“Mr. Perkel,” I call, rising into a half-crouch and waving at him. Even I can’t hear my voice above the racket. “Mr. Perkel, you need to get under the desk. It’s a lockdown,” I shout loudly.
He shakes himself, then goes down on his knees and lifts the tablecloth draped over his desk to crawl under it, but there’s a panel fitted to the front of the desk blocking him. At that moment, the door is flung open hard. It bangs against the wall with a sharp crack and someone comes into the classroom.
It’s L.J. He’s wearing a camouflage-patterned hunter’s vest over his plaid shirt. Pointed brass bullets are stuffed into an ammunition belt slung diagonally across his chest, one end of a pair of handcuffs dangles from a vest pocket, and he is carrying a rifle. It has a long black metal barrel and trigger, a wooden stock, and a metal bolt sticking out from the side. He kicks the door closed behind him and trains the rifle in a moving arc over the class.
There are some gasps and a few whimpers, but nobody makes a move. The girl who sits in front of me is hunched over her knees, rocking and whispering a prayer. A few desks away, Ben is crouched down low. His face is gray, and a tic twitches the corner of his eye. I’m panting as though I’ve just run a mile, and I feel both cold and sweaty.
“Now, L.J …” That’s Perkel talking.
I crane my neck to see him rising to stand from where he was half-hidden by the desk tablecloth. L.J. swivels to face Perkel.
“Ah, just the person I’ve been looking for,” L.J. says. There’s a deadness in his voice, but his face is alive with loathing and aggression.
Perkel takes one look at L.J.’s face and begins scrambling out of the window.
“Don’t go yet – I’ve got something for you, Perkel!”
Moving swiftly, L.J. lifts the rifle to his shoulder, steadies the barrel against his jaw, takes aim, and pulls the trigger as Perkel launches himself through the gap. There is a deafening boom as the rifle kicks back into L.J.’s shoulder and bucks up in his hands. The shot hits the window and shatters the glass into a thousand, thousand flying fragments. I crouch over my knees on the floor, flashes of other booms and glass fragments streaking across my mind.
L.J. curses. He lumbers over to the window and peers out and down.
“Coward! Bastard zombie!” he shouts. “Look at him run, the coward.”
He slides the bolt to load another round and fires off another shot. Curses, then laughs. It’s a high-pitched, manic sound and it makes me want to throw up, run away screaming, curl up into a ball. Instead, I look at Luke. He’s also crouched on the floor and looking at me. I don’t see Juliet. She must still be hiding in the cabinet. There are screams and moans, but I can’t make a sound, can’t seem to breathe.
“Shut up, shut up!” shouts L.J. over the ringing alarm. “Get out of here, all of you!”
I lift my head above the top of my desk. L.J. is waving the rifle from the class to the door.
“Just get out. Go!”
Desks and chairs are knocked over as my classmates scramble for the door, pushing and shoving to get out and run for the nearest exit – via the cafeteria. I’m at the back of the throng, and Luke is not in front of me. I turn. He is standing beside his desk. A long moment hangs between us.
“Juliet,” I mouth the word.
He nods – he hasn’t forgotten her – and heads to the cabinet at the back of the classroom.
“Where do you think you’re going?” L.J. asks Luke.
“I’m just –”
“Just nothing. Get out!”
Luke takes an uncertain step, but then L.J. speaks again.
“No, wait – stay where you are. I’ve changed my mind.”
“What?” I say from where I stand, alone now, at the door. “No!”
“You still there? Well come back in, Sloane, two hostages are better than one.”
“Sloane – just go. Go!” urges Luke. “L.J., let’s talk.”
L.J. points the rifle at Luke, who is walking toward him.
“Back up, Naughton, or you’ll lose your pretty face.”
Luke stops, holds his hands out from his side, palms-down. I swallow. My mouth is dry.
“Get to the back of the room, both of you,” L.J. says, waving Luke and me to the back inside corner where my desk is.
We take slow, deliberate steps backwards, keeping our gaze on L.J. The alarm stops wailing and the sudden silence reverberates loudly in my ringing ears. Still pointing the weapon at us, L.J. slides the bolt at the side of the rifle back and up with a cold click. The spent cartridge flies up into the air and lands pinging on the floor, spinning on its brass end. L.J. extracts a handful of the slender bullets from the ammo belt across his hunter’s vest and slides them into the chamber at the top of the rifle.
40
Luke
I need to get her out of here. I need to keep her safe.
L.J.’s going to blow. It’s coming soon, I can see it in his eyes. He’s not done shooting yet, and there are only three of us left in the classroom.
Juliet’s in the cupboard. If she just stays completely still and quiet, she’ll be okay. Sloane and I are side-by-side in the corner, watching L.J.
He moves along the board on the front wall of the classroom to the shattered windows that look out over the fields. With his back to the wall pillar, he quickly brings his head forward and cranes around to look out of the window. At first I think he’s checking to see if he can try again to get Perkel, but then I register the wail of approaching sirens and realize he’s checking for cops. Of course – someone must have called the police and soon this place will be swarming with SWAT teams and expert snipers and skilled negotiators. At least, I hope it will.
Because she’s got to be safe.
40
Hostage
Thank God the rest of the class got out in time. I think – I hope! – that Sienna is safe, probably still on lockdown, but I wish Luke was too. And Juliet, I guess.
Luke and I are standing beside my desk, under the poster of Byron, in the corner between the back and hallway walls. If I reached out my fingers just a few inches, I could hold his hand and I wouldn’t feel so completely alone. Instead, I press my palms against my jeans.
L.J. crouches down and passes the windows quickly on his way over to where we are. He notices the door of the book cabinet is ajar and gives it a kick. There is a squeal from inside.
“Get out!”
The door doesn’t move.
With the rifle still trained on Luke and me, L.J. edges the door open with a foot to reveal Juliet crouched down below the lowest shelf, sobbing noiselessly. Her face is a circle of tight, white panic. He grabs her by her ponytail and jerks her out. She falls onto her knees and he drags her along to the corner, then shoves her backwards. Luke catches her in his arms. I wrap my own around myself, as if they could protect me. The three of us huddle in the corner, facing L.J.
“So …” L.J. pops his lips together a few times. “I missed out on my chance to rid the world of that zombie waste of space. Guess I get an F for effing revenge. At least I got Tyrone good on my way in.”
“T-Tyrone?” says Julie. “You shot him?”
“Nah. He was waiting just outside Como’s office, but when he saw me coming, he ran inside and slammed the door shut behind him. Such a sack of shit!”
“We heard shots,” says Luke.
“I put a couple in the office door. But I couldn’t get in – it’s reinforced.”
L.J. tilts his head towards the shattered window, listening to the sirens. “The pigs have arrived and media should be here soon – time to make my exit and my appearance.”
“This place must be surrounded by cops. If you don’t surrender, you’ll never get out of here alive,” says Luke.
“Thanks for pointing out the obvious, teacher’s pet.”
The sirens are a discordant choir now; they seem to be coming from all sides of the school.
I still want to know what happened in the office.
“But you said you got Tyrone,” I say.
“Damn straight! When he locked himself in Como’s office, he left his things behind. But I took them out. One into his laptop,” he mimes shooting downwards, “and one into his phone. You should have seen the pieces fly! Maybe I’ll get another shot at him on the way out.”
“Did you shoot anyone else?” Luke asks.
“Not, yet, pretty boy.”
I feel a moment’s relief. L.J. hasn’t actually shot anyone. Yet. And surely, if he really wanted to, he could have shot any number of kids already. He’s not out of control. But his next words shatter any illusion that we’re not still in real danger.
“What I need is a hostage to get me out safely. And I came prepared.” He pats the handcuffs protruding from his vest pocket.
“L.J., think!” Luke urges. “Where would you go? They’ll get you sooner or later. Why not surrender now, before this gets any worse for you? You haven’t hurt anyone yet.”
“You want to be the first, pretty boy?”
Juliet starts sobbing again.
“Shut up, you,” L.J. snarls at her. “It would give me great pleasure to blow off your stupid head, so don’t tempt me.
Juliet’s eyes bulge even further, but she silences herself with a small hiccup.
“This is Lieutenant Linda Bedley speaking.” The magnified voice echoes through the halls and over the grounds. “I would like to speak to the person or persons with weapons who are inside this school. Our tactical task force has every entrance and exit to the school covered. We would like everyone to walk away from this without injury or loss of life. We need to chat about your options. Please call me on the following number.” The voice recites a cell phone number.
“D-do you want to use my phone?” I ask, holding it out to L.J. in a hand which trembles.
He snatches it out of my hands and hurls it across the room. It ricochets off a window frame and flies outside.
“Chat on that, pig!” L.J. shouts after it.
Luke catches my eye, shakes his head with a miniscule movement. L.J. reaches out his beefy left hand and grabs Luke by the upper arm.
“You,” he says. “Pretty Boy. You’ll make a good-looking hostage.”
“No!” I say, at the same time as Luke says, “It won’t work.”
“You know, I think it will. The cops won’t kill a student with all the cameras on hand to film it. But even if they do, death by cop doesn’t sound so bad to me, especially if I get the satisfaction of taking you down on my way out. That might even be a real pleasure.”
I’m horrified. Paralyzed by shock and fear. No! is all I can think. No, not Luke.
“Why are you doing this, man?” says Luke. “What have you got against me? I never bullied you.”
“You never noticed me,” says L.J. “At least they saw me. Besides,” he pulls Luke closer and removes the handcuffs from his vest, “you and your kind are the reason that I get given such a hard time. Everyone’s supposed to look like you, act like you, swim like you. If you’re gone, it’ll be easier for everyone else who can’t measure up.”
I can’t stand here, frozen like a coward, and just let this happen. I rush forward at L.J., ignore the weapon he points straight at my chest.
“No, stop! Leave him,” I beg. “Don’t do this.”
“Back off, Sloane,” Luke shouts at me. “Just back off and let him do what he must.”
“Yeah – back off and leave me.”
“L.J., please, you can’t do this. Just give me the gun and I’ll tell them it was all a mistake. I’ll tell them how Perkel –”
L.J. reaches up his left hand and slams it into my shoulder, shoving me back, hard.
41
A chance
I stagger backwards from L.J.’s blow, jostle into Luke, but manage to right myself before I can fall.
“Always trying to help – like you have all the answers. You!” he barks the last word out on a bitter laugh. “As if you’re any better off than me. Tell you what – you can finally help me now, Munster. Here,” he tosses the pair of handcuffs at me, “make yourself useful and cuff Naughton to me.”
He grabs Luke’s right hand with his left and holds their arms extended out to me.
“Aw, we’re going to make such an awesome couple, pretty boy. The TV cameras are going to get some great images. If the zombie teacher is watching, he’ll get real jealous.”
He urges me along, poking the rifle’s barrel tip into my ribs. I am thinking quickly. I am thinking so quickly that I am sure it must show in my eyes. But I force myself to move slowly, carefully holding the handcuffs up and moving closer to their hands. There is a tiny key inserted in the cuff lock. I turn it to open the manacles.
My hands tremble as I slip one of the handcuffs over Luke’s wrist, and look up into his face. He is trying to say something with his eyes, but I cannot guess what it is. Time moves slowly. I stare deeply into his wide hazel eyes as I click the handcuff closed and remove the key. My mouth is dry. I try to make more saliva.
“Sloane, I shouldn’t have blamed you. I was wrong. I’m sorry I –” Luke begins, but L.J. interrupts.
“Let’s make our relationship more committed. Permanent,” he mocks, turning their linked hands over so that his is now on top of Luke’s.
They say that in moments of extreme danger, your life flashes before your eyes. But for me, it’s different. Of course it is. His life flashes through my mind.
I see Luke: his broad shoulders and long legs, the hair that turns the color of molasses when it’s wet. I see the grace of him as he powers through the pool’s water, the gentleness of his hands when he rescues a spider, the sad understanding in his eyes when he looks at his mother. I hear the laugh that transforms his face when he rolls around with his puppy, feel the touch of his finger tracing the line of my scar down my cheek, hear him telling me I’m beautiful.
He still has a chance to let go of his grief and hatred. He still has a chance for love. I have seen – can it really just have been minutes ago? – how much he cares for Juliet. He has a chance to heal his relationship with his parents, to live a full life.
I think of that shaded house where his mother sits and drinks, and of his father who keeps himself busy and talks incessantly to fill the silence. What it will do to them if they lose another son – one whom they did not appreciate while he was alive?
A world without Luke would be emptier, less than, missing some essential part.
“Hurry up,” L.J. shouts at me.
I pull my gaze away from Luke’s and look down to where my hands – steady now that my decision is made – cup his. I lift the other end of the handcuff and open it to its fullest extent.
Luke will be okay. A dent to his masculine pride, that’s all. Maybe a little guilt. But I know better than anyone that you can live, even love, with guilt.
He’ll be fine. But I’m selfish. I can’t live through another loss, in a world from which he has been taken. The decision is easy really.
42
Settling debts
I move the open hand-cuff to L.J.’s hand. He lifts his wrist up to receive the restraint. Then I spin to the side, yanking Luke’s manacled hand with me. In one fluid movement, I click the cuff closed over the water pipe and put the tiny key in my mouth. I swallow hard, twice, and then open my mouth wide, sticking out my tongue to show L.J. like I’m a contestant on some bug-eating reality show.
L.J.’s jaw drop. He swings the rifle around in his right hand and hits me across the face with the butt, and I crumple to the ground.
My ears are ringing and I feel dizzy, black spots and white lights speckle my vision, and my stomach and fingers feel cold. But I will not allow myself to pass out. I stay doubled-over, hands over my face for a few seconds – long enough to spit the key I had hidden in my cheek out into my right hand. Both Luke and L.J. are shouting at me and rattling the locked cuffs. I reach out and grab the leg of my desk with my left hand and hold onto it to steady myself, while
I allow my right hand to fall down by my side, to drop the key down the side of my sneaker.
“You want me to kill you? Right now? Do you? DO YOU?” L.J. screams at me, waving the rifle in the air. “Or maybe I should kill him?” He points the rifle at Luke. “Maybe I should just blow a hole through him right now. Would you like that?”
Using the desk, I pull myself back up to my feet. I shake my head gingerly in answer to L.J.’s questions. My jaw burns like it’s on fire and I can taste blood, but I feel grimly satisfied. Luke is stuck, trapped in this classroom. He won’t be going anywhere with L.J. Juliet has slumped into a seat and is trembling uncontrollably. Tears stream down her face and she has a fist stuffed into her mouth to stifle her sobs.
“Get me out of here, Sloane!” Luke bellows, shocked and angry.
“I can’t – I swallowed the key.”
“Maybe I should just cut you open and get it out,” L.J. threatens.
“L.J.,” I say, stepping between him and Luke and trying to keep my voice low and calm. “You don’t need him. Take me.”
“No!” Luke shouts. He yanks the cuffs against the pipe.
“You can still get out of here okay, L.J. Listen,” I point a finger upwards. “Can you hear? It’s a chopper, probably the TV guys. You do want people to see you, don’t you, to notice you? Take me. An innocent young woman always makes a better hostage. It gets the attention, makes the headlines. And the cops will be less likely to shoot if you’re holding a girl.”
“But you’re not as pretty as he is.”
“I know that!” I snap.
It’s amazing, how even now, even here with a gun to my head, that still stings.
“I may not be pretty, but I am tragic-looking. I’ll get the sympathy vote.”
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