Dunne wouldn't go first. Not charging through the darkness on the way to face a killer. He let Quincy and Enrique take the lead, chasing the flashlight's beam down the corridor.
Even that was a stretch. If Dunne had had his way, he would've stayed back with the crowd, as far as possible from the screaming victim.
It was what he did best, even better than writing tie-in fiction. He hated himself for it, but the self-hatred was not enough to make him change.
What would change bring him now, anyway? It was too late to make a difference.
He'd already lost everything that mattered.
"No more screams." Quincy puffed when he said it. "Now what do we do? How far up ahead was she?"
"Around the corner," said Enrique. "The cafeteria, maybe?"
Big Quincy and Enrique barreled around the corner and down another hall. Dunne and Hannahlee followed as they crashed through a set of double doors at the end...and then they all stopped.
A blindingly bright beam of light blazed from the heart of the cafeteria, pinning Quincy and Enrique in its glare. The two of them squinted and shielded their eyes, Enrique dropping his flashlight in the process.
Blocked from the worst of the glare by Quincy's body, Dunne could see the outline of a person behind the light.
"Who's there?" said Enrique. "Que pasa?"
The figure bearing the light didn't answer.
Then, suddenly, he broke into a run. He ran straight toward them.
Dunne's mind raced. He wasn't about to stick around and fight...but Hannahlee was by his side, and she wasn't budging.
He had to get her out of there first.
"Go!" he told her, pushing the door open. "Hurry!"
Hannahlee stepped through into the hallway, then stopped. She turned and watched as the man with the light attacked Enrique and Quincy both at once.
To their credit, the big men fought back, lunging and swinging their huge fists. Maybe, if they hadn't been half-blinded by the light—which Dunne could now see was mounted on some kind of headband—they would have had a chance.
Or maybe not.
The attacker unleashed a quick-fire series of moves, spinning and striking with incredible speed and precision. He moved like a pinwheel, swirling between his opponents—every one of his blows landing, every one of their blows missing.
Even in the topsy-turvy light from the guy's headband, Dunne could see that he was trained and dangerous. He could tear Dunne apart in a heartbeat, whether or not Dunne tried to fight back.
So Dunne knew what time it was.
"Come on!" Grabbing Hannahlee's hand, he pulled her away from the fight. "Let's go!"
Hannahlee resisted for an instant, then went with him.
The two of them sprinted down the hallway by the light of the gyrating headlamp behind them. They swung left at the first intersection, running back toward the gymnasium soundstage and the biggest concentration of people.
The hallway was dark, so Dunne stuck to the middle and held tight to Hannahlee's hand. When they'd gone some distance, the commotion of the fight at the cafeteria ceased. Dunne heard a single set of footsteps approaching from that direction.
Then, Quincy called out, his voice hoarse. "Look out!" he said. "He's coming after you!"
Heart pounding, Dunne flew to the side of the hall, feeling along the wall for a hiding place. Quickly, his fingers found a door and latched onto the doorknob.
Yanking the door open, he pushed Hannahlee inside and closed and locked it behind him. Moments later, he heard the killer's footsteps approach and stop outside the door.
Too terrified to move in case he made a telltale sound, Dunne stood in place and clutched Hannahlee's hand. He tried to breathe as quietly as he could.
Sweat poured down his back and sides. His brain turned to ice, locked in a single stark pattern of repeating interference.
You're going to die, it said. You're going to die.
It was so much like before. He remembered. The burn in the belly. The tightness in the groin. The inescapable knowledge that this was the end, unless he did something.
Her face swam up at him from the darkness. From his memory. Her face. Not Hannahlee's.
He wished oh how he wished he could forget.
Her tear-filled eyes locked with his. Her mouth moved, forming silent syllables.
Help m—
Suddenly, a flare of light burst through the frosted window in the door. Dunne jerked and sucked in his breath but didn't gasp so the killer could hear. Hannahlee did not move or make a sound.
Panic rushed into Dunne's mind...but then he caught himself. Without backlight from inside the room, the killer couldn't see inside; even if there had been backlight, he could only have glimpsed shapes through the frosted glass window.
The doorknob turned—and stopped. The killer tried it a few more times, but it was locked.
So he moved on. The headlamp light bobbed away down the hallway.
And Dunne began to breathe again. He realized he was going to live.
He was going to survive. Just like before.
And someone else had died instead. He hadn't saved them. He hadn't tried.
Also just like before.