58. Burn the watchers
It was twelve PM.
Beale Crest was as silent as a grave yard.
The students were buzzing silently.
Taping on their phones, their stomach churning, their hearts were pounding hastily.
The tension that gripped everyone was building up to a gloomy cloud that hung above them.
Why wasn’t anything happening?
The media was in a frenzy. Posts were flying around. People were eagerly waiting for the students of Beale Crest to give them some action!
But they were still silent.
And that was because they were waiting for the ringleader. And she stood just outside the main class building, her cold fingers fidgeting with the poster she held. Her phone chimed and she almost jumped with a sharp gasp. It was a text from Carl and he was growing very impatient.
‘All hell is about to be let loose and you are holding the key.’
She took a deep breath and put one cold feet in front of the other. She raised the poster above her head, swinging and swaying and her voice echoed through the cemeterial atmosphere.
“Take down the cameras!” she chanted and a wave of embarrassment hit her chest like a sledgehammer. She swallowed nervously, forcing her saliva down her throat. “We want our privac-y-” her voice quaked. “Take down…oh God…”
Anderson, who was standing with a quickly growing horde just outside the dormitory noticed how terrified she was. He inhaled deeply and ran to her, swaying one of the numerous posters the art club had enthusiastically made, but were now timid and scared to display.
“Take down the cameras!” he shouted after her, “we want our privacy!”
Sam stared at him in surprise, but she could feel her cold heart beating again via the warmth this awkwardly handsome guy’s presence created.
“Take down the cameras! We want out privacy!” They chorused, a bellowing rhythm swaying in sync with their echoes now. “Take down the cameras!”
Anderson frowned in confusion when he noticed that their voices had gotten much louder and the ground shook slightly. He turned around and his eyes widened when he saw the crowd rushing towards them, chanting along.
“Take down the cameras! We want our privacy!” they all roared and now the cameras went up. The pictures were taken, the videos recorded, they stormed the administrative block and took camp there, shouting and protesting. It was something that had never happened in the history of Beale Crest before, but no one cared.
Sam already damned all the consequences, fueled by the euphoria from the fervency of the crowd. She screamed at the top of her voice, letting her lungs suck in air each time she breathed. She felt like a vessel that a massive hole had been plunged into and each yell raked up from deep within her, exploding into a loud chant that made every fiber in her body sizzle. And the heat from her body spread like an airborne virus, encapsulating everyone in the fervor of the moment until it felt like a stampede was going on.
“Take down the cameras! We want out privacy!”
The media erupted into a turmoil. They fumed on behalf of the students, dragging the management of such a prestigious college like a beaten-up car being smeared through mud. Oh, they loved it! This was the thrill! This was the drama! This was the spark the media needed!
Anderson got lost in the euphoria of the moment, his energetic bursts of energy motivated those around him. Jason pulled up by his side and together they jumped and waved brandished their posters to whoever was watching from behind the brick walls of the administrative building.
A hand clamped down on Anderson’s shoulder and gradually pulled him away from the crowd. Anderson, agitated and confused at first, calmed down when he realized that it was Carl. They went around the admin block and Anderson glanced at the crowd. He beamed at Carl, sweating profusely prior to the scorching sun above.
“It’s fucking pandemonium out there! You did it, Carl!” He exclaimed in a feat of excitement.
Carl’s expressionless eyes showed no hint of the enthusiasm in Anderson. He handed a gallon of petrol to him and stuck a match box in his pocket. He weighed up an ice hockey stick in his palm and nodded to himself. “Come on, let’s go.”
Anderson followed him hesitantly through the back door.
…And so did Aaron Pierce, who had watched Carl pull Anderson out of the crowd with keen interest.
***
Carl’s eyes were like a cat’s in the dimly lit hallway, and they found their way into the control room pretty easily. His heart was thumping, much faster than usual and he already knew that Anderson was just a bundle of nerves covered up with flesh and bones. But when he glanced back at Anderson, he was surprisingly calm.
Carl squinted at him as Anderson silently closed the metal door behind them. “You don’t feel nervous?” he asked.
Anderson shook his head, “Not really. I’ve been in more tense situations than this.”
Carl scoffed, suddenly annoyed that he was the one who seemed to have the shaky nerves. His arm still ached, but he fought through the pain and quickly found the DVR storage device. He raised the hockey stick and groaned when an excruciating pain shot up his arm. He staggered back; his hurt arm fell limply at his side. Anderson rushed to him and snatched the hockey stick away from him.
“I’ll do it.” He said.
“You don’t have the strength to.” Carl groaned.
Anderson sized him up with a glare, “And you do?”
Carl scoffed in disbelief, stunned by the bite in Anderson’s tone. “Unbelievable.”
Anderson raised the stick and with surprising precision and strength, he struck the device and it clattered. Carl’s eyes flickered with shock when he realized that the DVR was cracked a bit at its side. Anderson delivered three more blows to the hard drive and the back of it where the ports were located and the DVR came apart.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, fuck,” Anderson remarked with a huge sigh of relief. “What now?”
Carl grunted in pain, but managed to pick up the gallon of petrol and open it up. He sprinkled it on the system notebooks routers, moderns, the monitors and basically every networking gear connected to computers and servers that could serve as backup storage. Anderson swallowed and stepped towards the door.
“Carl…” he mumbled, “won’t this be dangerous?”
Carl scoffed, “Oh relax, Anderson.” He replied, split a wire and then asked for the matchbox he had placed in Anderson’s pockets. “It is dangerous, but relax.”
“Oh dear…” Anderson’s mumbled, a sudden nervousness pulsing through his thumping heart.
He glanced out of the room, the hallway was still empty, but he suddenly felt very uneasy. Carl set the wire on fire and Anderson’s fascinated eyes watched the cackle of fire run through the wire.
“Go! Go! Go!” Carl exclaimed and he shoved Anderson out of the door merely a few seconds before a loud explosion rocked the room.
Anderson’s skin crawled, his memory evoking a numinous thrill of déjà vu when the resplendent flames rocked and licked the strangled air around them.
“Nico…” he mumbled to himself.
Carl grabbed his hand and dragged him to his feet. Carl didn’t want to ever look at a fire so ferocious again. They ran out of the building, panting heavily. They had barely caught their breaths before Anderson saw Aaron standing not too far away from them, holding up his phone with an evil smirk on his face.
“Ooh, I wonder what the management will have to say when they see this video of you two blowing up the control room.” He remarked and snickered, his shrill laughter creeping into Anderson’s ears like shards of glass, echoing and menacing.
Anderson’s felt his insides curl.