TFP503: Omega Trap - Layne Parrish Behind The Scenes

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Want the inside scoop on each Layne Parrish novel, including info on how it was created and the inspiration for each story?

Want to read the first chapter? You’re in luck!

Cameron Parrish hurtled through space, clinging to the metal chain links of the swing. Her three-year-old body blurred. As Layne waited for her to finish the climb and return in his direction, his ears filled with her frantic giggling. Pure joy streamed from her vocal cords.

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d witnessed such flawless, unadulterated exultation. Maybe that was the point of having children; experiencing sensations through the eyes of someone not yet jaded or burned by the world.

Layne stood behind her—the primary pusher—and Cameron’s mother, Inessa, was in the front. She would hold up her hands so Cameron could bump her feet against them. Each time it happened, Inessa beamed. Her smile, a mile wide, lit her face. Layne rarely pined for his ex-wife, but it wasn’t hard for him to remember why he’d been attracted to her in the first place.

Also, too easy to remember why he’d divorced her.

“Okay!” Cameron shouted. “I’m done.”

When she returned his way, Layne grabbed either side of the swing and slowed her until the thing came to rest in the middle. He lifted her out of the contraption and set her on the playground, a soft area consisting of a sea of recycled tire bits. He held her there a moment to make sure she wasn’t dizzy.

“What next, little one?” he asked as he pushed up his shirt sleeves, revealing the tattoos blanketing both of his arms from shoulder to wrist.

Her head swiveled around to evaluate the many wonders of this little park in Broomfield, Colorado. Close to where Cameron lived with her mother, some of the time. On this one compact block were the small city’s grade school and high school.

As Cameron deliberated, Layne could even hear the classroom bell ringing at the high school at the edge of the park.

“Slide,” Cam said. “I wanna go slide. A whole buncha times.”

“Slide it is,” Layne said. As he stood back up, he met Inessa’s eyes, and both of their smiles faded. These co-parenting play dates had been his idea, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant to see his ex. Sometimes, he was even still mad at her.

Layne had lots of practice in the art of being civil, and he considered himself to be quite skilled at it.

“We should talk about something,” she said in her abrasive Russian accent. “It’s important.”

“Can it wait?” Layne said. “I have a thing to—”

But before Layne could finish the sentence, a booming noise raced across the park. A crack, loud enough to interrupt his thoughts. The sound peaked and then dissipated with a rolling echo, like thunder.

Except it hadn’t been thunder.

When it happened the second time, Layne knew for sure. That had been a Kalashnikov AK-12 in a semi-automatic mode.

A few more shots ripped across the courtyard. By instinct, Layne pulled Cameron close to him. He knelt, folding his arms around her. As Inessa gasped and covered her head with her hands, Layne’s eyes darted around, searching for the source of the blasts.

Within a couple seconds, he’d found their origin.

The shots were coming from inside the high school, just beyond the park. Layne studied the grounds adjacent to the school to be sure there were no shooters outside before he released his grip on his daughter.

He then spun Cameron around and took a breath before speaking. He didn’t want her to notice the spike in his heart rate. “I need you to go with Mommy.”

Cameron nodded dumbly as he pushed his daughter back, toward her mother. Inessa stood there, frozen in a state of near panic. Layne took Cameron’s hand and inserted it into Inessa’s hand, pressing it there.

He stood up and snapped his fingers in front of Inessa’s face. This broke his ex out of her trance. She stared at him as more gunshots echoed across the park, an echo of shouts and screams coming from the school. Whatever was happening in there, it had escalated. The gunfire came at a more rapid clip now.

“What’s going on?” Inessa said, licking her lips, chest heaving.

Layne removed his car keys and placed them in Inessa’s hand. “Take Cameron. Put her in the car and drive back to your house. Do not stop, no matter what you see. Understand?”

Inessa gulped air, her eyes darting around the park.

“I need you to say it. Do you understand?”

She nodded, head jerking up and down. “I will take her back to my house. I can do this.”

He pointed them both toward the car, dormant on the opposite side of the park from the school. With a little push, he set them in motion and then drew the Colt Peacemaker from his concealed hip holster. He held it behind his back so Cam wouldn’t see.

As Inessa hustled their daughter toward safety, the little girl looked back at him. He gave her a wave and forced a smile.

Once they were out of sight, Layne turned and sprinted toward the school as echoes of new gunshots sped across the park. He kept his breaths even as he heaved long strides across the grass. In the nose, out the mouth, blinking so his eyes wouldn’t dry out. At times like this, elements of his training engaged in quick succession like pistons firing in an engine.

All the tools he thought he’d locked away, never to be needed again.

Near the school’s front walkway, he hunkered down next to a trash can and kept his eyes on the street. He waited and watched Inessa buckling Cameron into the car seat and then scrambling around the other side of the car to start it up.

Safe. They were safe and free.

As soon as Inessa had left her parking spot and started to drive away, Layne first removed a small tube from his pocket and popped a nicotine lozenge into his mouth. Instant relief flooded his bloodstream.

Then, he burst from his hiding place and rushed inside the school. He flung back the door, unsure what he would find, but telling himself to be ready for anything.

He first saw a security guard face down on the floor, arms splayed wide. A puddle of blood next to his head. Layne stood in a wide hallway, lockers lining each side. Windowed classrooms at intervals. Paper banners promoting an upcoming baseball game, torn and littering the hallway like chunky confetti.

The resemblance to the incident sixteen years ago throbbed inside his head. The shouts, the screams, the blood. But he couldn’t allow himself to become distracted now.

He closed his eyes and focused on slowing his thumping heart so he could listen. With no knowledge of the school’s layout, he had to be careful before committing to a path down any of these maze-like passageways.

Layne then heard shooting, somewhere to the northwest of his current position. Not in this hall. He pointed the Peacemaker low and crept along the tiled floor. The locker area opened up to a series of classroom doors.

At the first door, he peered through the window and saw an empty classroom. Same with the next. Of course, there could be kids or teachers hiding in the closets beyond his field of view, but he decided to let them be. If they were hidden well enough for now, maybe the shooter would leave them alone.

Shooters. Could be more than one. Layne knew so little right now.

At the third door, he saw a foot sticking out from behind the teacher’s desk. He opened the door, slowly, with his pistol pointed at an angle toward the ground. “If you’re in here, please come out. I’m not going to hurt you.”

A head poked out from the other side of the desk, and a wash of relief passed over the male teenager’s face when he saw Layne. Handsome, white, well-dressed, with hair carved like a politician.

“Who are you?”

“I’m a friend,” Layne said, hovering in the doorway.

“Is it over?”

Layne shook his head. Something in the kid’s face said he had seen action today. “How many of them are there?”

“One,” the kid said, stuttering through the word. “Just one, I think. He was asking for me. He said he was looking for me. Why is he looking for me?”

“I don’t know, man. It doesn’t matter right now. We have to get you out of here.” Layne waved him out, and the boy emerged with two other girls.

“But he’s out there,” a girl said.

“Yes,” Layne said. “Inside. If we get you out the front door, then you’ll be fine. Let’s move quick.”

The teen boy babbled, making no sense. They looked so young, so terrified. Just kids who’d found themselves trapped in a nightmare.

“Come with me,” Layne said. “It’s a straight line to the outside. I know this is terrifying, but you need to be a little brave. You can do this. Be brave, just for a minute, then it’s over.”

At first, they wouldn’t move, so Layne entered the room and holstered his gun. He held out a hand and beckoned them to come to him. “Please.”

The three kids shuffled forward, clutching each other. The kid who’d said the shooter had been looking for him led the way, biting back tears.

Layne pointed them out the door and then escorted them into the hall. He had to physically push the three of them down the hallway. Their legs seemed to stop working every few steps.

At the door, he pointed at the street on the other side of the park. Sirens echoed in the distance. “Go there. Wait in the street. The cops will be here any second. You’re safe now, as long as you stay far away from the building.”

Layne shoved them out the door and then slammed it shut behind them. He drew his Peacemaker and met the eyes of the teen boy one more time. After a quick nod, Layne rushed down the hall, toward the continuing sound of gunfire.

He threw back a door to find another perpendicular hallway, and his eyes landed on a young teacher with bullet holes across her stomach. Her mouth was open, blood spilling out. Leaning back against a trophy case. Dead. Eyes wide and fixed on a water fountain behind Layne.

He had no time to mourn for her. This hallway led to the gymnasium, and he could see it through a window crisscrossed with safety glass. Inside the large and open space, dozens of kids sat in the bleachers on either side of the basketball court. In the center of the court were a podium and a microphone. The students had been in the middle of a pep rally when this had begun.

Standing behind the podium, a brown-haired white kid held that AK-12, waving it around, menacing the kids in the stands. His back to Layne. An adult was at his feet, sprawled on the ground. A streak of blood cascading out from his body like a river.

Layne had seen no students killed so far, oddly enough.

“Where is he?” the kid shouted at the students sitting in the bleachers. There was something familiar about his voice.

The young man leveled his rifle toward a cluster of kids in the first row, and Layne burst through the door.

The kid turned. His eyes met Layne’s. For an endless fraction of a second, Layne’s understanding of the situation formed, piece by piece. His mouth dropped open.

He recognized this school shooter.

“Noah?”

Noah Smith’s eyes turned into giant white saucers as he lowered the assault rifle and cocked his head. “Mr. Parrish?”