Chapter 20
When Christian stepped into the hallway, he wrinkled his nose and took a step back. In the wall next to his head were three nails stuck in a straight line, buried nearly to the heads in the ceramic mosaic. He reached out and ran his finger over one of them, wiping the steaming crimson liquid that dripped off the flat head. He brought the finger up to his face, holding it a couple inches away from his wide eyes.
He turned his head slowly and looked down the hall, his eyes falling on the first body of Shelly Marcone. She lay only a few feet away, her youthful features twisted and mangled. Thick blood seeped from her few uncauterized wounds. The blasted stump of her right arm and the deep rents in her neck had little curls of smoke rising from them. A broken and burned body was stuck to the remaining gymnasium door. Through the frame where the other had hung, scared kids were watching in the distance. Christian lifted his gun, but didn’t fire.
The eerie silence lasted only a few moments before the awful reality of the situation began to seep in. A small crowd stood in mystified shock farther down the hall, shielded from the blast by their own classmates. A few were moving towards the doors, knowing that they must escape, knowing that they could be among the shredded husks of humans in a matter of minutes.
The first scream came from Jewel Peterson, lying with her back against the wall. “This isn’t real!” she wailed, her eyes locked on the bleeding stumps of her sheered-off legs. Her left hand–the one that nails weren’t pinning to the floor–was reaching out for her separated left leg a few feet away.
With the ice broken, others began to scream. The few surviving injured cried out at first, followed by those at the end of the hall, snapped out of their trance by the horrific cries of the mutilated bodies in front of them. Some were newcomers, teachers and students coming to investigate the origin of the explosion. Their panicked yelling rose in a hellish cacophony as they stampeded, pulling and pushing to get to the front door, knowing that their only escape was through there.
Christian shook his head and stepped back through the cafeteria doors. With his two bloody fingers, he flipped the second and third switches. The crowd pushing through the front doors were engulfed in a cloud of fire, shattered glass and nails.
He stood transfixed, listening to the firestorm. As the sound of the explosion faded, it was replaced with the screams of the dying and the few that escaped. He cocked his gun and ran down the hall, blasting at the fleeing students. He screamed like a maniac, taking aim on Storm Johnson, and firing twice. Storm’s polo shirt puffed out as two meaty craters erupted in his shoulder and the small of his back. He barked in pain, stumbled and fell, blood from his exit wounds splattering on the Jake Anderson in front of him.
Jake turned, and looked down, his eyes wide with terror. He opened his mouth to scream, but it came out in a loud grunt as Christian’s third shot caught him in the neck. He dropped to his knees, clawing at his severed jugular and carotid veins, his shattered throat unable to produce the words he tried to spit out. He slumped forward on Storm, spilling their lifeblood into a mixing pool.
Christian didn’t stop to inspect his victims. He ran past them, wailing, “Die! Die you fuckers! Die!” His frantic yells went unheard, drown out by the screams of the student body scrambling to get out of his way. As they turned the corner, Christian fired blindly at a body diving towards him. A bullet ripped through the boy’s flank and exited through his collar, sending him stumbling backwards through the doors of the stairwell behind him.
A few managed to escape out the door opposite the stairwell, the door Christian had entered through. He stopped by the door and fired three shots through the glass, shattering it. A flying shard sliced across his cheek, creating a small, red trail standing out against his white makeup. The kids outside continued to run, turning around the side of the building.
When Christian turned back down the hall, most of the kids had taken refuge in the stairway to his right, or in the classrooms down the hall. A handful of people remained, scrambling to find someplace to hide. Christian’s eyes widened as Warren Boyd turned to frantically look over his shoulder. Christian aimed and squeezed out two shots, but Warren dodged into Mrs. Hanrahan’s classroom. After a moment of standing completely motionless, arm hanging tensely in the air, he started running towards the class. Mrs. Hanrahan was opening the door as Christian got there. Her eyes were wide and frightened, and all she could do was shake her head and mouth his name.
Incensed, Christian shot her in the face and pushed her body out of the way before it could even fall. He stepped into the room, where desks were being overturned and the entire class of sophomores were trying to fit into the back corner of the room. Their screams were drowning out the fire alarms ringing over the intercom.
Christian’s eyes settled on Warren Boyd, trying to conceal himself beneath the teacher’s desk. His crusty face was streaked with tears as he peered out from his hiding place. Christian’s lips twisted into a wicked smile as he pushed the door closed with the heel of his boot. He mouthed the word, “You,” and walked to the desk, keeping his gun trained on Warren. “Get out of there!” he screamed, waving Warren out with the muzzle of the gun.
The class was starting to quiet down, tense, unsure. Kids were clutching together tightly, transfixed by Christian.
Warren crawled out from under the desk and started to stand. He stayed on his hands and knees as Christian pushed the muzzle against his sweaty forehead. “Please don’t,” he begged. “Don’t kill me.”
“Why?” Christian asked slowly in a calm voice. “Why not? If I could count every spit wad, every rock, every time you punched me in the arm, or pushed me over. If I could count every terrible thing you have ever done to me, how high would I have to count? Do you remember when Clark still lived up the road from you, and how you would sit in the woods and shoot at us with your BB gun?” He paused, staring down at Warren, his lips tight over his teeth. He cried out and kicked Warren in the stomach, knocking him to the floor. “How dare you ask to be spared, you trailer-trash piece of shit? How dare you ask to not be killed when so many other people are going to die? How many things have you done to me? How little does that compare to all the things you have done to so many others? All the kids you beat up and stole money from, all the racist things you’ve ever said, all the fireworks you’ve thrown at people, all the tires you’ve cut, all of that, it all adds up. Now, while you’re bleeding to death, I want you to remember that you died because of all the people you hurt.” Christian pushed Warren’s neck down with his boot and shot him three times in the back. Warren thrashed twice and went still.
The classroom erupted into chaos again, people running, screaming, hiding behind each other. “Wheels” Trudgen was struggling to pull the window open, but a metal bar prevented it from opening more than ten inches. Christian fired at him twice. One bullet went through his arm, and one pierced his heart.
He turned on the rest of the class, most of them silent and staring like deer caught in headlights. He emptied the weapon, making them scatter. Susan Hayes went down as a bullet took off most of her face. Another shot shattered Jalliel White’s femur, dropping him in a pile on the floor. Allyn Mathews clutched his plump stomach as a bloody hole was torn in it.
The rest of the class scattered, not knowing where to go, most rushing for the door. Some pushed and shoved each other through the emergency window, ignoring the fifteen-foot drop onto the concrete stairs leading up the hill from the side parking lot. Before they abandoned this attempt, two more bodies were broken on the concrete below. In their panicked state, no one could understand the clatter of Christian dropping his Glock, or his gloved hand reaching into his coat and bringing out a second handgun from the holster under his other armpit.
Christian stepped aside, leaving an avenue for escape. He gunned down Randy Cooper and Dwight Frye as they struggled to open the door. The rest of the kids ignored Christian as they dashed past him. He stood motionless, aiming the gun at the fleeing students but not firing.
Some of the teachers had urged their students to escape, creating chaos in the hallways again. Christian slipped into the crowd unnoticed. People rushed around him, madly, creating a human wave pushing steadily toward the door, the only escape to the outside. Anyone who was knocked down was trampled almost immediately.
Christian stepped into a doorway, reaching around to pull the remote control out of his guitar case. In the lull in violence and shooting, the people were starting to mill about, working their way towards the doors and freedom. Christian flipped the ‘on’ switch, and pressed the fourth button on the remote.
Explosion mixed with screaming. Then silence, all but the droning ring of the fire alarms.
He tossed the remote aside and stepped back into the hallway. There were a few survivors and less uninjured. There rose a mournful collective wail from the mortally wounded. The uninjured were too shocked to move at first, but slowly, people began to dash about, avoiding the ruin of the door. A few attempted to help the dead and injured, but most gave up quickly when the primal urge to survive kicked in. Bloody bodies were dragged a few feet and left to lay, many cursing the survivors with blood-flecked lips.
Christian stood like a statue amidst the chaos, watching people dash past him. He smiled, turning his head slightly to watch them. No one seemed to notice this angel of death standing in their midst, holding a gun that had already felled so many of their number. When all were gone, he began to walk amongst the charred bodies. He took no heed of them, walking on or over the dozen casualties. A few clawed feebly at his boots, begging for help.
When he turned the corner, he stopped, staring at the lone figure that was approaching him down the middle of the hall. Christian aimed his gun and waited as the tall boy continued to approach.
“Why?” Andy asked, walking past the ruin of a main office. A blackened arm hung out of the smashed window, brushing his leg as he passed.
Christian’s arm fell to his side. “Why?” he asked, his voice tinged with puzzlement. “You need to ask why I did this?” He had to shout over the not-too-far-off screams and the shrill fire alarms. He started walking towards Andy. “Look at these people. Which of them ever did anything for you?” He looked around at some of the bodies. “How many of them did things to you?”
Andy opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by police sirens. He looked out the wrecked door and his eyes widened.
“How many?” Christian asked, cocking his head.
Andy hesitated. “Five cars... right now.” He squinted. “One news van.”
“Good,” Christian said and ran back the way he had come.
“Wait!” Andy cried, taking two steps after Christian. He stopped and looked down, his eyes falling on Deanne MacIntyre, lying with her head against the wall. Her shirt was bloody and almost entirely torn away. Her eyes were wide and desperate. Andy knelt down beside her and touched her forehead.
Her head turned suddenly toward him, her teeth clenched and revealed from parted lips. A nail protruded from her shoulder, about an inch from her bra strap. “Andy... Help...” she muttered, trying to lift a hand that was almost entirely torn away. “Please... Help.”
A tear rolled from Andy’s eye and splattered on her cheek. It mixed with the blood and grime, creating a single clean spot amidst the mess on her face. “I’m... I’m so sorry,” Andy sputtered, grasping her other hand. “Just hold on, everything is going to be all right.” He stood up and walked over her and a host of other bodies, some still moaning, some quiet.
“Andy! Please help me!” Deanne wailed, mustering all of her strength.
Andy turned back to her. “Help is coming,” he said. “They are outside. I have to stop Christian.” He turned and ran after his friend.
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