Swipe Right for Murder by Derek Milman

Author:Derek Milman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2019-08-05T16:00:00+00:00

I stare at the photo for so long that I don’t pay enough attention to the voice in my head saying: Moron, Shiloh is the one who sent you here. No one else spoke to Mr. Preston on the phone. Only he did. In the bathroom of your hotel room. So you couldn’t hear a word.

But I can’t stop staring at the photo. So at first I ignore the buzzing sounds above me. And the sudden rise of laughter, the clicks of smartphone cameras. I don’t actually look up from my iPad until a mom grabs her kid right in front of me and says, excitedly: “Look, honey, look at the drones!”

And then that’s all I hear—just that one word.

Drones.

I drop my iPad and look up. Through the open glass windows, someone has expertly piloted what people around me are excitedly calling “two top-of-the-line DJI drones” right into the middle of the cafeteria. Everyone is laughing, pointing with forks.

“Best aerial shots you can get!” a guy says, except I’m not focused on the cameras on the two sleek silver drones. I’m worried about the small canisters they’re carrying.

“I’m expecting a package!” a woman says, and everyone around her laughs. She should take her routine on the road.

These clearly aren’t hacked military drones, but they’re still drones. And after the attack in Kansas, it’s the fixation on an idea—a method of attack—that scares me enough to take action.

I stand up. “Everyone get out,” I say. But I say it hesitantly, under my breath, and no one hears me. So I do the opposite of what I’ve been trying to do for the last fifteen hours: I call attention to myself. I push my tray away (into some poor woman’s lap, actually), stand up on the table, and start waving my arms around like mad.

“EVERYONE GET OUT!” I scream. “IT’S AN ATTACK! GET OUT NOW!”

That’s pretty much all it takes. Everyone looks at me, looks at the drones, jumps up, and scatters. Trays drop. Silverware clatters. People begin to scream and rush out. But it’s too late. There’s a hissing noise, and the room fills with smoke.

It’s a thick white smoke that instantly makes my eyes burn like mad.

Tear gas.

The screaming gets louder. There’s a stampede. I drop to the floor, under the table, to avoid being trampled. Backpacks and other gear are abandoned. People’s shit gets strewn everywhere. I see a pair of swimming goggles peeking out of an open, upturned backpack. I rip off my sunglasses and snap on the goggles. I grab a red bandanna out of another backpack and wrap it around my mouth, although that doesn’t help much. I can hardly breathe at all.

I hear glass breaking. I look up. People are smashing out the windows. The drones calmly buzz around the cavernous, high-ceilinged room, still smoking. The tear gas is unreal. It makes every single thing on my face hurt. I hear shouts, then someone is dragging me out from under the table.

It’s a state trooper.

“C’mon,

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