The McClane Apocalypse Book One

The McClane Apocalypse

Book One

Kate Morris

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © Ranger Publishing 2014

All rights reserved; including the right to reproduce this book or portions of thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, email: RangerPublishing@gmail.com.

First Ranger Publishing softcover edition, March 2014

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Manufactured in the United States of America

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file

ISBN 13: 978-0615990880

ISBN 10: 0615990886

Note to Readers: This publication contains the opinions and ideas of its author. It is not intended to provide helpful or informative material on the subjects addressed in the publication. The author and publisher specifically disclaim all responsibility for any liability, loss or risk personal or otherwise.

Acknowledgments

There are many people I'd like to thank for their love and support that went into creating this novel. First and foremost I'd like to thank my high school French teacher, Mrs. Christy Thorley who told me I should be an editor or writer someday. It just took twenty years to sink in, but her words always played about in the back of my mind pushing me to give it a go.

I'd also like to thank my design team at E Book Launch.com, Dane in particular, for their patience (and I'm sure it took a lot on their part) and the wonderful book cover design that Dane masterfully created for me.

And last, but certainly not least, I'd like to thank my family. My sister for her this is better than Gone With the Wind! cheerleading, my monkeys for their you can do it, mom! moments and my John. When I felt like chucking it in the creek, you gave me the confidence and unflagging love and support to push on.

And finally I'd like to dedicate this book to all of the brave men and women in our U.S. Armed Forces. You are the true heroes of this story. Thank you for my freedom and for keeping us all safe at home.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Epilogue

Chapter One

Reagan

The end of the world doesn't happen with a bang. It takes slightly longer than that but not by much. She is still in med school and sublimely fooled into thinking that her life will just happen along like those of her ancestors and their ancestors and so on. But it isn't meant to be.

Now, students, for those of you interested, you may stay after class and take a closer look at the frontal lobe. Fascinating thing, the frontal lobe, quite fascinating, Professor Krue says in slightly distracted monotones. He was mockingly nicknamed Professor Boringstein in reference to the great Dr. Einstein or more likely to wittily point out the hair similarities. His Russian accent doesn't help. A few of the students actually groan but not her.

Yeah, right, remarks the snarky young man beside her. As if we wanna' stay here and chop on these dead people some more when the whole world's going to shit. He is scrolling on his hand-held, looking at updates on the European stock market crash and pictures of the remnants of the French coastline and not paying attention anyway. Dr. Krue is oblivious as usual to the hushed conversation.

No kidding, man, adds in his male lab partner. Four billion Chinese people are now fish bait, most of Europe is under water, the world's in the middle of a nuclear WWIII and we're still in med school. How stupid is this? I think I shoulda' listened to my ol' man and learned how to hunt... well, hunt for more than hot babes. They both chuckle at his non-humorous joke.

Reagan McClane rolls her eyes with the usual impatience she has for most imbeciles. She tries to tune them out and listen to the professor's lecture. No wonder she doesn't date. Corpse dissection is more interesting than her male counterparts in this class.

They are all eager to get back to the 24 hour news stations on television or their electronic devices or their beer. The news networks have been in seventh heaven for the last month, but she has no interest in following the macabre events of world-wide desolation. No, she is a scholar through and through and dissecting a cadaver's brain is more relevant than who is currently blowing up whom in the world.

Reagan has already taken Dr. Krue's class before but is doing so again because she is simply out of classes to take and still has two months to go before the end of the school year. Plus, she just likes him. She also hangs out quite a lot in his lab, mostly because she only has two friends, Dr. Krue included. Many of the other students find him eccentric and annoying in his outdated ways and practices and his troll doll hair style but not Reagan. She and her friend and roommate, Uma Pengali, are teacher's pets. They are also much younger than most of the other med students at the university at seventeen and twenty-two. Medicine is all Reagan has ever wanted to do, and she isn't about to let the maddening current events in the world change this. Also, she never calls Dr. Krue Professor Boringstein. He isn't boring at all but actually rather inspiring. Dr. Krue is also the best friend of her grandfather and has been since they'd both been young medical students themselves.

Uma wants to go out to a local, trendy coffee house this evening being the typical seventeen year old, and like a sucker Reagan had relented to her begging. It doesn't really matter; Reagan still needs to be at the OSU hospital by six a.m. She and another med student and a young resident there are working on the pathology and mutation of airborne illnesses in the lab. It is so cool.

She blows a wayward strand of curly, blonde hair out of her face. It has once again come loose of its damn ponytail. Suddenly the door to Dr. Krue's classroom bursts inward, slamming against the wall with a jarring crash.

Haven't you guys heard? a young man in jeans and a gray and red Ohio State University jacket breathlessly shouts, interrupting Dr. Krue. His eyes are wild and excited with nervous energy. Two new tsunamis just hit, and it's the U.S. this time! It's the end times, man!

After acting as town crier, he immediately turns and continues running down the hall to inform other teachers and students. Everyone immediately breaks out their cell phones or laptops, and it quickly becomes apparent that the young man has reported correctly. The news networks are all reporting the same thing. A tsunami, even bigger than the one that hit the west coast of Europe two weeks prior, has buried the East Coast of America under ocean water. Another has crashed into many states in the south, wiping out nearly everything there, as well. News choppers are flying over the coastal region, but it looks like nothing but ruination and debris in the ocean.

Students jump to their feet, many leaving their backpacks and text books on their desks and sprint from the room. Dr. Krue doesn't try to stop them, and soon it is just she, Uma and the professor left in his classroom.

It would appear that many states have been affected by this latest series of tsunamis, the female reporter on Uma's laptop continues on a gasp of tears. We are getting reports that New York, New Jersey, Delaware, Massachusetts, and parts of Virginia are completely covered in water. New York City is gone; it's just gone. Can this be right? That would mean tens of millions of people are... She is speaking to her fellow newscaster; she isn't even looking at the camera anymore.

Oh, my God. I was afraid of this happening, Dr. Krue whispers in hushed tones. They listen on as the woman continues her coverage of the catastrophe.

These seem to be the same types of tsunamis that hit China, Great Britain and France last month. Could this have been caused by the nuclear weapons that Russia, Iran, North Korea and China have all been using against each other? It has to be. It just has to be. The scientists have all proven that the nuclear weapons they used caused those earthquakes and tsunamis. Have we been nuked? Is that what this is? We don't have reports in on that. It's not fair to speculate, but how could this have happened? I have family in Vermont. Has Vermont been impacted, too? Was this event more than two tsunamis? We aren't sure, she is mostly weeping and distraught. Another reporter cuts in for her, covering for her faux pas. It is the news, after all.

We are getting reports of rioting already in Washington, Los Angeles, Seattle, Cleveland and wide spread looting...

The news station goes haywire and a black screen appears. The confusion, despair and fear for the future is so evident in their voices that Uma taps the side of her sleek computer a few times in the vain hope of getting it working again. She is obviously trusting in that maybe, just maybe something is mistaken in the reporting.

You should leave. You should leave the university. It won't be safe here much longer, Dr. Krue informs them. He takes Reagan's hands in his own and then hugs Uma.

What do you mean? Reagan asks with growing trepidation.

But, Dr. Krue, Uma's dark eyes plead in desperation. Everything will go back to normal soon, right, sir? Everything will be ok. The United Nations soldiers will keep the country safe. They aren't all gone. They can't be. There is some sort of mix-up. We will be safe, right? The naked desperation in her voice is unnerving for Reagan.

Dr. Krue simply shakes his head slowly. He levels his gaze on Reagan and speaks quietly and with serious inflection.

If New York is gone, then the UN military is gone, too. And so is the Stock Exchange, all the major banking institutions. Most of the major companies in America will fall apart, as well. Our monetary system will no longer matter. There are no measures in place to protect our banking systems against something like this, he informs them gravely.

Uma shakes her head in disbelief, her growing panic showing clearly on her etched features. She has not heard from her family in India in over a week and that alone set her on edge lately. Reagan has been doing her best to keep her spirits up and hope alive. She had physically forced her friend into coming to class today and had promised to go with her later to that coffee shop as a bribe.

Dr. Krue continues, We must leave here. Tonight. We'll go home to your family's farm, Reagan. I'll make sure you get there. But we leave tonight. This place and... everywhere in America will no longer be safe. It really hasn't been safe. They have just been falsely reporting on the news about the safety of America right now. Even if this hadn't happened on our shores, it would have fallen apart. It won't take long, either. We all watched the fall of civilization in Europe and Russia and what little is left of the Middle East. Hundreds of millions of people are dead there, and it looks as if it will be the same here. It only took days. It will be much faster here. There are people out there who have been waiting for this. The tension has been there since North Korea let off that first nuke. These people are opportunists. They will pillage and take. Take what they want. Take from whomever they want. The law will no longer be the law anymore. The police officers will abandon their jobs to take care of their own families. The world as you knew it, as I knew it, is over. The only thing you need to know now is how to survive.

Her family's farm is in Tennessee, a place she desperately misses all the time with the sick heartache of longing for her loved ones and her horses and the nature surrounding the large estate. It should also be safer there since it is extremely secluded and not a huge university in the middle of a big city like Columbus.

But the military, Reagan blurts with building dread. Her dad is in the military. Her brother-in-law is in the military. They'll protect the country. The North Koreans, who had been operating for the past twenty years under the tutelage of the Russians, had set off a nuke on South Korea, but accidentally hit their own country to the east. The second time they made impact with their neighbors to the south. Then they went after China. They hit the ocean shores off of the coast of China and on the third try had actually made contact with land, killing millions. Of course, the British Prime Minister, under the instruction of the U.N. had launched on Iran and North Korea and for good measure fired two nuclear missiles straight into Moscow. The Russians responded by launching a few nukes of their own, firing on London and then France, not without missing a few times and hitting the ocean again. The United States jumped in to help their allies by utilizing anti-missile lasers to shoot down more than a dozen more nuclear warheads. The nukes easily explained the tsunamis which occurred one week after the beginning of the nuclear launch race, which had turned into a full fledge marathon. What has caused the tsunamis to hit here on U.S. turf, Reagan wonders? Oceanic turmoil would be her guess. Theoretically the United States should be completely guarded against nuclear penetration because of the Star Wars program. Theoretically shit like this should've never happened in the first place, either.

The military men will also eventually abandon their posts. Men will not let their families become victims to lawlessness and violence. Our communication systems were already on shaky ground the last few weeks. Reagan, you said you tried yesterday to phone your family and all you got was a busy signal. I didn't want to alarm you. I was hopeful. But I don't think our cell services and satellites are working correctly, and they might not ever work again. I've been trying the land lines here in the school; they don't work, either. Our government was trying its best to hold everything together here in America, but it is unavoidable now. I spoke with Herb, I mean your grandfather, a few weeks ago, and we discussed the probability of this happening and that I would make sure you made it home if something did arise. This country, like everywhere else, will fall. There will be no more United States just like there is no more Russia and China and Great Britain... everywhere. There will be famine and disease that spreads from the dead and the inability to take care of these tsunami victims. You must only think of yourselves now, he explains as he hastily lights his smoking pipe.

Reagan's head is swimming with information overload, and she feels like she is going to puke. This morning her toughest decision was which tights to wear with her wool skirt and black sweater. She was never good with high fashion concepts. Uma does her best to help her, but Reagan is pretty much pathetic. Hair in a ponytail, raggedy jeans and her beat up Converse are her preferred dress code.

This is so frightening, Dr. Krue, Uma joins in. Her black eyes are wide with fear.

Everything will be ok, Uma, Reagan tries to calm her young friend. She notices that Dr. Krue does not chime in with her. He obviously does not feel that everything will be ok at all.

Come back for me at 7:00; that will give us some time to get ready. Pull around back to the faculty parking, and we will take my car. I'll go home, get gas and a few things we'll need. I'll bring my medical bag, too. Lord knows I haven't needed it in years, but you never know what we'll encounter on the road. I'll meet you right back there where we park. Go and pack your things. Don't worry about taking everything with you, nothing cumbersome or big. Just grab a bag and pack what few things you might need in order to make the trip straight through to your family's farm. Get whatever water or food you can find small enough to throw in your backpacks, a change of clothes, important items only. I'll get out an old map and find us a route to take that will help to avoid the main freeways. They will be dangerous and congested. In my day, all we used were maps, not one of those handheld gizmo whatcha-callems. Your grandfather's farm is only about a six hour drive from here, maybe a little longer if we don't take the freeways. We should be able to get there by morning. Leaving at night might help with that, too, less traffic. Don't bother with any of your school things. You've officially graduated, he adds with a single chuckle. The familiarity of his voice is soothing.

She returns his smile as best as she can, knowing it comes off as a crooked, one-sided grin without much humor behind it. She is normally a silly-hearted person, easy to laugh, to find humor in irony.

Four hours. That gives us about four hours, Reagan confirms. We'll be back for you. As she finishes this statement, a loud explosion can be heard from another part of the campus. They rush to the windows where nothing but a stream of gray smoke is visible in the distance, but the source cannot be seen as it is obscured from view by the ancient, brick buildings of the campus. Reagan glances at Dr. Krue, and he gives her his raised eyebrow I told you so look. She nods in agreement and grabs Uma by the arm to rush back to their dorm.

As they race through the halls shoulder to shoulder with other students, there is a noticeable change taking place before Reagan's eyes. Students are partying, breaking into vending machines, streaking and all in all raising hell. Some students are distraught and trying desperately to reach family members on phones that no longer work. Many of these students are like her, transplants from other states. She says a quick prayer for their sakes that their families are not on the East Coast or what's left of it, but she's sure that many probably are.

Once they reach their dorm room, they hastily shove a change of clothing into their backpacks and start grabbing what they deem as a few essentials. There seems to be general chaos, loud music and noise coming from the narrow hallways but nothing that couldn't be heard on any normal Friday night at such a large university. This is not the average Friday night at any university anywhere.

There is a small picture of herself and her two sisters sitting on her shelf near the window overlooking the dorm's courtyard. She tucks it securely inside her dark blue E=MC squared hoodie in her bag. They look so goofy and young and innocent in the photo. The picture was taken of the three of them on the farm, all sitting or standing on the wooden fence enclosing the horse paddock. Reagan is sticking out her tongue- for which Grams had scolded her- Sue is smiling broadly and Hannah is simply grinning as if she was keeping a good secret. It is the same demure smile Hannah always gives.

Next, she grabs her toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant and clean socks and underwear from her drawers. She also throws in her emergency kit which contains five maxi pads, a bottle of aspirin, sunblock and other ridiculous items that she'll probably have no use for.

I can't believe this is happening, Reagan, Uma whispers, her voice cracking.

Reagan notices that her roommate's small, dark hands are shaking. Hey, don't worry. We're gonna be fine. It'll be ok, Uma. Uma begins crying. Reagan hopes that she will have some sort or any kind of soothing reassurance on Uma as she hugs her close. She doesn't deserve to be so afraid, not with her not knowing about her own family's well-being. After a short while, her friend pulls back.

I'm going to try one more time before we head back to meet Dr. Krue to phone my parents or chat them or whatever I can. I have to know they are all safe, Reagan, Uma explains shakily.

Sure, that's fine, Uma. We have some time. I'm gonna just close up everything here and sneak down to the student lounge to see if I can't raid the vending machines for snack food or drinks for the ride, Reagan tells her as she starts putting things that might be thought of as valuable under their beds or in the back of their dresser drawers. If things don't turn out the way Dr. Krue is predicting, then she wants to come back to the university as soon as possible to resume her studies and research.

A half an hour later, she leaves their room to hunt for sustenance, but the first lounge she comes upon has already been vandalized. A few of the tables have been overturned, and someone has drawn some graffiti on the far wall, a few choice words about the Dean, who Reagan had always found to be a pleasant enough woman. She climbs to the fourth floor of their dorm and stops in another student lounge area where she manages to salvage one bag of pita chips, a small package of trail mix and a single bottle of water. The vending machine has been completely knocked onto its side, the glass broken out from a likely well-placed kick of a foot. She'd stupidly brought her student debit card which now seems silly.

After deciding against going up another floor to find what is sure to be a similar and fruitless bounty, she straps on her backpack and begins descending the stairs that will take her back to her room. She consults her watch and is surprised that almost three hours has already passed since leaving Dr. Krue. A small group of young men burst into the stairwell and bump into her as they ascend. They smell of alcohol and marijuana, and one of them makes a lewd pass at her. But Reagan doesn't notice anything malevolent in their behavior. Maybe Dr. Krue is just over-reacting. Then she hears breaking glass and a woman's scream from somewhere far overhead in the stairwell. Maybe his assessment is spot on. Reagan pauses only a heartbeat before sprinting back to her room.

And less than an hour later, Reagan's life will never be the same again. Tests, research projects, Gross Anatomy or fancy coffee drinks will cease to be important. The fight for her life will become the only thing that matters.

Chapter Two

Reagan

Once again in her dorm room, Reagan quickly closes the door behind her and locks it. She does a hasty scan of the room and immediately notices that Uma is gone. She must've headed back over to the Med Lab without her.

Uma! What the hell? she swears with frustration to the empty room.

Reagan decides that she's not exactly dressed appropriately for what may be coming with road travel, fast walking and getting shoved around in hallways. She strips out of her version of dress-up clothing, dons a pair of black cargo pants and throws on her trusty Converse. When she's finished, she looks out their dorm room window and takes a quick glance down into the courtyard hoping to spy Uma. But what she sees is not what she would have ever believed she'd see there.

A car is parked on the lawn in that same courtyard where Reagan had sat on the grass and studied so many times, and it is on fire. A few motorcyclists are driving circles around it and yelling, hooting and cheering. The men on the bikes are clearly not students of the university, unless they are taking adult continuing education classes majoring in tattoos and body piercings. Reagan watches in horror as another car speeds onto the grass, turfing it as it goes. Four men jump out, grab a young woman and physically drag her into their car as she screams for help. Nobody helps her. Nobody even notices because there is absolute calamity taking place. There are at least three different all out brawls going on, two men are throwing bottles that are on fire through windows, and deeper into the student parking area another car is set ablaze. The campus is no longer safe. It's a war zone. And that war zone will soon infiltrate her dorm building. Unless, of course, it is successfully burned to the ground first.

As if pinched, Reagan flinches at a sudden memory. It is one of her and her grandfather as he was dropping Reagan off at college her first day. They had argued. She had called him old-fashioned. He had called her naïve. He had been absolutely right. And thank God he'd been insistent, as well.

Reagan had grown up in her grandfather's medical practice, nosing around, shadowing him, asking millions of questions, likely driving him crazy. But there was always something to learn, something new with medicine. Grandpa had graduated med school at the age of eighteen. Her own father had also become a doctor, but he'd gone through at the normal pace. Her father is a doctor in the Marines, so he was never around, always deployed somewhere in the world. When her mother died twelve years ago, Colonel McClane had basically dumped his three daughters on his parents to be raised. Mark, Reagan's older brother, was already deployed and serving in Thailand at the time when their mother passed, so he had been spared having to meet new friends in a new school and adapt to having no mother and their father leave them. Unfortunately, Mark had been killed a few years ago in the Middle East.

Having been bumped four years ahead of her age group in school didn't exactly help Reagan with fitting in with other kids. Being small for her age only added to this. But Reagan's one calm throughout the storm of her adolescence was her grandparents. They were steadfast and strict and believed in schedules and education. But they are also the most loving, respectful people in the world and as dear to her as her own parents. Reagan had spent all of her free time at her grandfather's practice after school and on weekends, hanging on his every word. She became so enthralled with medicine that she plowed through school, took her SAT's at fifteen, and earned a full scholarship to Ohio State University of Medicine just short of her sixteenth birthday. Leaving her grandparents, sisters and the farm which had become home to her had been the most difficult thing she'd ever done.

She reaches far into the back corner of her small closet, crammed full of used textbooks, stacks of notebooks full of research, and dirty laundry she had meant to wash but hadn't seemed to ever find the time to do so. There she feels around for a small shoebox. It is the same box her grandfather had literally shoved into her arms as he hugged her one last time at her dorm room door before he left for the farm.

Thank God for Grandpa, Reagan whispers to herself as she pulls the box clear. Inside she finds the small canister of mace, a few clear packages of bandages, a good, sharp pocket knife as her grandpa had put it and some antibiotic cream in a tube along with a few other medical items. She shoves the small, folded knife and the mace into the cargo pockets of her pants and takes the rest of the items and stuffs them unceremoniously into her pack.

Reagan stands again and grabs a dark navy hoodie and ball-cap out of her closet and puts them on. It might not be a good idea to stand out right now, not that she ever does. Fitting all of her thick, curly blonde hair into the ball-cap proves easier said than done.

She takes her room key out of her pocket and scans the area one last time, wistfully remembering all the good times she and Uma have had here. She locks her dorm room, which is probably a silly thing to do at this point, but it gives her a small semblance of control.

Someone slams into her from behind, nearly knocking the breath out of her. Reagan turns to see who had rammed her, but it is impossibly crowded in the hallways now, nearly impassable. She pushes and shoves and fights her way through the masses and comes to a stairwell near the back of their building that will lead to her and Uma's secret shortcut to the Med Center where Dr. Krue should be waiting for them.

As she blasts through the ground floor service-door to the narrow alleyway behind her dorm building, Reagan is assaulted by smoke, acrid and thick. For a moment she can't see much but feels her way to safety as she coughs, staying low to the ground. There is thicker smoke coming from somewhere off to the left at the source of the fire, and Reagan is thankful that she needs to go straight and then right, hopefully away from any potential danger.

She pulls her cell from her backpack and dials Uma, getting no signal. She tugs the bulky hoodie near her neck up over her mouth, trying to keep out some of the smoke. Still low and staying close to the brick wall of the building, Reagan comes to the end of the alley and scans the disorder in front of her. There are more cars on fire, mostly in the faculty lot. If vandalism had been a subject, then these students clearly would have excelled. She almost steps out into the open when a small group of men run past her, many are carrying guns and one even carries an ax that is painted red and has obviously been stolen from a glass emergency case probably on this very campus. They are adult men, some bearded, definitely not students nor are they teachers or campus security. They are shouting about their violent, devious plans of taking over the university, making it their own, making a fortress. This is so bizarre that Reagan almost laughs. Why would anyone want to live here? The food's awful! She wants to shout this to them, but she remembers they have guns and they seem serious about their idiotic plans. She's thankful for the cover provided by the smoke and the haze from the cold rain that had come earlier in the day. Without it, she may have been seen, may have been taken like that poor girl in the courtyard or the one who was screaming in the stairwell. This has to be the first time in her life that she feels lucky to be five foot two and a hundred and fifteen pounds. She'd always been so envious of tall, lithe, feminine women. She sends a quick prayer up for Uma that she will also be so lucky in making it over to Dr. Krue's car.

Seeing her opportunity, she slinks around the corner and makes a quick sprint to the Med Center, her lungs starting to burn. Even though she starts her day out with a three mile jog every morning at five a.m., Reagan quickly surmises her medical status of burning lungs to be equated to the heightened anxiety and stress levels her body is also trying to deal with. She makes it to the Med Center and quickly crosses the parking lot where she finds Dr. Krue's car easily enough. It's certainly not worth looting. He's a man of conservative values, and he drives a black Volkswagen station-wagon. Not exactly a Ferrari, it is less presumptuous but still nicely appointed.

However, she doesn't see Uma or Dr. Krue anywhere around it and when she peers inside, they aren't hiding there, either. Perhaps he left something in the lab or went there to get something else. Gunfire can be heard from somewhere on the campus, some of it sounds like automatic fire. Some of it doesn't sound too far off.

Reagan decides to take her chances and runs for the Med Lab building instead of standing by the doctor's car waiting for them. No sense in being an immobile target.

The building is basically abandoned. There is literally not another soul around. No sounds of students click, click, clicking away on their computer pads. No greeting from the building secretary. No people talking, discussing their opinions on how horrible lab homework can be or what term paper they are working on, what cool band is playing in the city tonight. Just no people, period. Reagan guesses that, like Dr. Krue's car, this isn't exactly a hot ticket to rob, unless thugs are looking for corpses, medical equipment and microscopes.

She quickly uses the public access stairs, seeing no reason to cower in the service stairwell because there doesn't seem to be any immediate threat of danger. This building is a ghost town. She reaches the second floor easily enough and rushes cautiously, looking behind her frequently, to Dr. Krue's lab, hoping to find her missing travel mates together. His classroom door with the opaque window panel is standing open, though she knows that Dr. Krue always locks his lab before he leaves. He'd locked it earlier today when they'd all left together. Thank goodness she's found him, and she hopes that Uma will be with him and also ready to leave. Reagan pushes the door farther open and enters the room.

Dr. Krue? she calls quietly. The door slams behind her, startling Reagan enough to make her jump and squeal.

Well, well, a shaggy-haired man in his thirties says, ending on a whistle. I knew I shoulda' went to college.

Reagan takes one quick, cursory glance at him in his disheveled, drug-addled state and backs up three steps to put some distance between them. His posture and overall behavior is menacing. His pale face is covered in tattoos on one half, and there is a piercing in his nose as well as three hoop earrings in both ears. His look is dangerous, predatory, and Reagan knows this situation could turn bad quickly.

You shouldn't be in here, sir, Reagan asserts while trying to appear more confident than she really is. The man with the dark eyes laughs obnoxiously at her.

Oh yeah? And who's gonna care, little lady? he asks on a sniff.

The... the faculty, she falters pathetically and he laughs again. The faculty? That was the best she could come up with? Reagan mentally kicks herself.

Where is Dr. Krue? Her flight or fight instincts are trying to take over, trying to make her find a way to run, escape, get the hell out. She'd like to run, to outrun this scum of a human. She knows without a doubt that she can outrun him, especially if he is a smoker. But she can't leave her beloved family friend and her roommate here to be ambushed by this man, as well. She glances left and then right while taking another step back, bumping into a lab table.

I don't think the faculty is around this place anymore, he informs her, though he wouldn't have needed to. Everyone seems to be fleeing or in the process of doing so. "Aint nobody gonna come up here, little lady. We've got all night." The lanky man advances a step, causing Reagan to retreat two.

The police have already been called to restore order at the university, she lies badly. They'll... they'll be here soon. I'm sure of it. It sounds made up. It is. And they both know it.

He shakes his head and grins. I don't think so.

Reagan backs up again, feeling sick to her stomach and fearful of him. Fear is beginning to consume her.

Hey, you don't need to leave. Stick around and party, he sneers, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He sniffs hard and grimaces. Reagan guesses it's either from drug use or the smell of corpse preservatives that are used in this particular lab. It took her awhile to get used to the lab's smells, too. She doesn't think this man has any olfactory issues other than post-nasal cocaine use drippage.

No thanks, Reagan states firmly. Her voice sounds weak, shaky even to her. She blurts in a rush, I'm meeting some people. They'll be here soon. She's trying to remember all of the things that she's heard in those mandatory safety seminars that the college puts on at the beginning of every school year. Get your attacker to let you go, plead with their sympathetic side, carry your rape whistle, tell them that your friends will be right along, blah, blah, blah. None of that shit is gonna work now, and she knows it by the gleam of victory already in his dark eyes.

He has a feral intensity in his brown eyes. There is something wild and dazed there and something else, something medicated, probably a drug-induced, super human strength. She panics. His eyes are unnaturally dilated, more black than brown showing. He fidgets near constantly. His brown hair is lank and pulled back into a ponytail. The jeans he wears are torn, dirty, and he has on a black leather vest with no shirt even though it is only early spring in Ohio. The dampness in the air is still present and cool and pneumonia-inducing in that sort of dress. Hell, it had just snowed a few inches two weeks ago and showed no signs of turning to instant summer. Ohio springs can and usually do last for three long months. But she knows this man doesn't feel a thing. Drugs tend to dull the sensory perceptions. There is a fresh cut above his left eye, and the blood drips onto his cheek. He doesn't even wipe it away. He smiles at her. His teeth are dirty and nicotine-stained. She wishes she had one of her grandpa's guns, on which she and every kid in the family were trained while growing up at the farm. She also childishly wishes that her grandfather was just here. A stifled scream comes from the other room.

Reagan whips her head to look as her attacker seizes the opportunity and is on her in a flash. He grabs her from behind and holds her around the waist and neck, cutting off her airflow.

Oh no, it looks like we already found your friend! pupil guy mocks and then laughs in Reagan's ear.

A different man emerges from Dr. Krue's office at the front of the classroom. Reagan can only assume that Uma is back there and maybe Dr. Krue has not yet come to this building of nightmares. She hopes he never does.

Hey! the second assailant yells. Who's this?

Another addition to the party, dude, the man holding her declares excitedly. Reagan can smell his breath and it's not good. She is afraid she'll get drunk just off of the fumes.

Hey, little lady, second guy says as he approaches for a closer look. Small for my taste, but I think I can make an exception.

He runs a dirty finger down the side of Reagan's face, and she flinches away from his touch. He only chuckles as he walks away, circling a desk, and picking up a discarded textbook as he goes.

I'm the one 'dat found her, her captor hisses angrily. Something unspoken passes between the two men, and Reagan is roughly shoved forward. She falls to her hands and knees as they both laugh unforgivingly at her.

You know I get first dibs. That's the rules, second guy states with cool deadliness. He is blonde and resembles a surfer, a real California hippy type. The sides of his head are shaved, but he sports a mohawk of long dreadlocks down the center. His hair is filthy, his blue eyes so icy cold that Reagan is instantly more afraid of this man. He is also bigger in size than pupil guy. His biceps are the size of Reagan's thighs, his shirt sleeves long since cut off. His shirt fits tightly across his chest, showing off his pectoral muscles. Whatever drugs he's on, they aren't the same as pupil guy. Reagan suspects old style steroids play a key role in his diet. His eyes are clear, and if it wasn't for the terrible acne-pitted skin and the insane coolness in his eyes, he might be considered handsome. The growth of a day or two is covering his chin and parts of his cheeks. Of the two men, he is clearly the more powerful and the more dangerous. He is frightening, and Reagan feels a sense of horror like she's never felt before. Her adrenaline is literally making her sweat profusely. She can feel it running down her sides.

Cold Eyes yanks Reagan up by the arm, freeing her from the humiliation of being on all fours. But now she can see him up close, and it's even worse. Unfortunately he is taking her into his custody. She whimpers lightly.

Please, please don't do this. I won't tell anyone you were here, she pleads as she tries to struggle from his grasp and pry at his fingers. She receives a slap across her cheek and mouth, hard. She staggers and would have fallen had he not still had ahold her arm. Nobody has ever struck her in her entire life, and she is instantly angered yet also afraid.

Shut up, bitch! Where's the drugs? he shouts, his spittle hitting Reagan in the face. He yanks her back to a more upright standing position because she is still reeling from the slap and unable to focus on her own.

What? Drugs? What do you mean...? Reagan asks, afraid to look him in the eye.

This only seems to anger her captor even more, and he slaps her again. This time she tastes blood.

The drugs, you stupid bitch. Where's all the drugs? It says Med Lab on the damn building. So where's the drugs? For added measure he gives Reagan a hard shake, rattling her teeth and blurring her vision.

We don't do that here. We don't have any drugs here. It's not a hospital. It's a... a learning facility, she tries to