This Is Not a Drill (4 page)

CHAPTER 6

JAKE

I GLANCE UP AT THE CLOCK: 9:20. IT
clicks randomly—not a noise you’d notice unless there’s an asshole with a gun in the room to keep things quiet.

“Mrs. Campbell,” Kenji calls out from the back of the room. Everybody turns around to look at him. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he says, a look of panic on his face.

“Sweetheart, you’ll have to wait,” Mrs. Campbell says. “Can you hang on for just a little while?”

He nods and looks back down at his book. After about ten seconds, he yells out, “I can’t wait. I have to go now.”

Mrs. Campbell looks over at Stutts, who glares at Kenji. Then he looks at me.

“You. You take the kid to the bathroom, and don’t try to pull anything cute.” His eyes go squinty, and he adds, “You don’t wanna make me mad.”

No sir, we do not.

I tell him, “No problem, I got this.” I motion for Kenji, and he’s at my side in a flash.

“You got two minutes,” Stutts says.

“Two minutes? Um, I don’t know how long this is gonna take. Kenji”—I lean down to him and lower my voice—“is this a pee trip or a poop trip, buddy?”

“I gotta pee,” he whispers.

“Okay, that’s good.” I turn back to Stutts. “Listen, stay cool, man. I’ll get him back here as quick as I can.”

“You don’t talk to anybody in the hall. I can see you from right here.”

“Got it. C’mon, sport,” I say, but Kenji’s already out the door.

I usher him down the hall, trying to go slow so I can see if there’s any way to get help, but he’s doing a pretty desperate pee-pee dance, so we pick up speed. I feel Stutts’s eyes on my back.

Kenji reaches up to take my hand. I’ve learned that first graders are very affectionate—and right now, we could all use a hand to hold.

There’s nobody in the hall to even try to signal, and all the other classroom doors are closed. I move my eyes around searching for a security camera. Shit, no luck. I’m not sure there’s anything I could do, anyway, with Stutts staring a hole in my back. Does anyone even monitor those things during the day?

As soon as I open the bathroom door, Kenji runs into a stall and slams the door shut. I slump against the wall and look at my face in the mirror. Sweat beads dot my forehead and my eyes have a deer-in-headlights look. I reach for the faucet and splash cold water on my face.

“Kenji, you okay, buddy?” I ask.

“Yep” is the answer, accompanied by a steady stream of water on water.

I notice that the stall door next to Kenji’s is closed. “Hey, is somebody in there?”

Dead silence, then a small voice. “Yes.”

“Hey, can you open the door? I need help.” Crap, I sound like a perv; now the kid’ll never come out. “Listen, I’m a teacher. It’s okay. You can come out.”

The door opens slowly; big brown eyes look up at me from a small face.

“Hey, pal, what’s your name?”

“Sebastian.”

“Listen, Sebastian. I’m Jake; I’m a student tutor in Mrs. Campbell’s class, and she, Mrs. Campbell, needs you to do something for her. It’s very, very important, okay? You know Mrs. Campbell?”

He nods. “Uh-huh, I had her last year.”

“Great. She needs you to take a message to the front office. Can you do that?”

“Mrs. Boyd said to come right back.”

“I know, buddy. But she’ll be okay with this. I promise I’ll fix it with your teacher.”

Sebastian gazes at me, expressionless.

“It’ll only take a minute. But listen”— I’m thinking fast—“after I tell you the message, you have to count to twenty before you leave here to go to the office, okay?” I don’t want to scare him, but I need to make him understand the danger. “There’s a man in the hall who might see you if you leave right away—and we don’t want that. So you’re gonna count to twenty first—can you do that before you leave the bathroom?” He nods, so I continue. “And then go down to the office and here’s what you tell them: Tell them that there’s a man . . . there’s a man with a gun in Mrs. Campbell’s room.”

Big eyes go wide.

“Can you remember that?”

“Is he a bad man?” he asks.

“Well, kind of. Okay, yes, he is, and that’s why we need help.”

Sebastian turns his back on me abruptly and heads back into the stall.

“Sebastian, hey, where’re you going?”

He tries to pull the door shut, but I’m holding it. “They told us if anybody bad comes in the hall while we’re in the bathroom, we’re supposed to sit on the toilet with our feet up so nobody can see us.”

Aw, man, that’s about the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. Kinda makes me sick thinking about a little kid in the toilet with his feet up, all by himself and scared out of his mind. For the first time today, I actually feel like crying.

“Hey, Sebastian, listen, it’ll be okay. The bad man’s in the classroom, and I’ll make sure he stays there.”

Sebastian reemerges from the stall and studies me, considering. I’m running out of time before I have to get back.

“You like Mrs. Campbell, right?” I’m guessing everybody likes Mrs. Campbell. Sebastian nods. “Do it for Mrs. Campbell, okay?” I use my most persuasive voice. “She needs you.”

The toilet flushes and Kenji comes out. He moves to the sink and turns the water on.

“The bad man’s not gonna see me?” Sebastian looks over at Kenji, who’s washing his hands like a madman—completely focused on foamy soap and serious rubbing. I can just see him singing that damn happy birthday song over and over in his head like they tell them to do when they’re washing their hands, so it’s long enough to get the germs off. It’s like he’s trying to wash the morning off, too.

“No, dude, I’m gonna talk to him so he doesn’t see you leave.”

Dude looks back at me.

“You got it, little buddy? You can do this. You da man.”

He nods again.

“Listen, we have to go back now. Remember, count to twenty—then go to the office and tell them we need help.” It seems like a good time to beat a dead horse; this kid’s got to get it right. “Which teacher did I tell you?”

“Mrs. Campbell.”

“Good. It’s up to you, little man. I don’t have any other way to let them know we’re in trouble.” I smile and he looks at me and nods once. “Okay, Kenji, let’s go.”

Kenji says quietly, “Can I go to the office, too?”

A tear slides down his cheek.

I kneel down beside Kenji and give him my full attention. Some things can’t be rushed.

“I wish you could, Kenji, but you heard the man. I think we both have to go back.”

Another tear rolls, and he drops his head.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise. Look at me.”

He looks up.

“Everything’s gonna be okay. The school has all kinds of people who can help us, and they’re going to come take care of this. And until they get there, you can count on me. Okay?”

Kenji nods, stone-faced.

“Listen, tell me who’s better—Superman or Batman.”

“Batman,” he says definitively.

“Well, then, I’m gonna be Batman and you’re gonna be Robin, and nobody can hurt the Daring Duo, right?”

He shakes his head, lips pressed together.

“What?”

“I want to be Batman.”

“Okay, cool. You be Batman and I’ll be Robin.”

I reach out my hand, and he locks on me with a death grip as I stand up, and we walk back out the door. He glances down the hall at Stutts waiting for us and turns back to the water fountain. I need to clear him out of here fast so Sebastian can leave, but I can’t blame him for wanting to put off the inevitable, so I give him a boost. “Real quick, okay?”

He drinks like his head’s on fire, but I stop him after a few seconds.

“Come on, Batman,” I tell him. “We gotta get back to the cave.”

I scoop him up and carry him in a football hold so I can move him quickly down the hall. He yells at first, then giggles.

Still no doors open. Still no people in the hallway.

Come on, Sebastian, get it right.
I speed up some more.

I step back into the room and set Kenji upright.

Stutts watches me suspiciously from the doorway, then glances down at the bathroom. “Was anybody in there?”

“Nope, just me and Kenji. Batman and Robin.” Kenji gives me a look. “I mean Robin and Batman.”

Stutts eyes both of us, then reenters the room. “No more bathroom trips,” he says. “Patrick, you be ready. When the hall’s clear, we’re going.”

Patrick nods, head tucked.

“Thank you, Jake,” Mrs. Campbell says.

“No problem,” I tell her, and she smiles.

I feel a tug on my pants leg and Simon’s there again. How does he do that? I never see him coming. “You came back, Jack,” he says seriously. Before I can answer him, Stutts is yelling orders at us again.

“All right, everybody stay put. I’m just gonna take another look out there.”

He turns toward the hall—just about the time Sebastian will be leaving!

“Mr. Stutts,” I call out, frantically thinking of a way to stall for time.

“What do you want?” He stops and looks back at me.

“I, um, I have an idea.”
Damn, I wish I had an idea.

“Spit it out, kid. I don’t have all day.”

“Listen, what if we called your wife to come down here and straighten all this out? We can all have a big meeting and try to—”

“I don’t need your help, kid. And I don’t want her here. She’s trying to take me to court to keep me from seeing my boy.”

“I’m sure she’ll listen to—” I’m just babbling now, and Emery’s frowning at me.

“She changed the locks!” he yells. “On my own damn house! She won’t listen to anybody, except her mother, and that woman’s hated me from the first day I met her. She never thought I was good enough for her precious daughter, and she poisoned her against me.”

“There must be someone else who can help you with—” I start out, but he cuts me off.

“That’s enough,” Stutts says. “It’s none of your business. Now, everybody stay right where you are. Nobody moves.”

I hold my breath while he steps out into the hall, his hand on the gun in the pocket of his pants.

“What are you
doing
?” Emery whispers.

“I’ll explain later,” I tell her.

And then he’s back. Sebastian must have made it out, thank God. “Hey, Teach, do they have any kinda schedule—those guards?” he asks.

“Not really. They move around during the day to different halls.”

There’s a long silence.

“Mr. Stutts, I’m sure you’re not the kind of man who—” Mrs. Campbell starts.

“You don’t
know
what kind of man I am!” he yells in a sudden rage, slamming his fist against the door, making everyone jump again. “You don’t know
anything
about me! I’m not the kind of man to kill people? Is that what you were gonna say? That’s not what the US Army says. They think I’m exactly that kind of man!” He steps toward her, his finger stabbing the air as he yells. “They trained me to kill and sent me to Iraq to do it. They give medals for it, did you know that?” His face is red. “You gonna argue with the US government, Teacher Lady? You think you know more than Uncle Sam? They’ll tell you what kind of man I am.”

He stops, and I hear sniffles from the back of the room.

“I’m sure you discharged your duties as a soldier admirably.” Mrs. Campbell speaks softly, looking him right in the eye. “I didn’t realize you’re a war hero.”

“Don’t say that word to me!” Stutts shouts. He steps close, towering over her, but Willa Campbell doesn’t blink. “I’m no hero,” he yells. “The heroes are the ones who didn’t come home. Don’t you throw that word around, ’cause you’ve got
no
idea what it means.” He’s breathing heavy and it’s hard to believe no one’s heard him out in the hall.

Emery comforts Rose, who’s crying softly. “Shh, it’s okay, pumpkin.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stutts,” Mrs. Campbell says. “I was only trying to honor the sacrifices you’ve made to protect people like me.”

He glares at her. Then his hostile posture deflates a little. After a couple of seconds, he turns away and mumbles, almost to himself, “I was just doing my duty, that’s all.”

“He said
doodie
,” Mason stage-whispers. I glare at him and he shuts up.

CHAPTER 7

EMERY

Stutts’s screaming has scared the
kids half to death, and my knees are shaking again. I don’t know how Mrs. Campbell stands up to him when he’s like that. Jake’s jaw is locked, and I can tell he’s gritting his teeth.

We’re all barely breathing and the tension in the room is thick.

Then—a sudden movement in the doorway causes all of us to look up. I only have a second to register a man there. The security guy. The short, baby-faced one who’s always on his cell phone. He’s standing in the doorway with one hand on his hip and one hand on the door frame, just looking in like he’s about to say something.

What is he thinking? Does he know Stutts is armed? His face doesn’t show any alarm.

Before anyone can say a word, and before the guard has a chance to speak, the unthinkable happens.

It happens so fast, I’m not even sure of what I’m seeing—until it’s over.

Stutts swings his entire body toward the door and raises his arm, all in one motion.

A huge explosion rocks the room.

The security guard grabs his chest and staggers backward, no longer in sight in the doorway.

Stutts’s stance is wide, knees bent, body tensed, his arm outstretched as the echo of the horrendous boom rings through the classroom. There’s a high-pitched tone in my ears and the children’s screams sound far away. We all look from the gun in his hand to the empty doorway, afraid to move.

“Everybody, get down,” Mrs. Campbell yells, and five or six kids immediately slide from their chairs and cower on the floor. As soon as the rest of the kids understand, they hit the floor, too. I slide from my chair and crouch down, hovering over the kids nearest me, spreading my arms out to protect them, knowing it won’t be nearly enough if he starts shooting into the classroom.

“Keep your heads down,” I tell them, my voice shaking.

Oh God, oh God, I think he might have killed him! He shot the security guard!
My head feels like it’s going to explode. The room goes white and I struggle to hang on to consciousness.

I look over at Jake, who’s also placed himself between Stutts and the kids on his side of the room. Mrs. Campbell kneels between Stutts and the children near her, shielding them. She has her back to Stutts, totally focused on the kids.

“I told you I’d shoot!” Stutts is yelling, his voice shaking and panicked. “You saw him. He was going for his gun.” He’s pale and sweaty and gasping for breath. He grabs his chest with his free hand and staggers backward. He’s lost it! If he’s having a full-blown panic attack, anything can happen.

Several of the kids cling to me.
Please, God, don’t let him hurt them.

“You don’t—confront—a soldier!” Stutts is screaming, his breath coming in short spurts. “You saw him,” he shouts at us. “He was going for his gun. Somebody threatens me—I’m gonna shoot back!”

Beyond his yelling, I’m aware of people running and shouting in the hallway. A door slams, and suddenly the intercom clicks on.

“Code Red. Teachers, lock your doors and keep your students inside the classrooms.” The principal’s voice is loud and urgent. “We are under an emergency alert. Teachers, do
not
allow students to leave your classroom for
any
reason. Lock your doors and keep your students
inside
.” He pauses, then says more slowly, “Teachers, this is
not
a drill!”

And then an eerie quiet falls. The lines from a poem float through my brain: “Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned . . .” W. B. Yeats. “The Second Coming.” I had to memorize it last year, but I had no idea it was still there in my head. I wonder what innocence these kids will have left.

Stutts is watching the door and pacing back and forth like a caged animal. I can see the gun in his hand shaking.

The room goes fuzzy and I blink to clear my vision. I pick out a poster on the wall and stare—
T
HE
S
ILENT
E. A magician in a tall pointed hat changes words with his wand:
cap
becomes
cape;
hop
becomes
hope
. Hope. I repeat the word over and over as I try to breathe deeply and slowly.

And then I see poor Patrick—still in the chair in the front of the room, hunched over, hugging his knees. I want to go to him, but I know I can’t. It breaks my heart to see him there alone.

Stutts grabs his son roughly. “C’mon, kid. We’re gettin’ out of here.”

Patrick’s eyes flash his terror as he’s yanked by his arm toward the door.

Stutts leans his head out and looks down the hall. He immediately pulls back into the classroom. “Shit! You tell them to clear that hall,” he yells at Mrs. Campbell. “I don’t want to see anybody looking around that corner. You tell them—if they don’t let me leave with my boy, somebody’s gonna get hurt!”

He doesn’t even seem to realize somebody already has.

Mrs. Campbell stands up and walks slowly toward him, speaking in a soothing voice. “Mr. Stutts, I don’t have any access to speak to them.” She looks over at the remains of the telephone. “Just let me go out and talk to the people in the hall about what we need to do.”

“You’re not goin’ out there. You’re not gonna bring them in here. You just want to tell them to rush me.”

He looks crazed, out of control.
Armed and dangerous
—I suddenly understand what it means.

“You’re in charge here, Mr. Stutts,” she says, her hands held up in a gesture of total surrender. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Several students are crying. “I think I’m gonna puke,” Natalie announces, and I look around frantically for the trash can. DeQuan reaches for an empty plastic bin on a table near him and passes it to her. Natalie bends over it, gagging, but nothing comes up.

“Shut up and let me think. Everybody stay where you are,” Stutts yells at the kids, glancing away from the door for only a second. “Nobody move unless I say so.”

He’s pacing, prowling, and fidgeting with the gun, both hands on it now. “I gotta think what to do,” he mutters to himself.

He looks up at the sound of a siren in the distance, growing louder as it gets closer. The noise stops abruptly on the street in front of the school.

Suddenly the intercom crackles again. “Mrs. Campbell, is everyone all right in there?” I’m sure even the kids can hear the effort the principal’s making to sound normal.

Mrs. Campbell looks at Stutts for permission to answer, but he ignores her. “We’re okay,” she says.

“Is anyone hurt?” the tense voice asks.

“No, no one’s hurt.” She pauses. “Not in the room.”

Poor security guy. He was definitely hurt, but we don’t know how badly.

She continues, “Mr. Stutts will not harm the children.” Good move, Mrs. C. She let them know his name and used her self-fulfilling prophecy trick at the same time.

“Quiet!” Stutts cuts her off. “I’ll do the talking here.”

“Mr. Stutts, please do not hurt anyone,” the intercom continues. “We’ll do whatever we can to resolve this situation peacefully. Just give us a chance to talk to you about what you want.”

I try to remember the principal’s name; Mrs. Campbell always refers to him as “the Big Cheese.” If she has to go down to the office, she winks at the children and tells them the Big Cheese needs to see her. I haven’t figured out if she likes him or not.

“What I
want
is to take my son out of here,” Stutts yells, jabbing his finger at the intercom as if the principal can see him.

“Mr. Stutts, let me come down there, and I’ll bring you back here to the office where we can talk.”

“I’m
done
with talking. You’ve been talking to my wife. You’re all on
her
side. You just want to keep me from my son.”

“Mr. Stutts, why don’t we—”

“That’s enough,” he yells. “Turn that thing off.”

I hold my breath and, thankfully, the intercom clicks off.

Mrs. Campbell’s face is chalky and I notice sweat beading her upper lip, but she manages to swing into teacher mode.

“Class, everyone needs to move to the reading carpet in the back. We can finish the coloring puzzles we started yesterday,” she says. “I’ll put the crayon boxes on the floor.”

A couple of
yay
s and several relieved smiles. They liked the coloring puzzle.

“But we can’t color on the carpet,” Kimberly says.

“We’ll pass out books for you to hold in your laps,” Mrs. Campbell tells them, and I realize she’s moving them to the floor to keep their heads low. “Quickly, now.” Mrs. Campbell claps her hands at them as they scatter. She reaches for the puzzles from the tray on her desk, and I notice her hand shaking as she holds them out to Jake.

“I’ll get out the crayon boxes,” I tell her.

Jake hands out the puzzles, and Mrs. Campbell passes out books from the bookcase.

Stutts stands in the doorway, gripping Patrick’s arm. As soon as we’ve passed everything out, the kids start coloring. Jake and I sit on the floor with them. Mrs. Campbell walks back up to her desk. She seems exhausted; I watch her hold on to the desktop to lower herself into her chair.

The big clock in the front of the room makes a noise. It’s only 9:45—a little over an hour has passed since Jake and I got here. We should be leaving now to get back to school. Guess they’ll figure out we’re not there at some point. My mom will never let me leave the house again after this—if I ever make it home. Oh God, will I make it home?

All of a sudden, Mason yells out Mrs. Campbell’s name, and I look up just in time to see her slump from her chair to the floor.