The Rains

ENTRY 24

I barreled up the empty corridor, my footsteps echoing off the lockers. Skidding on the tile, I swung onto the stairs and took them down three at a time. I shouldered into the nurse’s office so hard that the door flew back and clipped my hip.

Some of the cabinets and drawers were open, most of the basic medical supplies already moved to the supply station.

But I wasn’t looking for basic medical supplies.

I searched the remaining cabinets, dug through the closet. My swollen eye started throbbing, but I paid it no mind.

Twenty-three minutes.

Twenty-two.

Panic clenched my chest when I didn’t see it. What if it was gone? What if it had been used up already or Chet’s mother had taken it back home?

I hurled an empty cardboard box over my shoulder, and there it was, hidden in the back of the closet. When I yanked it out, it clanked against the floor.

The portable oxygen tank was heavier than I’d imagined. The mask hung from the valve, its clear tubing coiled up neatly. The meter showed full, the needle pegged at the limit in the green zone.

Chet’s oxygen for his asthma attacks.

Hefting the tank, I sprinted out, slipping on the slick floor. Back upstairs, my boots pounded down the hall, my blood racing as fast as I was. The front-door lookouts raised their heads in unison, their faces pivoting as I flew by toward the gym.

I kicked through the double doors, shouting for Patrick. Kids popped up from their cots and looked over from the bleachers.

“Quiet,” Ben hissed, coming off his chair.

“Where is he?”

“Out looking for you.”

Of course.

“But don’t worry,” Ben said. “He’s due back any minute. He swore it to Chatterjee. So we can handle him before he… you know.”

I set down the tank and mask. “Keep this here. Do you understand?” My wild gaze found Eve. “Keep this right here until I get back.”

She nodded.

I sprinted back out, passing the lookouts. “Patrick-have you seen-where is he?”

Dezi Siegler flicked his head toward the corridor. “He said he was gonna look for you in the picnic area.”

I took off. My breath burned in my throat, but I didn’t slow down. One long hallway. Another.

The door came up, and I knocked it open with the heels of my hands.

Patrick, Alex, and Cassius moved frantically through the flower beds. Patrick’s head snapped up. “Chance! Where the hell did you go?”

He ran over, snatching me up and hugging me so tight I couldn’t breathe. Or talk.

I shoved him off.

“You’re still mad at him?” Alex said. Her red-rimmed eyes showed that she’d been crying. “You’re gonna waste his last ten minutes alive being angry with him?”

I was still panting from all that running. “Not angry… No time to explain… Just… come…”

Patrick said, “Chance, we don’t have time for-”

“I have a plan!”

Something in my face must have convinced them, because they ran back with me. Cassius galloped next to us, tongue lolling, tail wagging. He probably thought it was some kind of game.

Seven minutes.

Six.

We careened into the gym. I leaned over, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. I pointed at the mask. “Put it on.”

Ben stood behind the tank, his burly arms swaying at his sides, the stun gun glinting in his waistband. “This’ll never work. And besides-”

“Kindly shut up, Mr. Braaten,” Chatterjee said.

While we were gone, Chatterjee had connected the tube to the tank.

Patrick looked at me. “Is this your idea?”

“Just do it.”

“What do we do when the tank runs out?” Alex asked.

“One thing at a time,” I said. “Get it on.”

Four minutes.

All the kids were up now, forming a giant ring around us.

“How will I eat?” Patrick asked.

“We’ll figure it out,” I was practically yelling. “Just do it.”

“If I put that mask on, I won’t be able to take it off,” Patrick said. “Not ever.”

“That’s right.” I grabbed the mask from Chatterjee and shoved it into Patrick’s chest.

Patrick looked from me to Chatterjee to Alex. Then he slid off his cowboy hat. Something about the gesture made him look humbled, defeated. Taking the mask, he pulled it over his head. It was transparent like the ones football players use on the sidelines. Thick straps, firm seal, a one-way valve to clear exhaled breath without allowing any outside air in.

Patrick looked trapped inside it, and I couldn’t blame him.

Three minutes.

“Wait.” Alex’s eyes were brimming.

Patrick looked at her. Understood. Sliding the mask up onto his forehead, he pulled her in. They kissed. For the last time. Eyes closed, her hands pressed to his chest, his arm looped around the small of her back. She was on her tiptoes, face tilted up to his.

I could feel the emotion radiating off them like something physical, and I knew everyone else could, too. It might as well have been the last kiss in the history of the world.

I couldn’t help but wonder what it felt like to have someone kiss you like that.

They parted. Alex took a half step back, stifling a sob.

Patrick slid the mask back into place.

Chatterjee twisted the valve open, set the dial to eight liters per minute, and said to Patrick, “Take a deep breath. And blow out.”

Patrick did. Then he inhaled.

“You are now breathing only from the tank,” Chatterjee said.

“Just in case,” Ben said, raising the stun gun and resting it on Patrick’s forehead. “For everyone else in here.”

One minute.

The bag bullfrogged beneath Patrick’s neck, expanding and collapsing with each breath.

The seconds counted down.

I plucked the Stetson from the floor and put it back on Patrick’s head. I couldn’t stand for him not to have it on right now.

He had Alex’s hand, their fingers intertwined. He reached for me with his other hand.

Fear shone from his eyes. I’d never seen him look like that.

I clasped his other hand.

We stood there bracing ourselves, Alex and me on either side of Patrick, Ben before him, that wicked steel rod pressed right between his eyes.

And everyone else watching.

Ten seconds.

Five.

It was one o’clock.

Patrick exhaled, his shoulders lowering a good two inches.

“We don’t know the exact time,” Ben said. “It’s sometime after one. So let’s not celebrate yet.”

He lowered the gun from Patrick’s head but kept it at the ready.

We stayed like that, breathing hard, for five minutes and then five more. A short time later, Chatterjee looked at his watch and said, “He was born by now. I’m sure of it. The time frame has passed.”

Ben shoved the stun gun back into his jeans. “You’re only putting off the inevitable,” he said. “How much time’ll that tank buy him anyways?”

Chatterjee crouched and checked the readings. His face changed. He rose unsteadily. Ben leaned over and read the dial.

“This only gets you five hours,” he said.

“I only need five hours,” I said.

For once Ben looked taken aback. “For what?” he asked.