Her previously planned escape route had assud the attacker was only using the car. If he had a gun and was about to switch from ramming with the car to shooting, then both the teaching building and the scenic lake were no longer safe options.
The classrooms in the building could serve as cover, true—but in a school shooting, wouldn’t the shooter’s primary targets be large groups of students? Putting herself in the shooter’s perspective, Everly realized that if she were the attacker, she’d barge into the building while classes were in session and cause chaos among the crowded rooms.
As for the scenic lake, it was no safer—too shallow, with water so clear that it offered no hiding place at all. If the attacker wanted, a few sweeps of a gun would easily hit soone; the resistance of moving in water would make dodging nearly impossible.
Everly had also considered sneaking up from behind while the shooter was still bent over reaching for the gun, taking him out before he even noticed.
But her current position made that impossible.
After the recent crash, the black car was about 12 ters away, and the passenger side—the side closest to Everly—was the one nearest her. This ant that if she wanted to attack the person inside, she would have to move around the front or rear of the vehicle to bypass the car body blocking her.
And during the entire maneuver, she absolutely could not draw the attention of the person inside.
If the attacker caught sight of her through the passenger-side window, all it would take was a simple squeeze of the trigger, and Everly would be sent straight to heaven.
Everly had almost no ti to react—the person in the car could stand up at any mont and start firing indiscriminately at everyone around.
Faced with such a massive threat to survival, Everly had no ti to worry about anyone else’s safety. She threw off her backpack, grabbed Misha beside her, lowered her body, and—using the surrounding crowd as cover—quickly ran toward the northwest side of Lawn A.
To the northwest of Lawn A and north of Lawn B, between Teaching Building No. 2 and the library, there was a small parking area with fewer than twenty spaces in total.
Everly’s Grand Cherokee was parked there.
After nearly half a year of modifications by Old John, the vehicle had transford from an off-road machine into a mobile fortress that could be fully trusted in dangerous situations:
The body was made from composite materials such as high-strength steel, Kevlar fiber, and polycarbonate. The doors, fuel tank, and chassis had all been specially reinforced. The windows were made of bulletproof material nearly 7 cm thick—even large-caliber rounds from a Barrett sniper rifle couldn’t penetrate them. The tires were also bulletproof—thick and durable—able to keep moving even if punctured, ensuring safety.
As long as no one fired an RPG at her, Everly was completely confident that once inside the vehicle, the Grand Cherokee could keep her safe.
The main problem now was how to get to it.
From where she and Misha were standing, the parking lot was less than forty ters away. At full speed, it would take about seven to eight seconds to reach it. If luck was on their side, they might make it to the car before the driver of the black vehicle even finished grabbing the gun and standing up.
But Everly had never been lucky.
They had just reached the edge of Lawn A when the driver had already retrieved what he wanted. He slung a black tactical rifle bag over his right shoulder, held a black AR-15 semi-automatic rifle fitted with a stock, stood upright facing the rear of the car, braced the stock against his shoulder—and began firing shot after shot into the crowd.
“Bang!”
“Bang bang!”
New Osebuch State was one of the rare states in the United States where people could carry firearms in public without any permits. However, firearms were strictly prohibited within the state university. For the safety of students, the school had imposed strict rules forbidding both students and faculty from bringing any kind of weapon onto campus—anyone caught would face severe punishnt. Because of this protection, no matter how dangerous things were outside, life on campus had always been peaceful and secure.
Perhaps numbed by that long period of peace, when the shooting began, most students reacted by screaming and running in panic, clutching their heads. But so still stood there in a daze, their minds lingering on the earlier car crash, worried about the security guard lying in a pool of blood—completely unaware that a large bullet wound had already appeared in their own chest.
One shot, then another, and another.
With each shot fired, a tal casing was ejected from the rifle, clinking as it hit the ground.
With each shot fired, a fresh wound tore into human flesh, and another body—face filled with terror and disbelief—collapsed onto the grass, onto what was supposed to be a place of learning.
Damn it!
Everly was standing right within the rifle’s sweep. Seeing the muzzle moving from left to right and about to turn toward her and Misha, she quickly bent down, grabbed a white decorative pebble from the edge of the lawn, let out a low shout, and hurled it at the hand holding the gun.
Back when Buddy was still young, Everly often played a ga with her called “fetch.”
The rules were simple: Everly would set up a target in the distance, marked with different scoring zones. Using whatever she had on hand—stones, sandbags, shoes, short sticks, darts—she would throw from distances of 5, 10, 15, or 20 ters. Scoring over 10 points in three attempts counted as passing.
As the practice partner, Buddy’s main job was to run around and retrieve whatever Everly had thrown.
Each ti she threw sothing, Buddy would wag her short little tail wildly and happily run to fetch it back.
Those were days that were both exhausting and joyful.
After years of practice, Everly’s throwing accuracy had beco extrely high. Especially with sothing like a pebble—regular in shape, small in size, and with just the right weight—within a range of 30 ters, her throws were practically guaranteed to hit.
Even though this was a rushed throw, guided by muscle mory, the mont the white pebble left her hand, it shot forward like a bullet, cutting through the air with a faint white streak, and struck the back of the driver’s left hand—just where he was supporting the front of the rifle—with remarkable precision. Everly would bet his hand was already bruised.
“Hiss!”
The driver cried out in pain, his left hand instinctively loosening. Without support, the front of the rifle dipped under its own weight. At the sa ti, his finger pulled the trigger again—
“Bang!”
The sharp gunshot rang out. The bullet that had been aid at Everly instead shot straight into the grass near the man’s feet, kicking up a spray of dirt.
“Now! Run in different directions!”
Everly shouted to the students who hadn’t managed to escape yet. Seizing the brief lull in gunfire, she sprinted forward in a burst, reached the back of the Grand Cherokee, and using the vehicle as cover, found her keys, unlocked the door, and got inside.
Misha followed close behind, quickly climbing into the car through the rear door.
As the sound of the doors locking clicked into place, both of them let out a breath of relief.
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