Time Is Running Out

by Michael Wood

  He knocked on the door and opened it without being instructed. Chief Constable Martin Featherstone was sitting in Valerie’s seat, a coffee from her precious machine on the desk in front of him. It seemed strange not seeing the diminutive officer in the oversized chair.

  Featherstone wasn’t doing anything. He wasn’t reading through reports or liaising with armed officers, he was sat in the high-backed chair with a blank expression on his face, staring into infinity. When Christian spoke, he visibly jumped in his seat.

  ‘The gunman’s at Stannington Secondary School. Shots have been fired,’ he announced with a shaking voice.

  ‘Fuck! Casualties?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. Armed Response are on their way.’

  ‘Right.’ Featherstone looked calm, but his darting eyes, the drumming of his fingers contradicted his words.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Christian asked.

  ‘Get ambulance and fire crews on standby. We’ll need an incident room close to the site and call a hostage negotiator and criminal psychologist in case we’re able to talk to him. Erm, what else?’ he asked himself. ‘We need a place for parents to go to wait for their kids and so we can give them information. I want all roads surrounding the school closed and a helicopter overhead. As Gold Commander, I need to remain here,’ he said, looking at his blank mobile. ‘I need you and a team at the school to report directly to me.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Christian said. He turned to leave the room but was called back.

  ‘Good luck, DI Brady.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Brady left the room, closing the door behind him. Luck? He hoped the solution to this wouldn’t involve luck. Police officers in America had procedures for dealing with situations like this. The last shooting at a school in the UK was Dunblane in Scotland in 1996. A response to an attack like this wasn’t something British police rehearsed very often. Actions needed to be swift, but they needed to be correct and accurate. One false move could result in the deaths of hundreds of children. With that on his conscience, Christian had no idea how he’d live with himself afterwards. He thought about his own daughters and was glad they were still too young to be attending Stannington Secondary School.

  ‘Stuart, it’s me,’ Sian said as she ran into the women’s changing rooms for her protective equipment.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart, is everything—’

  ‘Listen,’ she interrupted him as she tried to put a flak jacket on with one hand. ‘There’s a shooting at Stannington Secondary School, and I’m being sent out there.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘Stuart, get the kids out of school. I don’t care what their teachers say, I want you to go in, grab them, and take them home.’

  ‘You think there’s going to be another attack?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, wiping tears from her eyes. ‘Just get the kids home.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I have to do my job,’ she said, her voice shaking.

  ‘Don’t do anything stupid, Sian. You’re not Armed Response. This isn’t your fight. Make sure you stay well back from the action.’ Stuart sounded stern, but it was obvious he was scared for his wife.

  ‘I won’t. Stuart’ – she took a deep breath – ‘I love you.’

  ‘Don’t say that. Don’t say your goodbyes.’

  ‘I’m not.’ She pulled the phone away from her ear for a moment as she choked on her emotion. ‘It’s just … we’ve lost so many today. This isn’t going to end well, I know it, and I need you to know how much I love you. I’ve always loved you.’

  ‘Sian,’ he said softly.

  ‘Tell the kids … tell them how much they mean to me. How I’m incredibly proud of them, and how I love them all so much, even when they’re getting on my tits,’ she said.

  ‘You’ll be able to tell them yourself when you get home tonight.’

  ‘I know. And I intend to. But I need you to tell them in case I don’t come home.’

  ‘You will be coming home,’ he said with determination.

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you, too.’

  She ended the call and put the phone in her pocket. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Tears were streaming down her face. Her eyes were wide. She looked petrified. She was petrified.

  There was a loud knock on the door that made Sian jump. ‘DS Mills, are you in there?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, wiping her eyes.

  ‘It’s PC Rix. DC Fleming asked me to fetch you. He said the car’s ready.’

  ‘I’m coming.’

  Sian tried to put on a brave face, but she was fooling no one, not even herself. She was terrified of what she was about to walk into.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  @jobeone125 Gunman shooting in Stannington School. Trapped inside. Call police.

  * * *

  @RACHELb75 Shooting @StanningtonSecondary school. People trapped. Send help. #SouthYorkshirePolice

  * * *

  @ClareJanetMason Shooting @StanningtonSecondary school. Many dead and injured. People trapped. #Help

  * * *

  @Choconwaffles Head teacher @StanningtonSecondary has been killed. Others shot. We r all trapped inside. #SendHelp

  * * *

  @maxredhall Teachers and students shot dead in corridors of @StanningtonSecondary school. Gunman still shooting. People trapped.

  * * *

  @Ros_Buckley Shooting @StanningtonSecondary school. Miss Henning shot. People dead in the main corridor. Gunman still shooting. #SOS

  * * *

  @StanningtonSecondary Gunman in school. Doors chained shut. Many dead and injured. Please send help. Gunman still active. LD.

  ‘Miss Henning’s been shot,’ one of the pupils in Chris’s class said, looking up from his phone with wide-eyed horror.

  ‘Sunita texted me. She said she saw her get shot in the head. She just dropped down dead,’ another said, voice quivering.

  ‘Oh my God!’

  Chris, standing by the door, turned to the frightened faces staring at him, looking for help, guidance. Josie Henning was an English teacher, like Chris. She was thirty-six years old, was engaged to Tom, a PE teacher from another school, and spent most of her free periods looking at honeymoon destinations. She was always smiling, even when the kids got on her nerves and couldn’t find the same level of excitement she usually found in Shakespeare and Chaucer. Chris liked her. Her energy was infectious. He had seen her less than an hour ago in the staffroom. She was googling how many calories were in a fig biscuit and wondering whether her wedding dress would need to be let out if she didn’t cut back on sugar. Now she was dead. How was that possible?

  Chris’s mouth was dry. He swallowed hard and it hurt. ‘Just post your messages and come off Twitter. It’s probably best not to read what others are putting,’ he said with fear in his voice.

  ‘Oh my God, Mr Fitzgerald’s been killed as well,’ another pupil shouted.

  Chris quietened them down with a hand signal. ‘We need to keep as silent as possible. We can’t draw attention to ourselves, in case the ki— gunman hears.’

  ‘Sir, people are saying the doors have been chained shut. We’re not going to get out of here, are we?’ one girl asked, tears streaming down her face.

  Chris looked at her. He looked at all of them. He had no idea what to say. They looked to him to have all the answers, but he didn’t. He had too many questions of his own. This was a real nightmare scenario, and he didn’t have a clue what was going to happen within the next minute, let alone how he was expected to lead them all to safety.

  He stepped away from the door. ‘Look,’ he began, trying to sound brave and confident. ‘I will do everything I can to protect you all. The police are on their way, and as long as we stay in this room and stay quiet, we have a chance of surviving.’

  The expression on their faces told Chris they didn’t quite believe him. To be honest, he didn’t believe himself, either.

  Ano
ther gunshot from somewhere in the school rang out. Everyone jumped and the huddle of pupils became tighter.

  Chris went back to the door. He looked through the window. In the room opposite, Ruth was staring at him through the glass, tears streaming down her face.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. What he was about to do could either be construed as brave or utterly stupid. He strained as he pushed the bookcase out of the way and pulled open the door.

  Rory was driving at speed through the darkening streets of Sheffield towards Stannington Secondary School. Scott was in the front passenger seat. His face was a map of worry at the thought of his boyfriend risking his own life to save the pupils. He kept glancing at his mobile for any new information, hoping to receive a text from Chris saying he was out of the building and safe. The longer the phone remained blank, the more anxious he became.

  In the back, Finn was frantically texting. He’d sent messages to his parents, informing them of what was happening in Sheffield today, while also conducting a text chat with his wife, trying to reassure her he was fine, safe and not in harm’s way. If she could see where he was, sitting in the back of a rapid-response car wearing a flak jacket and hurtling towards the scene of a school shooting, she would probably have a thousand fits.

  ‘Nobody gave much thought to the female anatomy when they invented these bulletproof jackets, did they?’ Sian said. She was in the back of the car next to Finn and uncomfortably adjusting herself. ‘Millions spent on research and development, and you’d have thought one of the tests would have involved a woman sitting down in a police car. And people wonder why there aren’t many women in Armed Response. They probably try the uniform on and think, screw that, I’m going back to traffic.’ She smiled to herself. She was waffling. It wasn’t often she was nervous and scared, but when she was, she talked and talked. As long as she was talking, she wasn’t thinking about the situation she was about to enter.

  ‘I bought a strapless dress once when we went on holiday to Corfu. This was years ago. I wouldn’t dare have my arms on show now. It doesn’t matter what I do, I can’t tone them up. I suppose that’s down to age and gravity. Anyway, I’m wearing this dress and the only bra I can wear with it is a strapless one. You three blokes won’t know, but a strapless bra under a strapless dress, in thirty-degree heat, is not—’

  ‘Sian,’ Scott interrupted. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Sorry. I’m running on, aren’t I?’

  ‘It’s ok,’ Finn said, briefly placing a hand on hers before removing it.

  Scott’s phone beeped with an incoming text message. He quickly unlocked it and read the text. ‘Chris says to read Twitter. The pupils are messaging for help. He said two teachers are dead that he knows of. Can’t you drive any faster, Rory?’ he shouted.

  ‘Scott, calm down,’ Sian said, placing a hand on his shoulder, which he quickly shook off.

  ‘Calm down? Are you serious? There’s a man with a gun in a school full of kids and my boyfriend is in there. Do you really expect me to be calm?’

  ‘Yes. I expect you to be calm and professional.’

  ‘Like you were just now? Talking about fucking strapless bras!’

  ‘Scott, that’s enough!’ Rory snapped. ‘We’ve all lost people today. We can’t turn on each other. We need to be there for one another.’ He quickly looked over his shoulder and gave a hint of a smile to Sian. ‘Personally, if Sian wants to give us a full detailed description of her breasts, I think we should let her.’

  Sian reached forward and slapped him playfully on the back of the head.

  Rory looked over to Scott and gave him a broad grin. He smiled back.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sian.’ He put his hand through the gap in the seats, and Sian grabbed it, holding on tight.

  The car fell silent as all four concentrated on the road, and the task, ahead.

  Chapter Fifty

  Chris darted across the silent corridor and pushed open the door Ruth was behind.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  She couldn’t speak. She kept her back to her pupils and shook her head.

  He placed a hand on her shoulder for comfort and could feel her entire body shaking. ‘Ok. Everyone, listen up,’ he addressed the frightened-looking students huddled at the back of the room. ‘I want you all to run very quietly into my classroom. I think it’ll be better if we’re all together.’ None of them moved. ‘Come on, now. We have to be quick.’

  He stepped out into the corridor, looked left and right to make sure nobody was there and beckoned them all to follow him.

  A group of thirty students couldn’t be quiet. Their heavy footfalls resounded off the walls and Chris rushed them into his classroom, pushing some. He grabbed Ruth and pulled her across the corridor.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said through her tears.

  He closed the door behind him and turned around. Two teachers, one of whom was practically hysterical, and almost sixty students. He would not be able to cope with them all on his own, especially as they all seemed to be looking to him as if he had the solution to getting out of the building.

  ‘We need to barricade this door again,’ he said quietly. ‘Stephen, Craig, help me with the bookcase. Ruth, you go and sit with the others.’

  Chris had chosen two of the largest boys to help him push the tall bookcase, laden with textbooks, back in front of the door. Chris wanted a small gap so he’d be able to look through the window.

  He went over to the huddle of students in the far corner.

  ‘Shouldn’t we be hearing sirens by now?’ someone asked.

  ‘They won’t use sirens,’ Chris said. ‘They won’t want to draw the gunman’s attention.’

  ‘I’ve looked online and there’s nothing about who he is. Don’t terrorists usually say who they are and what they’re doing?’ someone said.

  ‘He might not be a terrorist,’ Chris said. ‘There are all kinds of reasons why someone would come into a school with a gun.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Chris thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know,’ he lied.

  He looked over to Ruth. In the dim light, he could see how frightened she looked. She remained quiet so as not to scare the pupils even more with her shaking voice, but it was obvious to everyone she was petrified.

  Chris took out his phone and sent a text to Scott:

  I’m in room 14 on the first floor. There’s me and Ruth and about 60 kids. We’ve turned the lights off and barricaded the door. How long until you’re here?

  A reply pinged back straight away:

  We’re here. Armed police are assessing the situation. I’ll find a way to get you out.

  From the outside, the scene at Stannington Secondary School looked like any normal school day. Some of the classrooms were in darkness, while others still had lights on. However, there was no movement from any of the windows.

  Rory pulled up in the driveway behind a tactical-support vehicle where armed response officers, wearing full protection uniform, were removing Heckler & Koch rifles from the strongbox in the boot of the car. They already had their Glocks holstered.

  ‘God, I hate guns,’ Sian said as she climbed out of the vehicle.

  ‘Inspector Porter. Gavin. Tactical Firearms Controller,’ the leader of the armed unit said as he approached her.

  ‘DS Sian Mills, Homicide and Major Enquiry Team,’ she said, taking his proffered hand.

  ‘What’s happened to DI Brady?’

  ‘He’s on his way.’

  Another two Armed Response vehicles pulled up. Three officers in each jumped out and headed for the boot to get their rifles.

  ‘Right. We’re waiting on a hostage negotiator. We’ll coordinate and establish a strategy.’

  ‘Ok. Where are they?’

  ‘Stuck in traffic. We’ve also phoned for the caretaker. Hopefully he’ll have a floor plan of the school, so we know what we’re dealing with—’

  ‘So in the meantime we have to just wait here while a gunman is
picking them off one by one?’ Scott interrupted.

  ‘Inspector Porter, this is DC Scott Andrews. His partner is a teacher in this school.’

  ‘Have you established contact with her?’ Gavin asked.

  ‘Him. Yes, I have. He’s in room fourteen with another teacher and sixty pupils. We need to get him out of there now.’

  ‘Son, I understand how you’re feeling, and we’ll do everything we can to make sure as many people are brought out of there alive as possible. A single loss of life is a failure in my book, and I don’t like to lose.’

  ‘Lives have already been lost, for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘Scott!’ Sian admonished.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Everyone turned around to see a woman standing behind them. She was wearing jeans and a thin jumper but no coat despite the cold weather and the fine drizzle.

  ‘My Mark just called me. He said there was a gunman in the school. I thought he was joking but when I saw the police cars… Oh my God, is it true?’ She crumbled.

  Finn stepped forward. He placed his arm around her shoulder and moved her to one side.

  Sian turned away, tears building up in her eyes. ‘Shit, we need more help here. Rory, get on to Christian, ask him to send as many officers out as he can. Ask him what he’s doing about an incident room and somewhere for all the parents who are going to start turning up here any minute.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Also, ask him if anyone’s tried to contact this Ruth. Do we know if she’s actually at work today?’

  Rory took out his phone and walked away.

  ‘Do we know anything about the gunman?’ Gavin asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Sian said. She was shivering in the cold despite the extra layer of the flak jacket. ‘Jake Harrison. Thirty-four years old. He shot his mother and father dead this morning at their home in Worrall. His brother is Steve Harrison, a former police officer who is in Wakefield Prison for killing six people.’