This thing was a helluva lot easier than the one he and Jesse had fired over in the woods behind the school. That crossbow—one that used to hang on the wall above his big brother’s stereo before he went away to college—had been ancient and nearly impossible to set. This one was so freaking simple to use that a ten-year-old could manage it. Speaking of a ten-year-old, he wondered if he’d gotten here in time. He had heard that fat ass goon calling out to the kid, and that cock-sure tone of his voice had driven him almost manic with righteous anger. In his fifteen years, he’d never wanted to hurt another living person more. And now he had, hadn’t he? Maybe he’d even killed the bastard! His heart galloped in his chest. There was no sound from below. The screaming had stopped and he could hear no footsteps. Surely it was a trick. Slowly, Chance used his elbows to walk himself backwards up the steps, keeping an eye on the spot where the escalators crossed, waiting for the crazed security guard to pop up like a deranged jack in the box. When he reached the top, Chance crawled cautiously around the corner and checked one way then the other. It appeared to be clear of lunatics.
