The big, grassy circle had people running in and out of the surrounding dorm buildings. Some stopped to fight while others were trying to get the hell out of the way. Screaming and yelling came from every angle. Sirens came from the distance, but it didn’t bring that sense of calmness to Jon like it did the first time. He was convinced it was going to lead to more trouble, considering how Officer Cherry ended up. Keep running.
Almost out of breath, Jon hustled up the steps to the third floor of the LeRone Building. There wasn’t anyone coming up or down the steps now, however, Jon noticed many of the doors to the dorm rooms on each floor were wide open, including Melissa’s room. 203. But first, he had to get to room 303. He clung onto the stair railing as he whipped himself around onto the next set of steps.
Room 303's door was wide open just like the rest of them and Jon was sure to get in as fast as he could and lock the door behind him. Click. The place was empty. Not even Kat’s body remained. “Guys?” Jon said. “Hunter? Melissa? Where are you guys? Brandon’s hurt! Someone shot the cop and people are going at each other like lunatics!”
He walked back into the little hallway and checked the bathroom. Nothing. It was odd how eerily quiet it was in there with all of the mayhem going on outside. Had they run outside after they heard gunshots? They must’ve, Jon thought, unless one of those psychos came in here.
Jon walked back into the living/kitchen area that appeared to be unaltered since he was last there. The furniture was still moved all around. The kitchen was still in disarray and the shards of smashed plates still poked out of the carpet leading to a small blood stain by the door where Michael took a bite out of Hunter. Then a thought came barreling into Jon’s mind: Skylar. Skylar stayed downstairs during the whole ordeal, she might be down there with the rest of them.
He rushed to the door and unlocked it. Click. The noises of hell returned as the door swung open. The chaos. The pandemonium. It all came whooshing through the open hall as Jon exited room 303 and toward the steps. Out on the grassy circle, people were tearing each other apart. Screaming and cursing. Shoving and slapping. Kicking and punching. One of them looked up at Jon and shouted, “What the FUCK you think YOU’RE looking at!?” and began running towards the stairs. Jon panicked and almost slipped down the steps, trying to get into room 203 before the psycho smashed his head in like they did to Brandon.
Jon fumbled into room 203. He closed the door. Locked it. Click. Then, just seconds later, banging came from the other side.
POUND. POUND. POUND.
“Open this FUCKING door NOW!” the psychotic man shouted. Jon fell to the floor and scooted backward like chicks do in the horror films he watches.
POUND. POUND. POUND.
“Skylar?” Jon said, trying to be louder than the pounding on the door. He looked around the room. No one was there. He got up and went back to the bedrooms, the door still being beaten like a drum behind him. “Is anyone back here? Skylar? Hunter? Melissa? Kat? Hello? Hello? It’s Jon!”
He searched the bedrooms. Nothing. He looked in the bathroom, behind the shower curtain. Nothing. Jon was alone again. Just like he was upstairs, except this time he had a visitor that he sure as hell wasn’t going to allow in. His heart began to race at top speed.
POUND. POUND. POUND.
“I’m NOT kidding, you BETTER OPEN THIS GODDAMN DOOR!” The psycho sounded like he was for sure not kidding. It was still loud even standing by the bathroom door down the hall.
He needed a weapon. Something. Anything. Hand to hand was not an option. Brandon was overrun, and he was fit and muscular. Jon wouldn’t stand a chance even if it was one on one. He ran back to the kitchen side of the room. The first drawer got yanked open. Little spoons, forks, and butter knives with colored handles were inside. No good, but he took one of the butter knives just in case. They gotta have something sharper around here.
POUND. POUND. POUND.
He threw open the next drawer. Dish towels. The next drawer. Plastic baggies. The bottom drawer. Empty. Goddammit!
POUND. POUND. CRACK.
A screw on the top door hinge came off. Jon turned his head and saw it fall to the carpet. Jesus Christ! He turned back to the kitchen bar, hands starting to tremble. The cabinet doors flew open. Nothing but plates and cups inside. The cabinet doors slammed shut. Jon, with a green-colored handled butter knife in hand, ran back into a bedroom. Another screw flew out of the door hinges.
CRACK. POUND. POUND.
Jon was in Melissa’s room. He knew it was her room because the walls were plastered with little collages of photos of her with family and friends. Better times. A big pink letter M was taped on the wall above her desk, which Jon was now rummaging through. He found a pair of scissors in the drawer. Real scissors. Not the childish kind similar to the likes of his butter knife, but real heavy-duty ones. If he breaks down the door, go for the jugular.
CRACK. POUND. CRACK.
It sounded like the hinges were breaking off altogether. Jon’s heart beat hard in his chest as he went to close Melissa’s bedroom door, locking it. CLICK. Now it was just a matter of time. The psycho was either going to break in and kill Jon, or Jon was going to kill him. CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. THUD. The door came off its hinges and slammed to the carpet with a loud THUD.
“Where are YOU? Come out NOW!” the psycho said. Jon positioned himself up against the wall by the door. That way if the psycho broke down the bedroom door, he could come from the side and surprise him with a pair of scissors to the neck. Easier said than done.
The psycho grunted and stomped around the dorm, looking for Jon as Jon’s hands coated the scissors in sweat. His hands shook like leaves. Then, he heard the sounds of another person coming through the dorm. There was no speaking, only movements. It got quiet. Too quiet. There was no more stomping or grunting sounds. Jon waited thirty seconds. Silence. Another thirty seconds. Did he leave? Jon raised an eyebrow and slid his head slowly on the wall until he had one ear up against the wooden door. Silence still. Only the sound of Jon’s unstoppable heart.
Did he give up? Did someone else walk by and he chased after them? Did somebody shoot him? Jon was mad with his thoughts. No, I would’ve heard the gunshot. Should I peek out? No. Don’t.
Chapter NINE
Sports
Big Jon tried. Oh, how he tried. He did everything he could to get Little Jon into sports. Little Jon enjoyed throwing a ball back and forth outside with his father and going to the Hillcrest High School gym to play basketball after school. But when it came to the actual sporting events themselves, no matter which physical activity he got involved in, it always ended in some form of injury or annoyance. Baseball: bloody nose. Soccer: bruised knees. Football: didn’t like wearing all the equipment. Basketball: hit in the face, broken glasses. Hockey: wouldn’t even try.
“It’s alright, Jon! Walk it off! Rub some dirt on it!” the coaches would shout across the field as if the dirt would miraculously heal Little Jon’s aches.
Little Jon taking his high school to states was out of the question.
The two of them had plenty of fun times together, but Big Jon always felt there was yet to be an activity that the two of them could bond over. He’d try to play video games with his son a few times, but that was only mindless fun. A time killer. Same with movies, though Little Jon very much enjoyed those. Especially action and sci-fi. Little Jon liked those things because he couldn’t get a black eye while holding a controller or having his face smacked with a puck while watching The Fast and Furious and Alien movies.
Then, Big Jon thought of his father, Jonathan William Barnes, aka Grandpa Jon. Growing up in rural Pennsylvania, a lot of his bonding with his father involved getting up early and tending to the farm. Milking cows. Feeding the chickens. Typical stuff like that for a rural family. He and his father didn’t have many activities other than the usual work. Except for one thing. There was one activity that Big Jon and his dad did together that provided a proper father-son bonding experience.
If it was that certain time of year, Grandpa Jon would take his son deer hunting.
Chapter TEN
The Morning After
The pale ceiling light shined down on Jon like a morning sunrise. His eyes fluttered a moment before he rubbed them. For a brief second in time, he thought he was in his own bed, back at his dorm, thinking everything had been a nightmare. If only. As he became more aware and back to the waking world, he started to realize that he was in Melissa’s bed on top of her light-blue comforter. Funny, Jon had never woken up in a girl’s bed before.
How long was I out? He leaned up from the bed to see that the door was still locked. Untouched it seemed. The pair of heavy-duty scissors lay next to him along with his glasses. He wiped the glasses off with the bottom of his shirt, trying not to touch the bloodstains that had now dried to a crust. What time is it?
Jon rolled off the bed, hoping not to make any noise in case the maniac had returned. He knelt by the desk. Melissa’s black and pink-trimmed backpack lay beside it, leaning against the wall. A small hand sanitizer bottle with an apple tree picture hung from the zipper. Jon squirted some out and rubbed it between his hands. The scent gave Jon a moment of ease and cleanliness.
Zip. Inside was a textbook and a laptop. Its charger underneath. He plugged it into the nearby wall socket. A virtual ding sound ringed from it. Jon tried to cover the noise. It didn’t have much battery life left but Jon turned it on right away to the log in screen to see MAY 4, 7:05 A.M displayed in the bottom-left corner. MELISSA R it said on the center screen with a picture of the ocean in the background. There was no way Jon could log on, it was password protected. Jon searched more in the backpack, hoping to find a cell phone. No success. Melissa probably had it on her wherever she was. People these days always had their phones on them.
He got up, grabbed the scissors off the bed, and headed toward the door. It was still quiet. Jon put his ear up to the door again and listened for a minute but there was nothing to be heard. Then, his stomach growled. I can’t stay here forever. His hand slowly raised up to turn the lock above the knob, ear still pressed up against the wood. Cl-click. Jon unlocked it and pulled on the knob. He got back up against the wall and peeked his head around, looking out of the slight crack of the door. The living area was clear. He could see the corner of the broken door on the carpet and some light from the morning sun coming through the wide-open doorway. He then swung his head around to look straight across the hall to see Kat’s room how it was before. Nothing was out of place it seemed. He angled his head again, now looking at the bathroom door which was cracked. Again, as it was before. Jon couldn’t notice any difference that he could remember from last night.
They could be around the corner, waiting to jump out from the kitchen or behind the bathroom door. Another growl came from his stomach. When did I eat last? He clenched the scissors and opened the door halfway. Jon paused, listening again, then opened the door all the way. He stepped out, almost tiptoeing like a cat burglar into Kat’s bedroom. Still no success in finding a cell phone. The bathroom had pink and purple bottles of lotions and shampoos. Nothing of use there. Back up front in the living/kitchen area, Jon could hear the early morning birds outside and feel the cool air that poured into the entranceway. The door lay on the ground with its hinges and screws beside it.
He poked his head out into the cemented hall. First to the right, then to the left. It was clear. No sign of the maniac, yet. The adjoining dorm rooms were closed, wide open, or cracked but he didn’t dare to check in any of them. His main concern was getting back to his own room if he even had one. He wasn’t even sure if that was a good idea.
As he walked toward the steps, Jon covered his mouth with his hand. His eyes widened.
Bodies lay all throughout the quad. Bloodied and battered. Faces and limbs scratched and covered in red. Bodies were contorted. Some faced up, others faced down. Jon almost called out to see if any of them were alive, but he stopped himself. He felt sick and not so hungry anymore. Although he couldn’t see him around the corner of the LeRone Building, Jon knew that Brandon’s body was still there, lifeless. Same with Officer Cherry’s and most likely the same for the EMTs. All those bodies. Jon felt sick. He couldn’t stop staring at what looked like a twisted version of I Spy as his eyes jutted around, looking for anyone familiar in the heap.
The walk down the steps was slow as his eyes remained on the crowd of bodies. “Fuck!” Jon yelled out, then he slapped his mouth. A girl’s body lay at the bottom of the last steps. Her head looked like it was recently bashed into the side of the railing. Blood stained her once blonde hair, black. Skylar? No, she wasn’t wearing that outfit. Oh, Jesus… Jon stepped over her and walked around out onto the asphalt path in front of the grassy circle of death. He wasn’t interested in cutting through the grass this time. The asphalt path seemed an easier route to take.
He didn’t want to look but he had to. Coming around the bend toward his own dorm building, Washington Building, Jon looked to his right, down the path where all those people had formed the night before to watch Michael get put in the cop car. The lights of Officer Cherry’s cruiser still beamed in the morning light. The ambulance’s too. There were more bodies lying there, Brandon’s included. He could see the two EMT bodies thrown down beside Brandon. Officer Cherry remained on the ground with bullet holes in his chest. Jon looked away, back towards the Washington Building until he realized he needed the keys to his dorm. He had left all of his stuff in his bedroom before going to Melissa’s place and Brandon was the only one who had the keys for the night out. They were the ones connected to his lanyard. Jon had to walk down by the crosswalk and fetch them from Brandon’s lifeless neck. He winced at the thought and almost started crying.
Brandon’s head looked like a worn-out punching bag. His eyes had a blackness to them, one was bulging out, and his teeth had been painted red and jerked back into his mouth. He laid in the grass beside the asphalt walkway with his mouth slung open. The EMTs didn’t look much better. The one looked choked-out with her own stethoscope.
Officer Cherry was in a pool of his own blood.
Jon knelt on the grass beside Brandon and pulled the lanyard keys up and over his big, lifeless head. It felt wrong. Jon gagged and put his hand over his mouth and closed his eyes. He placed the lanyard keys in his front-left pocket and stood up. The sound of the police cruiser’s engine caught Jon’s attention. It must’ve been running all night. The light bar still flickered red and blue. Jon glanced down at Officer Cherry as he walked by him toward the car. Officer Cherry’s eyes were open, and his mouth looked like it had frozen right in the middle of a conversation. For a second, Jon thought he was alive. That idea ended when he nudged the body of the officer and found a deadly silence in reply.
As he came up to the cruiser, Jon noticed Michael was still laying in the back seat. His chest was rising up and down. It looked like he was fast asleep inside. He’s alive! Holy shit! What do I do? Jon made a fist like he was about to knock on the window. There was some hesitation as he wasn’t sure what to expect if Michael woke up. Suddenly, a voice called out for him from the other side of the blocked crosswalk, behind the ambulance.
“Hey, you! Hey, hey! Over here!” a man’s voice called. Jon was so startled that his fist shook and hit the window, almost punching right through it. Michael didn’t even move inside. His chest was still rising and falling. Jon perched his head up above the police car. He could see a brown-haired guy through the windows of the ambulance, standing on the edge of the opposing crosswalk end. He moved toward Jon.
“Hey! Are you ok?” the man asked as he appeared around the ambulance and saw the very disheveled Jon with bloodstains on his shirt and hands. The man was wearing a grey tank top and khaki cargo shorts with flip flops.
Jon began to back up, frightened. He almost tripped over Officer Cherry’s body. For all he knew, this man was another maniac, ready to pounce.
“Are you alright, dude? I’m not going to hurt you, trust me,”
the man said with his eyes squinting from the sun. It sounded genuine and not rage-filled like the maniac who chased him last night. Jon stopped backing up and stood frozen for a second.
“Who are you?” Jon asked.
“My name’s Mark. I promise I’m not going to hurt you. It’s alright.”
“What’s going on? What happened last night?” Jon said, still frightened. “What the hell is all this?”
“I don’t know exactly, but you need to come with me to the library. Are there any others with you?”
“No, I-I’m alone.”
“Ok, follow me.”
Jon reached down in his pocket and grabbed his lanyard keys. “I gotta get back to my dorm, my phone, and everything is in there. I gotta call my parents.”
“No time for that. We have working phones and computers in the library. Look.” Mark took his phone from his pocket and held it up. The sun reflected off its screen like a prized jewel. “You can call them from mine. Come on! There’s a group of people back at the library. It’s safer there than out here. It’d be best if you’d come along.” He waved at Jon to cross the street.
Maybe Melissa, Hunter, Kat, and Skylar are in that group. He asked Mark if any of them were there.
“No, I’m sorry to say.” He shook his head.
Jon looked back at Brandon’s body and then to Officer Cherry’s. He moved back up to the car to see Michael still asleep inside. “What do we do about him?” Jon said, pointing. Mark walked over to the opposite side of the cruiser and peered in with his hands on the window.
“Is he dead? The door’s locked. Did you knock?” Mark asked, still peering in.
“I knocked, and he didn’t move at all. He’s alive, see? He’s breathing.”
When the Sky Goes Dark Page 6