Read Online 23 Minutes by Vivian Vande Velde - Free Book Online
Authors: Vivian Vande Velde
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upright than in a crouch, he has once again gotten himself positioned between Zoe and the gunman.
Who shoots a second time.
Daniel falls back against her, knocking her down off her knees and onto her bottom.
Heâs gasping, having a hard time catching his breath, and Zoe puts a steadying arm around him, despite the nearly overpowering smell of blood, despite the massive wet stickiness she feels on his chest. Please let him keep breathing , she thinks to God, because surelya chest wound is better than a head wound. People can survive being shot in the chest.
Sometimes.
Her father did.
But meanwhile sheâs distracted because sheâs also thinking that, yeah, Daniel is an adult guy, but heâs not all that big. And yet, Zoe feels as though sheâs been slammed into by ⦠well, the image that comes to her mind is a freight train, not that sheâs ever been run into by a freight train, but sheâs certain it must feel like this.
So that is what Zoe is thinking as Daniel falls backward onto her, except the pain is centered on her upper left chest near her shoulder. Heart attack? she wonders, remembering having heard somewhere that severe pain in the left shoulder or upper arm is a warning sign.
Not for fifteen-year-old girls, though.
She looks down at herself and sees that sheâs once more covered with Danielâs blood.
Her head feels as though someone has stuffed it with a collection of pins, all trying to work their way out through her skull. And for some reason the pins seem to be humming as they work their way through brain and bone. Very Zen. Even so, sheâs aware of her surroundings, and that the robber is continuing his spree by shooting the attractive twenty-something, as well as Ms. No-I-have-no-William-Henry-Harrison-coins-bank-teller.
But for some reason the whole bank is tipping. Except, noâitâs Zoe whoâs tipping. And she looks down again at her bloody shirtâGuns Nâ Roses, indeedâbefore she realizes that some of the blood is her own.
A lot of it is her own.
The bullet has gone through Daniel and into her.
And sheâs about to pass out.
She can no longer hear Danielâs raspy breathing. He has slumped forward. He might be unconscious, or he might be dead, or maybe itâs just that the humming in her own head has gotten too loud. With no time to even check whether Daniel is alive, she shoves him off her. Kicks herself away, using his body as leverage. What kind of monster is she for even being able to do this? She hates herself, because it seems that a better person should be paralyzed by empathy for the young man she had hoped to save. But she canât playback her way out of here while touching anyone else. She knows this from experimenting when she was thirteen.
She wraps her arms around herself.
Sees the gunmanâs attention has been attracted by her movement.
He aims the gun at her.
She says, âPlayback,â but canât hear her own voice over the roar of the gun.
CHAPTER 7
T IME RESETS TO 1:16.
Zoe has just gone from sitting on the floor in the bank to standingâin front of the hat and purse boutique, of course.
Sheâs also just been shot. Twice, she suspects.
Still, the bullets, the wounds, have not traveled back in time with her. Because thatâs just not the way things work: Nothing ever travels back with her, only her memoriesâher damn memories.
It wasnât that long ago that she was thinking sheâd just come as close as she ever had to dying, and now here she is again, having come even closer.
This is not a personal best record she ever wants to visit again.
Whatever else happens, thereâs one thing in the world she absolutely knows will not : She will not go back into that bank.
Off-balance, she teeters and falls to her knees, not sure if sheâs fallen from the sudden shift from sitting to standing as time played back, or by the realization of how very, very, very
Who shoots a second time.
Daniel falls back against her, knocking her down off her knees and onto her bottom.
Heâs gasping, having a hard time catching his breath, and Zoe puts a steadying arm around him, despite the nearly overpowering smell of blood, despite the massive wet stickiness she feels on his chest. Please let him keep breathing , she thinks to God, because surelya chest wound is better than a head wound. People can survive being shot in the chest.
Sometimes.
Her father did.
But meanwhile sheâs distracted because sheâs also thinking that, yeah, Daniel is an adult guy, but heâs not all that big. And yet, Zoe feels as though sheâs been slammed into by ⦠well, the image that comes to her mind is a freight train, not that sheâs ever been run into by a freight train, but sheâs certain it must feel like this.
So that is what Zoe is thinking as Daniel falls backward onto her, except the pain is centered on her upper left chest near her shoulder. Heart attack? she wonders, remembering having heard somewhere that severe pain in the left shoulder or upper arm is a warning sign.
Not for fifteen-year-old girls, though.
She looks down at herself and sees that sheâs once more covered with Danielâs blood.
Her head feels as though someone has stuffed it with a collection of pins, all trying to work their way out through her skull. And for some reason the pins seem to be humming as they work their way through brain and bone. Very Zen. Even so, sheâs aware of her surroundings, and that the robber is continuing his spree by shooting the attractive twenty-something, as well as Ms. No-I-have-no-William-Henry-Harrison-coins-bank-teller.
But for some reason the whole bank is tipping. Except, noâitâs Zoe whoâs tipping. And she looks down again at her bloody shirtâGuns Nâ Roses, indeedâbefore she realizes that some of the blood is her own.
A lot of it is her own.
The bullet has gone through Daniel and into her.
And sheâs about to pass out.
She can no longer hear Danielâs raspy breathing. He has slumped forward. He might be unconscious, or he might be dead, or maybe itâs just that the humming in her own head has gotten too loud. With no time to even check whether Daniel is alive, she shoves him off her. Kicks herself away, using his body as leverage. What kind of monster is she for even being able to do this? She hates herself, because it seems that a better person should be paralyzed by empathy for the young man she had hoped to save. But she canât playback her way out of here while touching anyone else. She knows this from experimenting when she was thirteen.
She wraps her arms around herself.
Sees the gunmanâs attention has been attracted by her movement.
He aims the gun at her.
She says, âPlayback,â but canât hear her own voice over the roar of the gun.
CHAPTER 7
T IME RESETS TO 1:16.
Zoe has just gone from sitting on the floor in the bank to standingâin front of the hat and purse boutique, of course.
Sheâs also just been shot. Twice, she suspects.
Still, the bullets, the wounds, have not traveled back in time with her. Because thatâs just not the way things work: Nothing ever travels back with her, only her memoriesâher damn memories.
It wasnât that long ago that she was thinking sheâd just come as close as she ever had to dying, and now here she is again, having come even closer.
This is not a personal best record she ever wants to visit again.
Whatever else happens, thereâs one thing in the world she absolutely knows will not : She will not go back into that bank.
Off-balance, she teeters and falls to her knees, not sure if sheâs fallen from the sudden shift from sitting to standing as time played back, or by the realization of how very, very, very
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