinarily thirsty. “You don’t have any water in here, do you?”

“Um, yeah.” A backpack hung from a hook mounted on the back of the door. He unzipped it and dug around, producing a small water bottle. “It’s new,” he said, handing it to her.

Gratefully, Noa opened it, chugging the entire bottle as he watched. “Thanks.”

“Wow, you were thirsty.” He tucked his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the door. “So who was that out there?”

“I don’t know,” Noa admitted. “Some guy.”

“Yeah? You should report him; campus security is pretty good about stuff like that. You a freshman?”

Noa nodded.

“Which dorm? Because, I mean …” His gaze shifted to the floor. “I was just about done here, anyway. I could walk you back.”

Noa pictured the slew of armed men waiting for her outside the building. “Is there another way out? I mean, aside from the main entrance?”

“Haven’t spent much time in Widener, huh?” He chuckled. “Yeah, I didn’t make it to the library much my first year, either. I don’t mind walking you out, though. I mean, he probably won’t bother—”

“He will,” Noa said, cutting him off. “Trust me.”

“Okay. If you’re that worried about it, we can call campus security and arrange for an escort.”

Noa didn’t hold out much hope that an elderly security guard like the one downstairs would have a shot against the guys after her, either. “That’s okay,” she said. “I have to get some work done first, and … my roommate is trying to sleep,” she finished weakly.

“I hear you,” he nodded. “Midterms are brutal. Well …” He surveyed the piles of paper everywhere dubiously. “You could stay here, if you want. Just make sure the door is locked when you’re done. And try not to mess with anything. I know it looks chaotic, but there’s a crazy order to it, I swear.” He grinned sheepishly at her. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Nora.” She held out a hand.

He shook it and said, “Hi, Nora. I’m Otis. Always happy to help a damsel in distress.”

Noa flushed. She’d definitely never been called a damsel before. “Thanks again.”

“No problem.” Otis rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “I’m so beat I can hardly see straight. So I’m not, like, imagining all this, am I?”

“Hard to say,” Noa said. “Maybe.”

“Funny.” He laughed again. “All right, then, damsel figment. Have a good night.”

“You too.” Noa watched as he pulled on a North Face parka and lifted the backpack off the hook. Before the door closed behind him, she said, “Thanks so much again, Otis. Really.”

“Sure.” He gave a little wave and left.

Noa sighed and slumped down in the chair. She wished she had another bottle of water; she was still dying of thirst.

There were probably water fountains somewhere on this floor, but she didn’t dare leave the room.

She weighed her options. The guys chasing her were annoyingly persistent, and they seemed to know what they were doing. Noa had the feeling they wouldn’t just give up after a few hours. For whatever reason, they appeared determined to capture her again.

She wondered what the scar-faced guy had told the guard downstairs. Fortunately this was a mammoth building; they probably wouldn’t be able to search all of it. She could wait until morning, then try to sneak out when there were lots of students around. But what was to stop them from following her, then grabbing her at the first opportunity?

She needed a better plan.

Noa dug out her laptop. Breaking into Harvard’s main server turned out to be child’s play—
They really should work on that,
she thought. She went back to her email. The message from A6M0 was still at the top. She glanced at the clock: It was hard to believe that only forty-five minutes had passed since she read it.

Pensively, Noa examined the photo of herself at the window. Whoever sent the message didn’t seem to be working with the guys chasing her; otherwise why would he have warned her? If she’d still been in the apartment when they showed up, there was no way she would have escaped. So either two different groups were after her, or this was something else.