This Is Where It Ends

by Marieke Nijkamp

  I place my palm against the smooth surface of the door. Sylvia and I barely talked this year. She was my partner in crime all through middle school and the first two years of high school, even while she fooled everyone into thinking she was an angel—even while she fell in love with a skinny white chick.

  When Mamá got sick, Sylv became more serious. Then she spent most of last summer withdrawn and closed off from everyone. That’s when I lost her. She stares at me sometimes, and I feel like we live in two different worlds. But on the rare days we find each other, I remember what it is to be a family.

  She knocks again, slowly. I can feel the vibrations under my hand. It’s another melody, that of a Spanish lullaby our mother used to sing to us when we were tiny. It’s slow, sad, and hopeful, and fuck if it doesn’t make me smile.

  Another shot interrupts our song.

  Silence.

  No. No. No. If I could claw through the door, I would. I bite my lip to keep from screaming. We might as well be divided by a chasm—me crouching on the cold linoleum and her inside on the worn carpet.

  I reach for the hammer. The alternative to picking the lock is forcing it. If I hit the shackle just right, it should spring open. The noise will alert people inside, but I don’t know if that matters anymore. If I don’t open one of these doors, they will die. We’re already at the worst-case scenario.

  I force my breathing to slow and relax my shoulders. I hold the hammer with both hands. It won’t do me any good against guns, but it will do me a world of good against this cursed door.

  I take aim at the padlock and pull back.

  “Don’t!” Fareed’s loud whisper reaches me before I take a swing. He’s flushed, his hair matted against his forehead. He clutches the bolt cutter as he bends forward to catch his breath. “Sirens in the distance. The police will be here soon.”

  I take a step back. With the tip of my sleeve, I wipe at the tears that have sprung to my eyes. Finally. We need the police here now.

  “Are the doors open?” I ask.

  Fareed shakes his head. “Two of them. Cutting all the chains would take too long, but we can direct people out. It’s better than nothing.”

  I glance at the doors. Whether Far meant it or not, his words sting. He did what he had to do, and I failed—spectacularly. I take the bolt cutter from him. Now is not the time to beat myself up. “Let’s get them out of here first.”

  Without another comment, Fareed reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. Then he takes a place at the side of the door and lifts the chain, his hands spaced so he can keep hold of the ends once I’ve cut it. I place the blades on half of a chain link, and with all the strength I have in me, I push down.

  • • •

  CLAIRE

  Static crackles over the radio. Codes fly back and forth between dispatch and the various first responders. It’d be so much easier if I didn’t have a clue what they were saying, but most comments are in plain English. Mentions of more cars, a road block. Opportunity only has two police cars, and backup from other towns isn’t enough. Helicopters. Mention of SWAT teams and setting up an emergency response unit in the parking lot. Discussions of whether or not a bomb squad needs to be sent in.

  And Matt is at the heart of it all.

  None of it seems real. None of it sounds like something that would happen to us, to anyone we know. Not in Opportunity, Alabama. We have the occasional robbery, sure. We had a whole slew of car fires a couple years ago. But the voices on the radio sound as if they are preparing to lay siege to the school.

  Our officer doesn’t respond, apart from the occasional “Ten-four.” Her eyes are focused on the car in front of her, and her hands squeeze the steering wheel.

  Next to me, Chris stares at his hands. I’d talk to him, but I don’t know what to say. I only have too many questions.

  The side of the road blurs by my window. What seemed to be an endless stretch to us is only a matter of a minute or two by car—maybe even less than that. Soon we’ll be back at Opportunity High, and for the first time since I started school there, the thought makes me physically ill. What is waiting for us?

  I tear my eyes from the window and clear my throat. “Who called you? Was it someone on the track team?”

  At least some of us succeeded, despite the odds. I always knew they could do it.

  It takes a moment for our officer to realize I’m talking to her. She glances back at me. The flash of worry in her eyes makes me wonder how old she is, if she has friends or family at Opportunity. It won’t be long until the whole town is anxiously waiting at the gates of the school. News spreads like wildfire in Opportunity. Do Mom and Dad know yet?

  The officer shakes her head. “We got a call from inside the school. Several calls actually.”

  “Oh.” My mind spins. Did whomever contacted the police manage to get out? Were they safe when they called?

  “Do you know if anyone—” I can’t bear myself to finish the sentence.

  The officer clears her throat. “I’m not really supposed to talk to you about this. One of our deputies will debrief you as soon as we’ve set up the perimeter.” I can hear what she doesn’t say: Because we don’t want to start a mass panic or release unconfirmed information. But I need to know what to expect.

  Chris places his hand over mine. “We don’t expect you to tell us the details, Officer,” he says in his best polite voice. Everyone always sees Chris as trustworthy—he gets treated like an adult, while most of us high schoolers are treated as children. “We just want to know where our friends are and if they’re safe.”

  • • •

  SYLV

  Tapping has never sounded more beautiful, but with hope comes more fear. Tomás might be able to help us, but only at the risk of his own life. We’re trapped here, but the thought that he might be in danger because of me—always, always because of me—chokes me. He’d be better off running and never turning back.

  With every step Autumn takes closer to Tyler, I wish Tomás would step back. I can’t lose them both. Although he’s a few minutes younger than me, Tomás has always been my defender. He was the brother who took me under his wing when Seve enlisted and Félix went to work in Birmingham, the brother who first got me into trouble and the one who’d get me out again. Until last summer, I never felt scared when Tomás was near.

  On the other side of these doors, he is safe.

  There is more to life than these walls, and Tyler can’t destroy it all. I have to believe that. I can protect Tomás by pushing him away.

  Because I can no longer protect Autumn.

  My fingers trace the pattern on the wooden panel while my eyes follow Autumn. She moves fluidly, though every step brings her closer to certain death.

  When Tyler fires another shot into the auditorium, she flinches but doesn’t stop. This is what our world is now: the dead, the lost, the wounded. Could I have done anything about it? Could I have prevented this by speaking up?

  At junior prom, Tyler walked up to me on the dance floor. Even though Autumn and I barely saw him anymore and he ignored me completely at school, he wanted to dance with me.

  He demanded a dance with me.

  It was not the first time he tried to flirt with me, but I could not dance with Autumn, and I did not want to dance with him. He intimidated me, and the very idea of being close to him left me on edge. I turned him down and fled outside to get some air.

  He followed me out.

  “Don’t pretend you’re not interested. I’ve seen the way you look at me, the way you move. You want me. Don’t deny it.” When he placed his hand on my arm, I whirled around to ram my elbow into him.

  He caught me and pinned me against a wall. “Keep the hell away from my sister.”

  “Fuck off, Ty.” I kicked against his shin. “I despise you. Get away from me.”

  He didn’t. But that time, I
did.

  In Abuela’s stories of brujería, witches and spells, Tyler would be possessed. Grief would’ve let the darkness in, and that darkness would consume him. It has, and now it’s destroying us all.

  Now he’ll use Autumn to get to me.

  Tyler’s plan is revenge, which he’ll get—not by killing us but by killing everyone we hold dear.

  • • •

  AUTUMN

  Ty discards his cap and smooths his carefully styled hair. He still stares at the cowering boy, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Matt, won’t you come out to play?” he asks. “I have a score to settle with your sister. And with my own sister, who wasn’t even supposed to be here today. If only she’d just listened to me.”

  “Ty,” I call out again, to be sure he heard me. My mind is screaming Danger, screaming at me to run and hide and pray he’ll never find me. But I stand tall.

  Ty gives me the look my father crafted for troublesome customers—equal parts business and pure disgust. “Do you expect me to shout at you from across the room? Did your mother not raise you better than that?”

  I ball my hands into fists but wrestle down the rush of anger. I take a slow step. One more.

  Someone brushes my hand in a gesture of support.

  Another step. Another. Ty turns from Matt and levels the barrel at me. He smirks.

  The closer I come, the more Ty—my Ty—drifts away from me.

  In our stuck-in-the-sixties kitchen, complete with vomit-green walls, Ty grimaced at one of Dad’s lame jokes. He rarely laughs anymore, but when he does, his eyes light up.

  “I think I needed time to evaluate,” Ty said with that smooth and careful voice of his. “I realize now that what I expected from OHS was unrealistic. I believe I can put things right.” He methodically cut up the meat on his plate, positioning the bite-sized pieces in neat rows.

  “I’m glad to hear that, Son,” Dad said. He never called me Daughter, but he always called Ty Son. “Your grandfather always said this town can be a hard place to live, but you’ve got to fight for it. A boy runs away when things get difficult. It takes a man to confront a problem head-on.”

  Because that’s exactly what Dad had been doing. He faced his grief. It’s not like he hid behind alcohol and anger, scaring half the customers from the Browne store with his foul moods. Scarring me. Not at all. Not my dad. I would’ve rolled my eyes if not for fear of Dad catching me.

  “Yes, sir,” Ty replied.

  I kept my eyes fixed on my plate and never said a word.

  In retrospect, neither Dad nor I knew what Ty meant. I thought he planned to put things right with Tomás and with Claire. I was glad. He finally seemed like more of his old self. I was wrong.

  A shot over my head jars me from my thoughts.

  I’m staring at a stranger. This is not the same person who showed me the abandoned shed near the cotton fields, where I could dance in secret. This isn’t the same person who bought me pointe shoes after my old ones were too worn to be used. He may look like Tyler and sound like Tyler, but this is not the same person.

  It can’t be.

  “Move or I will shoot the boy.”

  He’s a stranger.

  With my full attention on the aisle, I take two, three steps. At the front of the auditorium, I bite my lip as I step over the body of a girl not much older than me. When I reach the stage, the full horror hits me, and I nearly double over. The bodies of half a dozen teachers lie up there, and three more who are injured are cared for by their coworkers. A junior slumps against the wall, his face gaunt, blood pooling from a wound to his shoulder. Nyah’s lifeless body lies only feet away.

  I freeze. I can’t go any closer, no matter how much it’s the right thing to do. I swallow. “Why, Tyler?”

  With his pale eyes trained on me, he steps closer, and everyone who gets as close to him as I am will be able to see the same thing. His gaze is devoid of feeling, emotion—humanity.

  He reaches out, grabs a fistful of my hair, and pulls me onto the stage. “Why couldn’t you just have listened to me?” he says so only I can hear.

  I falter, but Tyler doesn’t seem to care. “You think you are so special, don’t you?” he snarls. “Do you even care about anyone anymore? Your family? Your oh-so-special girlfriend? Or do you only care about yourself?” He points the gun at my leg.

  “Please don’t.” My cheeks burn so hot, they vaporize my tears. But I pull myself together and stare back at him.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  And then he smiles. His eyes twinkle, and he is the Ty I knew.

  And it breaks me.

  To: Sis

  Come and get me. I want to go home. I want to go home. Pleasepleasepleaseplease.

  Chapter Twelve

  10:25–10:27 A.M.

  CLAIRE

  When the gate to Opportunity High comes into view, our car pulls to the side of the road. Other police cars pass us. Turning in the driver’s seat, the officer stares both of us down.

  “When we reach the school, there will be a safety perimeter. You are to stay outside of it at all times. Is that understood?” She waits for us to agree. “One of our deputies will come to talk to you. He’ll want to know what you’ve seen, what you’ve heard, anything that might be of help. We’ll have your full cooperation on this?”

  Chris stares at me, and I cringe at the thought of talking about Tyler. The Tyler I knew. The Tyler I misjudged. I don’t want to, but how can I stay silent?

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We’ll be setting up an emergency response center in town so you’ll have somewhere to go.” At this, her smile is a little wry, and for the first time, she sounds like a worried older sister, not a police officer following protocol. “I understand you kids want to know what’s going on. I would too if it were my friends trapped in that auditorium. But for now, we can’t share any information. I trust you won’t get in the way of us doing our job?”

  Chris is the first to nod, and I force out a reply. “No, ma’am. We won’t.” I hesitate and then add, “We can help. We can draw maps. Show you—”

  “No, it’s too dangerous,” she interrupts. “We have floor plans. We’ll do the best we can for your friends. We’ll try to keep everyone safe, but you can’t be involved.” The frown on her freckled face fades, and her voice trails off. With a curt nod, she turns back toward the windshield. She glances over her shoulder and pulls onto the road, leaving us in silence in the backseat.

  Trapped in the auditorium. It makes sense. The shooting started about the time Principal Trenton’s speech would’ve ended, but somehow I never imagined that. Panic and people running through the halls, yes. But the entire school trapped and Tyler with a gun? Not in my wildest fears had I considered that. And I wish I didn’t know now. The auditorium isn’t a hunting ground; it’s a shooting range.

  It’s a morgue.

  I curl my fingers around Chris’s and lean into him. We were even luckier to get out of assembly than I thought. If it weren’t for Matt, there’d be only one thing on my mind: go home, where it is safe. I’d hole myself up, call Trace, and wait for this nightmare to pass.

  Instead, the car slows and turns into the parking lot.

  In the front seat, the officer waves at another policeman taping off what must be their perimeter, and he motions her to carry on. Her hand sneaks out to the radio. “Ten–twenty-three. Arrived at the scene.”

  Just like that, we’re back at school.

  • • •

  SYLV

  Wild fury burns away my fear. If Tyler lays a finger on Autumn, if he harms her, I will curse him with Abuela’s spirits and everything that’s in me. I will kill him even though he would kill me first.

  Torn between Tomás behind me and Autumn in front of me, the air itself compresses, and I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t b
reathe.

  On the other side of the auditorium, two teachers slowly get to their feet. A handful of students a few steps below them rise too. In the middle of the group is the girl who helped lock us in.

  The set of her mouth is fierce.

  I thought the walls kept courage out, but maybe they are actually holding it in. We’re not just fighting for survival—we’re fighting for hope and a thousand tomorrows.

  At the edge of the stage, Autumn stands before her brother.

  Her eyes flick from the gun to Tyler and back. Whispers swirl around me. “Did he say ‘girlfriend’?” “But she…” “Do you think he meant…”

  I hug my knees to my chest with one arm and reach for my bag with the other, as if it can shield me.

  All Autumn cared about was dancing. All she cared about was me. But she never told anyone about either. Too afraid Opportunity might disapprove. Too afraid knowing her family would.

  Not that their disapproval would’ve changed anything. Their relationships were already broken.

  But Autumn never lets on how she feels. No fear. No anger. No happiness unless she’s dancing. She’s too well trained, too careful to slip up and give people the chance to hurt her, but I see her pain. I always have. I just wish she could see me like she once did.

  For Autumn’s fifteenth birthday, Mrs. Browne took Autumn and me to Birmingham to see a matinee. Autumn’s mother was a few months away from returning to the UK as the special adviser on a new production of the Royal Ballet—though she never got there.

  But Autumn and I were still blissfully ignorant of all that was coming. She was so excited to see The Nutcracker that she talked about it for days. I was far more excited about seeing Birmingham and going to dinner at a fancy restaurant. While money had been tight for my family, it wasn’t for Autumn’s. Not back then.

  When the music started and the curtain came up, Autumn’s face lit up. She could have been a star, she was glowing so brightly.

  I think that was the moment I fell for her.

  Onstage, the clock struck midnight and the Nutcracker came to life, bravely advancing his gingerbread men and his tin soldiers against the army of the Mouse King.