This Is Where It Ends

by Marieke Nijkamp

  10:34 AM

  213 favorites

  George Johnson

  @G_Johnson1

  @CadetCJJ THEY’RE COMING FOR YOU. THE POLICE ARE THERE TO HELP.

  10:35 AM

  Anonymous

  @BoredOpportunist

  @CadetCJJ If you shoot him, you’re just as bad.

  10:34 AM

  34 favorites

  Chapter Seventeen

  10:35–10:37 A.M.

  CLAIRE

  “Stand down!”

  Everyone in the parking lot makes a beeline toward the students pouring out of the school.

  “Stand down!” The SWAT commanders and the sheriff shout over their radios, close to where Chris and I are standing. They must have snipers in position.

  Hovering in the safety between the cars, I count the students as they make their way out. They come in groups of ten or twelve, a few lonely duos. They emerge supporting each other, some of them covered with blood. They raise their hands high as soon as they see the police.

  Two seniors stumble out: Rafe, our star linebacker, and a girl I vaguely recognize as a Mathlete. They make an odd couple. Rafe’s head and shoulders taller, but he’s leaning on her. They’re followed by a trio of girls from Matt’s year. I’ve only ever seen them together, and I’ve only ever seen them smiling. Right before the holidays, they asked Matt if he wanted to watch a movie sometime. I think one of them has a crush on him. They didn’t stop giggling, and Matt didn’t stop blushing. But today they’re grim and pale—and Matt is nowhere to be seen.

  If I could, I’d run and demand to know if they’ve seen him.

  If I could, I’d run into the school and drag him out myself.

  One of the SWAT officers makes his way toward the school entrance, gesturing. “Get those students out of the way and get a situation report ASAP.”

  Several police officers guide the students toward the medic tents on the side, away from prying eyes. Ambulances are lined up and waiting to carry the wounded to the hospital.

  I watch the doors. After the initial rush, the occasional student walks out—face blank and confused. Blood stains most students’ clothes. One guy hesitantly backs away when he sees the officers coming toward him. Another girl breaks down in tears as soon as she crosses the threshold.

  The trickle of students brings us to a hundred, maybe, but no Matt.

  Chris brushes my arm.

  I pull back. “I can’t—I can’t deal with waiting. There must be something we can do—help take down names, care for the—our friends. I can’t just stand around!”

  I look over to the gathering crowd, and I tense. Mr. Browne stands alone. The other parents leave space around him, as if his pain and fury could burn those around him. Everyone knows by now. Everyone must know.

  His son is endangering their children, and he is guilty too.

  When our eyes meet, I move before Chris can stop me.

  The police officers reach Mr. Browne before I do and pull him to the perimeter, which is the only thing that saves me from making a scene.

  Catching up, Chris wraps his arms around me, equal parts restraining and reassuring me. But I keep repeating the same thing over and over into his chest. “You ruined him. You ruined him. You ruined him.”

  Chris simply holds me tighter until I don’t have any strength left, and I start to cry. He pushes a strand of hair out of my face. “You should’ve told someone about the welts, Claire. He needed help; they both did. But you can’t tell yourself that is why Tyler did this. Most abuse survivors don’t commit massacres.”

  “Do you think it would’ve made any difference if I’d stayed with Ty?”

  Chris winces. “No. I don’t think there’s anything any of us could have done.”

  • • •

  SYLV

  We crouch halfway up the stairs, out of Tyler’s direct line of sight, but close enough to keep an eye on him. We need to follow the main hallway out of the school, but Tyler’s left the auditorium, announcing himself with more gunfire, and he’s prowling, waiting for those who escaped to come out into the open. Like the unlucky student who tried the exit by the sports fields and must’ve found it locked. When he came running back, a loud shot sent him sprawling across the floor.

  “We have to go upstairs,” Fareed whispers.

  “But we’ll be trapped there,” I counter. “There’s no way out.”

  From the sounds below, Tyler turns toward the main entrance—and I pray that anyone who may have dawdled got out. At least he moves away from us. But we’re still trapped.

  I understand what he’s doing now. Autumn and Tyler lost their parents. And because of me, they also lost each other. As long as he thinks I’m in the building, he will come after me. The knowledge no longer fills me with dread.

  “We can go out over the roof,” Fareed suggests, nodding at the stairwell. Tomás opens his mouth to interrupt him, but he hurriedly continues. “If we try to make it to the front of the school, Tyler’ll find us, and he won’t hesitate to shoot us.”

  A moment of understanding passes between my brother and him.

  “We need to get out of the school as fast as we can,” Tomás says finally. He glances my way, and I feel his eyes burn. “The police are outside. If we get to the roof, they will help us.”

  I stare at a kid lying in front of the doors to the auditorium. The bullet tore straight through his Dark Side of the Moon shirt. He blinks. His breath comes in loud, rasping gasps, racking his whole body. Time is no longer his. He’s merely holding on because he’s too afraid to let go.

  What will he dream of?

  My hand creeps toward the Brown acceptance letter. Out of habit. Out of comfort—while the boy’s breathing quiets and he slips away.

  I hope he’s found peace.

  • • •

  TOMÁS

  I pull Sylvia toward the stairs. Fareed trails us. We sneak rather than run.

  It’s foolishness to go to the second floor, but it’s the best option we have. Fareed is right—the hallways are too exposed. There’s simply no place to hide. The roof is safer. Besides, if Tyler ventures out there, the police will be able to stop him.

  Shots ring out. They sound close—too close. But then the sounds grow fainter again. We let out a collective sigh.

  Sylvia’s unstable on her feet. She clings tightly to my hand.

  “You came for me,” she says. “You came back for me. I can’t believe you didn’t just run.”

  Her words hit me hard, but I don’t think she notices. We’ve grown so used to pushing each other away, even these circumstances can’t prevent us from doing so. But then, there’s comfort in the familiarity. I fold my hand over hers. “I will always come back for you.”

  She shivers. “When Autumn—I never thought—” she stammers. “Yo no sé lo que nos pasó.”

  “This has nothing to do with you,” I say. Even though we both know it’s a lie. It has everything to do with her. With Autumn. With me. It has everything to do with all of us.

  She’s refused to speak about whatever happened between her and Tyler at junior prom last year. They argued on the dance floor, and he followed her outside. She never told me what he said or what he did, but I know he hurt my sister. She came back trembling and afraid. I’d never seen her afraid before. And that Monday at school, and not for the first time, I slammed him against the lockers. He spit and told me to get my hands off of him. I told him I would put him in a full-body cast if he ever touched my sister again.

  He didn’t respond, and the students around us never even glanced our way. When the first period bell rang, I let him slide to the floor. He wasn’t in my English class later that day. He didn’t show for any of his classes, and I didn’t see him again—until today.

  I thought it’d been a relief to both of us. I never reali
zed she was still scared—not until this morning, which feels like an eternity ago. “He had nothing to do with you. You never saw him again after junior prom, did you?”

  Sylvia looks away, and she closes herself off from me, just like she did last summer. And it’s as if all the pieces of a puzzle slip into place.

  She came home late that night. I sat on the porch with Mamá and told Sylv I made tea—for once in my life—and she threw up. She stayed in bed for days, and when she emerged to face the world again, she wouldn’t face me. And I never knew why. I could only guess. Of course I could guess.

  I just didn’t want to know.

  “Tomás.” Fareed snaps his fingers in front of me. “We have to keep moving.”

  Sylvia nods, and we push away from the walls around us, from the smell of gunpowder. It isn’t until we reach the second floor that I realize Sylvia never answered my question.

  • • •

  AUTUMN

  The second Ty left the auditorium, two students began arguing about whether or not to barricade the doors. The bickering gives me a headache.

  “What if he comes back?”

  “But then we couldn’t get out.”

  “We need to keep him out. That’s all that matters!”

  Still, no one tells them to stop. I raise myself up to survey what’s happening. The remaining teachers are all occupied with the wounded. The dead are scattered across the auditorium, but survivors appear, rising from the corners, crawling out from between the seats. Some care for the injured, applying pressure to stop the bleeding, using their shirts as makeshift bandages. Others seem frozen in terror. Their pale, tearstained faces all focus on one point.

  Me.

  They look at me in helplessness, anger, loathing, and fear. Wherever I turn, there are people staring. Not just students but teachers too, as shell-shocked as the rest of us. There is no one here I can call a friend.

  I stare at Matt, who lies shivering between two rows of seats. If I stay here, who will stop Ty from hurting Sylv? Who still stop Ty from hurting himself?

  My brother and my girlfriend. I feel as if I am losing them both. It tears my heart in two.

  But Matt’s counting on me. If I follow Ty, who will take care of him? I crouch between the seats. “Can you get out?”

  “I’m stuck, I think,” Matt says. Although he is trembling, I can’t tell how hurt he is, but he’s visibly relaxed with Ty gone. “I can’t move my legs.”

  I pick up his crutches and move them out of the way. “Reach out to me?”

  He places his phone on the floor and wraps his hands around mine. His grip is surprisingly strong, and it’s not hard to pull him into a half-sitting position. “Thank you. I don’t know if I could have done that by myself.”

  I don’t have the heart to tell him he couldn’t. I wince at the red that’s seeping through his shirt. I can’t leave him. “Wait here.”

  I stuff my trembling hands in my pockets and turn on my heel, walking carefully past the stage. The lectern stands forlorn, Principal Trenton’s glass of water forgotten on one of the shelves. On the far wall hangs a first aid kit. I’ve used it a few times for cuts and bruises before dance practice, when I couldn’t tend to my wounds at home.

  I pull it out and return to Matt’s row of seats. The kit is large and heavy, and it’s been here since this school was built. I open it and spread the contents across the floor, trying to think of the most sensible way to handle this.

  In the auditorium, the volume rises. Other students are speaking up. “The police are here.” “Help is on the way.”

  “If you can run, run,” I suggest, raising my voice. “If you stay, we need to keep everyone safe. Treat the worst wounds first. Whoever’s not injured, help make the others comfortable. Does anyone here have first aid training?”

  “Who put you in charge?” a sharp voice asks from across the room. CJ, who helped lock us in. I thought she was a hero for the way she handled that. She stares at me with hatred. “He’s your brother. How can we know you’re not like him? You didn’t do anything to stop him.”

  “She tried,” another voice cuts in, though I can’t see whom it belongs to.

  I bow my head and grab some bandages to help Matt. CJ is right. I am responsible. She can hate me all she wants once we’ve survived this. “Who’s talking to the police?” I ask.

  Several people raise their hands or their phones. “Can you tell them the situation? We need some EMTs in here with stretchers.”

  Even if it’s the only thing we can do.

  To: Trace

  I’m not sure when you’ll read this. I just wanted to say that seeing you on my birthday was the best present ever.

  Chapter Eighteen

  10:37–10:39 A.M.

  TOMÁS

  “Here’s how we’ll do it,” Fareed says, alternating glances between the staircase and the hallway in front of us. The doors at either end of the corridor are closed, and the lights are dimmer here. “These classrooms have emergency exits to the roof. We need to find an open room and barricade ourselves in. You two start here. I’ll take the other end of the hallway. Keep quiet and wave when you find something.”

  Sylvia looks like she’s going to protest when Fareed smiles and says, “Don’t worry about me.” He taps the wall with one of the screwdrivers he’s carrying, and his accent comes through more than before. “Have you seen me? Who would want to hurt me with these gorgeous eyes? You make sure you’re safe.” He stares at me as much as at Sylvia.

  “What if none of the doors open?” she objects. The second floor has only one long hallway, which circles around the auditorium. The science rooms on one side have window access to the roof over the first floor classrooms. The study halls on the other side have roof access to the front of the school. But regardless of which roof we’ll choose, it’ll be harder to protect ourselves if Tyler shows up again.

  “Well, the alternative is dying, and I’m not in the mood for that today.” I rattle at the door, and when it doesn’t open, I lean back and kick it. My heel doesn’t budge the lock.

  Fareed says, “We’ve come this far. We won’t back down.”

  “Oh, Obi-Wan Kenobi, what would I do without you?” I roll my eyes, but I actually feel better.

  “Admit it. I’m your only hope,” Fareed replies. And it’s true. He’s been my partner in crime since the very first day. He stood by me when Tyler and I got into fights but also when Mamá began to slip away. He kept an eye on Sylv when she didn’t want me close.

  We check the doors down both sides of the hallway. After the gunshots in the auditorium, the rattling of locked doors somehow feels just as loud. But we make quick work of the doors. And when Sylvia catches my eye, I risk an encouraging smile. Between the three of us, there’s no one I’d rather be with today. Together, we’ll get out. Together, we’ll survive this. Together, we’ll be strong enough to face whatever comes our way.

  This is where it ends.

  • • •

  AUTUMN

  It’s impossible not to listen to the hushed phone conversations. It’s impossible not to wonder what’s being said on the other end of the line. “We can’t help you”? “Help is on the way”?

  I walk back to Matt and pass the row where Nyah’s body lies. I can’t look at her, not when grief and guilt overwhelm me at every step.

  I crouch. “Matt? How are you holding up?”

  He shivers. “Okay.”

  “The SWAT teams are here,” a boy on the phone exclaims. “So are the police. They’ll be inside soon!” His words raise a soft cheer. And then he starts crying big, choking sobs that turn into laughter and back into tears.

  “See, we’ll get out of here.” I wink at Matt, and immediately it makes me feel stupid—like he’s eight instead of a underclassman.

  His smile is a little fainter now, but it’s
real. He straightens his shirt, and when his hand comes back bloody, he stares at it. “Oh.”

  I want to say something, anything, but what is there to say? “I’m sorry my brother shot you”? “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything about it”? Instead, I just nod at the phone next to him. “Maybe you should try to call home.”

  Right when I say that, the phone lights up with an unknown number. Matt stares at it, but he makes no attempt to pick it up. “Can I?” he asks, terror stealing his voice.

  I can’t help myself—I smile. “I think it’ll be okay.”

  When the display goes dark again, Matt touches the phone as it if may burn him. “Will you go after Ty?”

  I sit down next to him and wrap my hand around his. I shake my head. “I will but not yet. I’ll stay here with you. Until they get you out.”

  “Thank you.”

  The phone vibrates again.

  “You’re safe, Matt.”

  He picks up.

  • • •

  CLAIRE

  “Matt?” My voice breaks. “Are you all right?”

  I sit down on the concrete and clutch the phone Chris produced for me—from one of the officers or one of the parents, I don’t know. I hear Matt’s heavy breathing, and when he speaks, his voice sounds distant, duller. “Claire? I hid under the seats. He never saw me.”

  “I was so worried—I’m so sorry I’m not there—I’m so glad you’re okay!” I trip over all I want to say to him. I want to reach through the phone to make sure he’s really safe. “Matt, I’m here with the police. Everything will be okay, all right?”

  I’m pretty sure Matt nods, like he always does when he’s on the phone. Then he clears his voice. “Tyler’s gone.”

  “Tyler’s gone?” I repeat. Chris leans over to listen too. Ty shot himself? My heart lurches.

  “He ran out of the auditorium.” I close my eyes, grateful that Tyler is okay, despite all that’s happened, but Matt’s voice grows softer with every word. I should comfort him, but this information is important. It could help the SWAT teams.