By the time Victor got back to his dorm room, he was ready to collapse. He barely had his shoes off before he was throwing himself onto his bed.

  What was supposed to be an exciting first day of Victor’s last semester of college took a “very American turn,” as his roommate Carl put it. He wanted to forget everything that happened, but his mind wouldn’t stop replaying the events of the day.

  Victor was headed to his adviser's office to meet about his independent student project. As he was leaving the student union, cold brew in hand, Victor heard a shout followed by several screams.

  “EVERYONE ON THE FLOOR. ON THE FLOOR OR I WILL SHOOT.”

  Victor turned. He dropped down to his knees into the newly forming puddle of coffee. The sound of Victor dropping his cold brew was lost in the pleas of his classmates.

  Not six feet in front of Victor was the source of their fear. A short man, about Victor’s age, wrapped in a winter coat, was pointing a pistol directly at Victor.

  Before he could stop himself, the word “Why?” slipped from Victor’s lips.

  Victor couldn’t remember exactly what the man said next, something about the university foundation’s investments, but he remembered thinking these weren’t the ravings of a healthy man. Victor had an idea; he knew how this was going to end if someone didn’t try to change the outcome, or at least delay the man from becoming the shooter.

  “Please. We aren’t you’re enemy.”

  The man stopped his rant and glared at him. Victor remembered something about humanizing yourself to an attacker.

  “I’m Victor. I’m studying medicine. I want to help people. What is your name?” This was a lie. Victor was studying animal science and wanted to work for an animal shelter and sanctuary. Victor had know qualms about lying when his life was being threatened, however, and doctor or nurse sounded better than animal advocate.

  The man hesitated, but eventually said, “Adam.”

  “Hi, Adam. Most of these students are here to learn and make the world a better place.”

  This, of course, wasn’t really the case either. It was a big school, and Victor didn’t even know if he knew any of the students around him. He couldn’t take his eyes off Adam. Nothing was said for a few long seconds. Adam seemed to be conflicted by Victor’s argument.

  “Would you mind if I stood up? I’m getting coffee all over myself.” He didn’t give Adam the chance to deny his request.

  “Stay there,” Adam said, less confident than his initial commands.

  “I will. Thank you for letting me stand up.” Now on his feet, Victor could hide his fear any longer; his legs were firmly planted in the puddle of coffee, but shook noticeably.

  Adam seemed to notice this, and an evil smile crept across his face. Thankfully, Victor would never know what Adam planned to do next. The gunman’s attention was drawn to a loud bang from the entrance behind him, away from Victor. As he turned, Victor heard a crack from behind him. Adam took a lurching step forward and then collapsed, blood pooling out from his body.

  Victor exhaled, fell down to a knee, and lost consciousness. Seconds later, a familiar voice was rousing him back to life.

  “Victor, what the hell, man? Who knew you had it in you to stare down the barrel of a gun?”

  He opened his eyes, body still racked with adrenaline, rolled over, and stared up at his roommate, Carl.

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  The pair found an empty table closer to the exit Victor had been headed toward before the gunman interrupted his day, and waited for campus police to tell them what they were supposed to do now. The part of the union they were sitting in was covered in spilled and abandoned breakfasts, coffees, bags, and books. Not to mention the body of the gunman was still invading the space. Officers began telling people to move outside.

  Carl was about to suggest they leave, too, when an officer approached them.

  “We will take you to the ER first so we can get you checked out, then get your statement,” Officer Nichols said as she knelt to eye level with Victor.

  “I’m fine, I just want to get out of these wet clothes.”

  “Dude, you smacked your head against the ground when you passed out. You probably have a concussion.”

  Victor looked at Carl, confused. He reached up and touched his forehead, recoiling at the pain. He hadn’t calmed down enough to feel the pain.

  “Easy hero,” she hit a white pouch against her thigh and shook up the contents. “Ice pack,” was all she said, extending the pouch to Victor. As he took it, he said, “I’m no hero, I just delayed him a few seconds.”

  If he hadn’t been concussed and traumatized, Victor would have noticed the conflicted look on Officer Nichols' face before she said, “Those seconds saved a lot of lives, hundreds maybe.”

  Victor was confused, but before he could ask how he saved hundreds of lives, a man in a thickly padded uniform walked past them. The back of the olive green suit read “Bomb Squad.”

  Somehow, Victor grew even paler. “He- he had a bomb?!”

  —

  The rest of the day had moved slowly. The officer took his statement on the way to the hospital, the doctors kept him awhile for observation, by then Carl had gone back to campus to get his car to drive Victor back to their dorm. Where he lay now, staring at the ceiling.

  Victor groaned and climbed out of bed. His body was exhausted, but his mind wouldn’t turn off. He paced back and forth in the small room. His phone had died when he was still at the hospital. He dug it out of his pocket and plugged it in.

  He’d learned from several friend and family group chats that he was a part of that the bomb had been chemical and large enough to do significant damage. Victor was still reeling from this fact. He’d not only survived, he’d saved everyone else.

  Strafford Hall was alive with activity. The thin walls did a poor job of masking the sounds of college students coping how they cope best. The dull thump of music lined up with Victor’s pulse. He pulled his shoes back on, he’d not bothered untying them to begin with, passed through the common space he shared with Carl, and slipped into the hallway.

  Three doors down, he found what he was looking for. Given the presence of the floor’s RA, it was clear the school was turning a blind eye to the student body’s response to the day’s trauma.

  Victor was greeted by some familiar faces, neighbors he got to know during the fall semester, and a few people he knew from around campus. Despite the upbeat music, the atmosphere in the room was anything but. The people who weren’t swaying on their feet were huddled in corners with their partners and friends. It was safe to assume that anyone who seemed okay hadn’t been near the student union that morning.

  Drinking with a concussion is never the right decision, but Victor didn’t care; he needed to sleep. He took advantage of everyone’s general lack of awareness to make his way to the makeshift bar, set up on a desk in the corner.

  Victor tossed down some cash, found a cheap bottle of vodka, and slipped back out into the hall.

  —

  “Turn that off,” Victor groaned, refusing to open his eyes and confront whoever turned on his dorm room light. When no one responded, and the light didn’t abate, Victor threw his forearm off of his face, knocking the empty bottle of vodka onto the floor. He’d passed out shortly after finishing the previously half-full bottle. Victor slowly squinted toward the door.

  No one was there, and the room was so lit up that Victor could see the light switch still in the off position. It took him longer than he was proud of to crawl out of his stupor and look up to the source of the light.

  “What in the hell…” Victor said as he stared up at the glowing shape of an egg. As soon as he looked at it, the light started to dim. The egg was off white and speckled with brown. From his study of ornithology, Victor would have said that it was some type of hawk egg. Except, this egg was probably fifty times larger than a hawk egg.

  Slowly, the egg began to descend until it came to a stop next to Victor. He sat up, reached out, and grabbed the egg with both hands. When his palms touched the floating egg, the light extinguished completely, the egg dropped into his hands, and a shock shot through Victor’s hands across his entire body.

  For the third time in less than 24 hours, Victor lost consciousness.