Interim (34 page)

She charged down the hallway like an Olympic sprinter, bursting through the lab door to another set of terrified cries.

“It’s me!” she yelled, then cried out as a set of arms flew around her neck, squeezing her tightly.

Jeremy!

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking her over.

She nodded and ran to Ms. Griffin’s desk.

“I tried!” Casey cried, coming out from her hiding place under a table. “I couldn’t find it!”

“It’s okay,” Regan said, throwing the files and dumping the contents of Ms. Griffin’s purse.

Yes! Yes yes yes!

She flew to the door, fumbling with the keys. Too many keys! Her fingers trembled as she tried the first one. No good. She tried the second. No good. The third. No.

“FUCK!!!” she screamed.

Jeremy yanked the keys from her hands.

“It’s okay,” he said calmly.

He flipped through them one by one, ignoring what he knew was a house key, giving no notice to the car key, skipping a clear cabinet key.

There. There it was. He knew it, and immediately slid the key into the lock.

Blast!

Splintered door. Petrified screams.

A student collapsed to the ground—someone standing in the path of the bullet. The door flew open, and Hannah barged in, screaming for silence, brandishing her firearm above her head. Jeremy grabbed Regan’s hand and pulled her to the floor. They crawled under the first row tables. The second. The third, passing the student who was hit, who was dead.

“SHUT UP!” Hannah shouted. “Shut up, or I’ll kill you all!”

The room fell silent except for intermittent, involuntary sobs. Boys and girls. They were all crying.

Hannah noted the keys still dangling in the doorknob. She slammed the door and locked it, then tossed the keys to the middle of the room. She turned on the lights, eliciting a wave of gasps.

“Brandon! Pick up those keys! I dropped them,” she said.

No one moved.

Round of firing mixed with shrieks. Pieces of the ceiling fell one by one, smacking the tops of students’ bowed heads.

“Brandon, if you wanna live, pick up those goddamn keys!” Hannah screamed.

Jeremy pulled away. Regan clawed desperately at his shirt as he stood up.

“Hannah,” he said softly.

She dropped the rifle’s nose, aiming for his chest.

“Don’t you fucking move, Jer,” she warned.

He slowly raised his hands in surrender. “I won’t. I won’t.”

The light reflected the tears that coursed her cheeks. So many tears, and he knew she earned the right to spill them for all to see. But she did not earn the right to take her tormentors’ lives. He learned that a while ago when he stopped being angry, when he decided to allow love to heal him and give him a future.

He lay in bed the night before stewing over his fight with Brandon—letting his vigilante coax and debate. He almost gave in. He almost returned to what he now understood was the darkness. But his very last thoughts before drifting to sleep were of Regan. And love. And forgiveness. Those thoughts blinded the pain, maimed the resolve to kill, and they stumbled out of his heart forever.

“I am broken because of them,” she whispered to him from across the room.

He stood shocked—the same words he screamed at Regan the day he confronted her about his journal.

“I know,” he whispered back.

“They deserve it,” she went on.

He shook his head.

“No? Are you one of them now?” she asked bitterly.

“Look at me, Hannah,” he replied gently. “You know me.”

She nodded.

Maybe there was a chance to save her. If no one was killed, there was still a chance.

“How many so far?” he asked.

She frowned.

“Who’s hurt?”

“Lots,” she replied.

His heart sank.

“Wounded?”

“Dead. Dead dead dead!” Hannah yelled, and her brain snapped. “BRANDON! Pick up those goddamn keys, or Jeremy goes!”

“Hannah!” Jeremy cried.

He heard the click of the rifle. Locked and loaded. Instant sweat under his arms, dotting his hairline, prickling the backs of his knees.

“You drop to your knees, and I’ll blow your head off,” she warned him.

Brandon stood up slowly, the keys hooked around his index finger, jangling with the shivering of his body. He drew in his breath.

“I won’t let someone die because of me,” he said. His breathing came faster. “Hannah, I’m sorry—”

Blast!

He dropped to the floor with a loud thud. Screams filled the room. The bullet pierced his forehead. Dead on impact. Blood spilled out, sprayed out, splattering students’ faces and coating their hands as they crawled toward him. Casey pressed her palm over the gaping bullet hole, trying to ignore the brain tissue that oozed from the back of his head against her bare knees.

“You’re okay,” she croaked idiotically, pressing hard to stop the flow of blood. “You’re gonna be okay. Just hang on.”

“Ethan! Brandon couldn’t give me the keys! You try!” Hannah called.

Casey looked back at Ethan, watching the tears stream from his eyes. He shook his head.

“I’ll come find you,” Hannah taunted. “I’ll blast anyone who gets in my way. Is that what you want? Do you want me to kill innocent kids for you?”

Ethan groaned, clutching his head and rocking back and forth.

“You know you don’t want me to do that . . .”

Ethan looked frantically around, searching for another hiding spot. He glanced at Casey, passing the unspoken message: “I’m making a run for it.”

“Ethan, don’t!” Casey screamed. “Where can you go?”

He shot up and ran to the other side of the room.

Blast!

A collective cry filled the room as Ethan dropped. The bullet penetrated his upper back. He writhed and coughed for a few seconds before going still. Permanently.

“Alexia, stand the fuck up!” Hannah shouted.

“No no no no no no!” came a terrified voice from the corner of the room.

“You can do it!” Hannah screamed. “I know you can! Or how about Micah? Jon? Tara! Tara’s in here somewhere, aren’t you Tara, you little fucking bitch!”

“Nobody stand up!” Jeremy shouted, crouched under the table with Regan. He dropped to his knees the moment Hannah pulled the trigger on Brandon.

“Fuck you, Jer!” Hannah spat. “You betrayed me! You turned your back on me!”

Slight shuffling. Jeremy watched Hannah’s feet move to the left of the room. She was headed toward Alexia.

“Oh, God,” he breathed, bracing for impact.

A plea for mercy. A refusal. A gunshot.

Shrieks.

“CASEY! Maybe you can give me the keys!” Hannah called, moving to the front of the room once more.

Jeremy turned to Regan and communicated silent instructions with crude sign language. She shook her head frantically when she understood his plan. He was going after Hannah.

She tugged on his arm as he started toward his target. He stopped and looked back.

“It’s okay,” he mouthed.

She grabbed the front of his jacket—a last effort to force him to stay with her.

He squeezed her hand. “It’s okay, Regan,” he whispered, searching her eyes.

“Promise,” she demanded.

“I promise,” he said, then crept soundlessly under the tables toward Hannah.

Regan turned to Casey, who was crying hysterically.

“Do
not
stand up,” she said to her friend, crawling toward her.

“Shut your mouth, Regan!” Hannah cried. “Casey! Get up!”

Regan shook her head, pressing her finger to her lips.

Casey’s eyes went wide. “No, Regan!”

But Regan already made the decision—just like her victory goal. She envisioned it. She willed it to happen. Just like now. She envisioned standing up and distracting Hannah to give Jeremy the few precious seconds he’d need to take down the gunman. No, it wasn’t part of Jeremy’s plan, but she knew she had to do it in order for him to have a chance.

She stood up.

“You’re not Casey,” Hannah said. “Sit down.”

“No.”

Hannah growled. “You wanna be a hero?”

“No.”

“Good, because you can’t be. I’m the hero,” Hannah said.

“How?”

Just keep her talking.

“I’m ridding our world of evil people. I’m righting wrongs. I’m keeping bad things from happening in the future.”

Regan scrambled. “And . . . and who’s to say these bad people won’t turn good someday? You’re not even giving them a chance.”

Hannah sneered. “Did they give me a chance?” she spat. “Did they give me a chance to be happy?”

Regan said nothing.

“ANSWER ME!”

Hannah dropped the rifle in front of her chest once more, securing it against her shoulder. She pointed the nose at Regan’s heart.

Regan burst into tears.

“No, Hannah,” she sobbed. “They didn’t.”

“That’s right. They—”

Jeremy plowed into Hannah from the side, throwing his arms around her waist. The gun discharged, eliciting another round of screams. They slammed into Ms. Griffin’s desk, the force knocking the rifle from Hannah’s hands. It dropped to the floor with a loud
clack!
and Jeremy kicked it away—far on the other side of the room where it posed no more threats.

“Get off!” Hannah screamed in his face.

“Regan, grab the gun! Put it in the hallway! Everyone, run!” he ordered, struggling with his friend.

Students hesitated.

“I said RUN!”

They charged the door, streaming through the opening like fast water down a drain. Only Casey and Regan remained behind.

“Jeremy!” Casey cried. “Help me!”

Jeremy looked over at Regan sprawled on the floor. Blood oozed from a wound in her left shoulder—much too close to her heart.

“Jesus!” he breathed, and released his assailant.

He ran to his girlfriend and cradled her head.

“Regan!” he shouted. “Regan!”

“Hmm?” she asked, opening and closing her eyes.

He turned to Hannah, who stood stunned. Regan wasn’t a target. She was never a target. Anyone dead deserved it. That was the plan. Kill the bad ones. Spare the good. That was the plan for redemption. This girl on the floor wasn’t the plan. She messed up everything. She tainted the righteous retribution.

“I didn’t mean it,” Hannah whispered. “I didn’t mean it.”

Jeremy turned to Casey. “Get help!”

She nodded and jumped up. Where? Where should she run? She knocked into Hannah on her way to the classroom phone. Busy signal.

“Fuck!” she screamed, and ran to the window.

The building was surrounded by cop cars, ambulances, fire trucks—all at a safe distance. They were making careful plans while people bled out in the building.

Casey grew angry and pounded the window.

“Up here!” she screamed. “We need help!”

“I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it,” Hannah went on, a broken record in the background.

“People are dying!” Casey screamed, fumbling with the window locks.

She couldn’t open them and grabbed a chair. She swung it against the window. Nothing. She swung again. Nothing. She grunted and slung the chair a third time, cracking the glass a fraction. She pulled back and swung with all her might, shattering the glass completely. She balled her hands and punched out the shards, then leaned her face out.

“WE NEED AN AMBULANCE! NOW!!!” she bellowed, and watched two small men dressed in black run for the door nearest the lab.

She ran back to Regan and clutched her hand.

“They’re coming, Regan,” she panted.

Regan nodded, eyes closed. “I’m cold.”

“I didn’t mean it . . .”

“No, you’re not,” Casey barked. “It’s not cold in here. You’re not cold.”

Jeremy ripped off his shirt and bunched it against Regan’s wound.

“I know when I’m cold, Case,” Regan argued.

“I didn’t mean it . . .”

Casey looked at Jeremy and nodded. “Good sign,” she mouthed.

“I didn’t mean it,” they heard Hannah say, and then a final blast filled the room.

Casey screamed. Jeremy jumped up, cursing himself for letting Hannah go. But she didn’t go far. She was on the floor—a pistol by her side—a hole in her temple. The rifle lay untouched where he’d kicked it. He had no idea she carried a second gun. He had no idea she planned to use it on herself.

And then he wept. He wept for his friend whose years-long torture resulted in this: death everywhere. Terror everywhere. He wept as the S.W.A.T. team burst through the classroom door, yelling at him to get on his knees with his hands behind his head. He wept as the E.M.T.’s rushed the room with a stretcher, working carefully and quickly to secure Regan and remove her to an ambulance. He wept for Brandon who did one right thing—lying dead and redeemed in the center of the room. He wept for the words in his journal—for the boy who almost committed the crime—who thought it justified and right.