Unwind (Unwind Dystology 1)

"If you turn us in, we'll die."

At the thought, the girl holds the baby closer to her. Its cries lessen, but don't go away entirely. Clearly these are the ones the police are looking for, for reasons she can only guess at.

"Please . . . ," says the boy.

Please what? the teacher thinks. Please break the law? Please put myself and the school at risk? But, no, that's not it at all. What he's really saying is: Please be a human being. With a life so full of rules and regiments, it's so easy to forget that's what they are. She knows—she sees—how often compassion takes a back seat to expediency.

Then a voice from behind her: "Hannah?"

She turns to see another teacher looking in from the door. He's a bit disheveled, having fought the raging rapids of kids still funneling out of the school. He obviously hears the baby's cries—how could he not?

"Is everything all right?" he asks.

"Yeah," says Hannah, with more calm in her voice than she actually feels. "I'm taking care of it."

The other teacher nods and leaves, probably glad not to share the burden of whatever this crying baby situation is.

Hannah now knows what the situation is, however—or at least she suspects. Kids only have this kind of desperation in their eyes when they're going to be unwound.

She holds out her hand to the frightened kids. "Come with me." The kids are hesitant, so she says, "If they're looking for you, they'll find you once the building is empty. You can't expect to hide here. If you want to get out, you have to leave with everyone else. C'mon, I'll help you."

Finally, they rise from behind the lab table, and she breathes a sigh of relief. She can tell they still don't trust her— but then, why should they? Unwinds exist in the constant shadow of betrayal. Well, they don't need to trust her now, they just need to go with her. In this case, necessity is the mother of compliance, and that's just fine.

"Don't tell me your names," she says to them. "Don't tell me anything, so if they question me afterward, I won't be lying when I say I don't know."

There are still crowds of kids pushing past in the hall, heading toward the nearest exit. She steps out of the room, making sure the two kids and their baby are right behind her. She will help them. Whoever they are, she will do her best to get them to safety. What kind of example would she be setting if she didn't?

17 Risa

Police down the hall! Police at the exits! Risa knows this is Lev's doing. He didn't just run away, he turned them in. This teacher says she's helping them, but what if she's not? What if she's just leading them to the police?

Don't think about that now! Keep your eyes on the baby.

Policemen know panic when they see it. But if her eyes are turned to the baby, her panic might be read as concern for the baby's tears.

"If I ever see Lev again," says Connor, "I'll tear him to pieces."

"Shh," says the teacher, leading them along with the crowd to the exit.

Risa can't blame Connor for his anger. She blames herself for not seeing through Lev's sham. How could she have been so naive to think he was truly on their side?

"We should have let the little creep be unwound," grumbles Connor.

"Shut up," says Risa. "Let's just get out of this."

As they near the door, another policeman comes into view standing just outside.

"Give me the baby," the teacher orders, and Risa does as she's told. She doesn't yet realize why the woman asked for the baby, but it doesn't matter. It's wonderful to have someone leading the way who seems to know what they're doing. Perhaps this woman isn't the enemy after all. Perhaps she truly will get them through this.

"Let me go ahead," the teacher says. "The two of you separate, and just walk out with the rest of the kids."

Without the baby to look at, Risa knows she can't hide the panic in her eyes, but suddenly she realizes that it might not matter—and now she understands why the woman took the baby. Yes, Lev turned them in. But if they're lucky, these local police may only have a description of them to go by: a scruffy-haired boy and a dark-haired girl with a baby. Take away the baby, and that could be half the kids in this school.

The teacher—Hannah— passes the policeman a few yards ahead of them, and he gives her only a momentary glance. But then he looks toward Risa, and his eyes lock on her. Risa knows she's just given herself away. Should she turn and race back into the school? Where's Connor now? Is he behind her, in front of her? She has no idea. She's completely alone.

And then salvation arrives in a most unlikely form.

"Hi, Didi!"